"The Shooting of Frank Donovan" is the new name for "Another Frank Fragment". Chapters Seven through Twelve will be forthcoming.
Chapter Six: Alex's Thoughts on the Shooting
Alex sat in the van, dejected. Emotions ran hot and heavy through her mind. The foremost of which was relief. Relief from seeing Frank alive and breathing. Relief at knowing blood had been found in time to save Frank's life.
She'd been shocked when Frank had directed the ER doctors to give the last of the blood to the boy. He'd lost so much of his own--three pints--and she was well aware that he could slip into a coma much like the little boy in Florida had done. And still, all these months later, that little boy hadn't woken up and doctors thought he was brain damaged from the extensive loss of blood.
After she'd been shuffled out of the treatment room, she'd been left to wander down to the waiting room on her own.
As she sat back in the van, hearing the familiar sounds of the team member's breathing, her mind sunk down into relaxation and she allowed herself to remember the events of the previous evening as if she was an observer.
"Bum a fag?" she'd asked a well dressed man already in the waiting room.
"Pardon me?" he'd asked, evidently not understanding the British usage of the word.
"A cigarette. Fag is British for cigarette," Alex had said, and force what she hoped was a genuine smile at him. Her stormy blue eyes twinkled at him and he'd smiled back and offered her his pack. Marlboro's, she'd noted.
She'd taken one and accepted his offer of lighting the cigarette. Sitting back, she dragged deeply, exhaled and sighed.
"Looked like you needed that," the man commented.
"Yeah, bad day," Alex admitted. "By the way, name's Alex. Alex Cross." She twisted around and offered him her hand.
"Michael Dunlop," he said. "You waiting for your husband?"
This question had taken Alex by surprise. She'd never thought of herself as 'wife material', except with Carlos. But she was at war with herself and her job, and hadn't known what road to take when Carlos had offered her a way out. She'd had to think on her feet and she'd taken the easy way out--that of refusing his offer.
Which, she now reflected, staring into Michael's dark brown eyes (the same shade of brown as Frank's, she thought), she'd already made her choice: she would not take Carlos's offer. For when she'd refused him, she had made the choice of staying with her job. For better or worse, she was married to her job. She only hoped Carlos would understand.
"No," she said, as she turned her head and dragged on her cigarette. Exhaling, she continued, "I'm waiting for a friend."
"Ahh! And he's in surgery now?" Michael inquired as Alex turned her head and dragged on her cigarette again. Alex had felt a bit irriated at the personal question. But then the thought flashed through her mind that she needed a friend. The rest of the team was back in Peoria and wouldn't be here until later tonight, perhaps tomorrow morning.
Their unit was an elite undercover unit. Elite, Alex now thought spitefully. Elite from what? There's only five of us on the team. Monica and Cody don't do much--if any--undercover work, and they don't fully understand the complexities of going undercover. Hell, I'm living undercover, under an assumed name, as is Jake. Frank is not that forthcoming and Alex and Jake knew by now that Frank was not amenable to either of them griping about their jobs.
Needing someone to bitch to about their work, Alex and Jake had, in the past few months, taken to griping about their jobs to each other. This, the two of them knew, would irriate Frank to no end if he found out and so they kept their distance from him when they were having one of their bitch sessions. Alex could hear Frank's voice in her mind: "to catch a criminal you have to become a criminal. And you both know the danger in that," his soft voice echoed through her mind.
"Yes, he's in now. Or should be. As soon as they can stablize him, he will be," Alex said, knowing that as she said these words, they were jumbled, twisted, like her mind. She couldn't think straight. Michael, for his part, smiled at her in reassurance.
"Yeah, me too. Waiting for my sister to come out. Emergency appendectomy." He got up and offered his hand to Alex. "Want to go to the cafeteria to get some coffee?" he asked and Alex nodded. She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray next to her and took Michael's proffered hand.
They had gone down to the cafeteria and there had made small talk until the broadcast system sounded Michael's name and he looked up. "Got to go see little sis," he said as he took up his coffee cup. "See you later around here?" he asked by way of asking her for another coffee date. Alex nodded.
"Yeah. I'll be here," she said as she forced another smile. Michael smiled back and went off to see his sister in the recovery ward.
Alex had remained in the cafeteria. She felt bad and probably looked as bad, given the surreptious glances the other diners were giving her. Looking down at herself, she saw her blood-soaked shirt. Frank's blood, she thought suddenly and just as suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes.
They drifted down her face in a small flood. She couldn't stop them. They coursed down her cheeks, clearing paths through the dirt on her face. Her shoulders heaved slightly with the effort of trying to contain the tears.
But she couldn't contain them and down they coursed, dripping onto the dried blood on her shirt, Frank's dried blood. Alex had come so close to losing another man in her life. First she'd lost Carlos to jail.
Then she'd lost John to death. John was the first man she'd been in love with since she'd busted Carlos. John had been there for her, in fact, he'd helped to bust Carlos. He'd understood what she was going through--she'd fallen for the bad guy. A good girl turning bad. John had reassured her she wasn't going to the other side, but still Alex had cried upon Carlos's sentencing.
Then Carlos had been sprung and he'd come for her--in fact, had saved her life by speaking to his cronies at the prison and in the course of the prison riot she'd found herself treated more as a guest than a hostage.
But Carlos had asked her to go away with him. In a manner of speaking, Alex had sensed Carlos was asking her to marry him and leave her way of life. She'd refused. Then, as now, she'd found herself with tears coursing down her face.
And now, Frank was gravely injured. Lying there in the ER, missing three, maybe four pints of blood from a very tiny gunshot wound which had undoubtedly nicked an artery in his shoulder.
That was the trouble with gunshot wounds. They could look so small, so easily treatable on the outside, but on the inside, they wreaked their own brand of havoc. And someone with a good eye could aim for a non-vital part of the body but strike an artery. And in a few minutes--or a few hours, the injured could bleed to death.
Alex sat at the small, rickety dining room table with another cigarette in her hands. She stared out the window and remembered the scenes of a few hours previously.
****************
"Alex! Get down," Frank's voice sounded in her ear. His voice had an sharp edge to it and Alex instantly obeyed. She dropped to the ground, flat on her stomach.
"Now pull yourself along the ground on your stomach," Frank's voice said. Alex crawled on her stomach towards the safety of the car. Once there, she breathed easier and sat up and cautiously peered around the car's wheels.
"Jake, third floor, to your left!" Alex had shouted upon seeing the second sniper taking aim at Jake, the sun glinting off the eye-sight of his gun giving the sniper's location away. Jake spun around, took aim, and fired. Alex saw the flash of Jake's muzzle as the bullet left its temporary home and Alex saw Jake fall.
"Noooooooooooooooo!" she screamed but Frank's voice in her ear cut her scream off. "He's fine."
Jake confirmed this as soon as he hit the pavement, doing a double roll on the ground, then leaping off his back onto his feet, taking two huge leaps and dove behind the huge metal containers containing some of the contraband cocaine.
"Jake, you got him," Frank's voice said in her earpiece (Frank had evidently said this to her as well as Jake in order to let Alex know Jake had also gotten the sniper) and Alex had watched as Jake's sniper slumped against the railing, his gun falling down and hitting the ground with a boom as the gun went off.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Frank motioning to her. Alex left the cover of her car and ran as fast as she could towards Frank.
Neither of them saw the third sniper until it was too late. They'd thought there were only two snipers and both were now down.
Jake was the one who spotted the thrid sniper, on the roof of the small building across from the warehouse--said building directly in front of Frank-- the gun-sight trained on Frank. Like the second sniper, the sun glinting off the gun-sight gave him away.
"Frank! Across from you!" Jake had shouted and Frank's eyes had followed Jake's hand. He saw the sniper taking aim and he aimed his own gun. Alex watched the scene in slow motion as she ran towards Frank, hoping to reach him and tackle him to the ground and roll him behind his car before the sniper could fire.
But it was too late. Alex heard the sound of the sniper's gun, compounded by the sound of Frank's gun. She knew Frank was an expert shot and idly she wondered where Frank's bullet would hit. She looked up in time to see the sniper clutching his groin and Alex felt a momentary satisfaction. "Ha! Got what you deserved!" Alex thought cruelly but then she glanced at Frank.
Frank had already thought of Alex's reaction and had started to fall to the ground. Frank ended up on his hands and knees, his right hand supporting his weight. .
His face was sheet-white and going grey. Alex had started to scream, tears welling in her intense blue eyes, but Frank, despite his injury, looked at her sharply. He was trying to gather the energy to sit but was teetering towards the ground and his face bore a pained expression.
Alex reached him at the same time Jake realized Frank had been shot. Jake had come running, leaping over the metal barrels as Cody and Monica had simultaneously exited the van, Cody on a phone calling for an ambulance.
Alex helped Frank to the ground. He slumped against her as she lowered him. She could feel the blood soaking her shirt. She slipped off his shirt, and saw where the bullet had hit his left shoulder.
"It's a non-vital area. Your shoulder," she told him.
Frank nodded slightly. "But it nicked an artery," he whispered and Alex realized Frank was right. There was too much blood pouring out of the small gunshot wound. With each beat of Frank's heart, blood was pumping out of the hole in Frank's chest. Alex started to wonder how the heck he could have been shot while wearing a bullet proof vest but she would think about that later.
The bullet had indeed nicked an artery and Alex knew the blood was pooling in his shoulder. She took her hand and pressed the wound. Frank grimaced and Alex took her hand away momentarily when Cody had come up with a towel. Blood immediately welled up and came out of the side of the bullet proof vest.
Murmurring softly, Monica had undid the straps of both Frank's gun harness and from the bullet proof vest and she and Alex eased Frank out of the vest. Laying him down on the ground, Alex had untaped the ice pack from Frank's left shouder, then took the towel Cody offered and pressed again on the wound.
As she'd surmised, Frank's chest was covered in blood and his blood pooled on the ground beside him, forming a dark pool in which Alex could see the anguished faces of her teammates as she pressed hard upon Frank's wound.
Frank was breathing shallowly now, his face strained and grey. His eyes were half lidded and he made no effort to move, apparently conserving his energy. Dimly, Alex heard the wail of the sirens in the background.
"In less than a minute," Frank whispered. Alex nodded. She knew he meant the ambulance would be here in less than two minutes. Damn him! Amongst his other abilities, he could judge the distance of sirens by their sound.
"You will be okay," she made this as a statement. Frank closed his eyes tightly, then opened them--his way of agreeing. He had to be okay, she thought.
"Might. Lose. A. Lot. Of. Blood," his voice whispered, now cracked. She looked up at Monica's small intake of breath. Monica's face and Jake's face behind Monica's shoulder were ashen.
Alex looked down. The towel was soaked with blood. It seeped up over Alex's hands and Alex could feel Frank's heart beat through the towel. She flashed back to Keller's death a few months previously and almost in the same circumstances. She hadn't been able to save Keller--too many bullets, and too much blood loss. She still felt guilty.
Tears had slipped down her face and onto the towel. Behind her, she heard the ambulance pull up and the medics running up to her.
"We'll take over. Damn! We're gonna need a medivac!" the medic had shouted over his shoulder to the driver of the ambulance. He took out another compress and had replaced Alex.
Cody now said, his voice tiny and scared, Alex noted, "Uhm, our other boss already called for one as soon as he heard me phoning for the ambulance."
Alex and Jake had looked at Cody. "Just how did Bloom know what was going on?" Jake asked, noting Monica was uneasily glancing around.
He looked a bit sheepish as he replied. "Uh, Frank didn't want me to tell you guys, but he had me patch a video feed to Bloom. Called it a 'visual performance report'. You know Frank hates to fill out paperwork and with performance reviews due soon, Frank decided to give a visual performance review," Cody explained.
The others just looked at him, then looked at Frank. They weren't angry with him, and while they were used to Frank's monitoring the video feed, they'd never expected Bloom to look in on their take-downs. This was a new habit of Frank's. Alex and Jake especially didn't like Bloom looking at the video feeds in real time.
Monica sensed their discomfort and she said, "this was supposed to be a training video," she said softly. "The taking down of criminals in a textbook manner."
Alex and Jake gaped. "You knew too?" Jake asked her. Monica nodded.
Frank moaned softly. His eyes were open but had a slightly glazed look. Alex knew he was in pain. And she also knew he could hear every word they'd said. Apparently, the others came to the same conclusion.
The sound of a helicopter broke their thoughts. Alex looked up and shaded her eyes to see the medivac copter getting ready to land in the parking lot to their right.
"Just a little while now Frank and we'll have you in the hospital," Alex had whispered to him. The helicopter had landed and medics rushed towards them with a gurney.
The four medics together got Frank loaded onto the gurney. "I'm going with him," Alex said. "Don't try and stop me." The lead medic nodded.
Cody looked lost as he bent over Frank. Frank's eyes were closed, his breathing even shallower. "I think of you as my father," he said very softly. Frank appeared not to hear.
"There's enough room for her," the medic said, indicating Alex with a nod of his head. Frank weakly raised his right hand and Alex took it as she half-walked, half-ran beside the gurney.
Loaded into the helicopter, with Alex crammed in beside Frank, holding his hand, the helicopter took off for Chicago Memorial hospital. Alex was surprised at their destination but if Bloom had been watching the video feed, he would want his top man taken care of by the best trauma team.
"He'll pull through. It's a non-vital wound, and although he's bleeding out pretty badly, he won't bleed to death before we get to Chicago Memorial," the medic told her in a reassuring tone.
Alex could only look at him dumbly, and grip Frank's hand. She looked as his face: a contortion of pain; he was trying to control his pain. His face had grown whiter with that frightening greyness just beneath the surface. His eyes were closed, although now and then he fluttered them open. Alex was amazed he was still conscious.
"You'll be fine," was all Alex could whisper into his ear as she stroked back his hair and held his hand fiercely. Frank wasn't expending any energy in gripping her hand and the undercurrent of fear bubbled up into her mouth. Frank was just lying there on the gurney, death pale, and unmoving except for fluttering his eyes now and then.
His breathing was shallow and the medic continued pressing on the wound of his left shoulder. "ETA to Chicago?"
"Half an hour? How's the patient?"
"Wish we'd been directed to Peoria Central to attend his blood loss, but he'll pull through. Bullet appears to have penetrated just below the collarbone but seems to have nicked an artery. He'll need emergency surgery as soon as he gets to the hospital. Vitals are 90 over 60 but holding steady," the medic said while the second medic adjusted the IV plasma drip into Frank's right arm.
Alex swallowed hard. That was not a good blood pressure. Her own face lost its blood. She was thinking of Keller, of Carlos, as she looked at Frank. "I can't lose you too," she whispered into his ear and buried her face into his right shoulder.
Alex didn't remember the rest of the trip to Chicago Memorial but she started up when the medic said "Chicago! Vitals are 90 over 50, dropping slightly. He's lost about three, maybe four pints of blood. Over!" the medic, who's badge Alex could now read: Chris Matheson.
"Copy. 90 over 50. We've got a surgeon standing by. Over!" the sound of the hospital ER's two-way radio crackled in response and Alex felt relief. Frank would be all right. They were here, at Chicago Memorial, with the finest trauma center in Illinois. Here there would be blood and surgeons to fix Frank. She gripped his hand.
By way of response, Frank opened his eyes, and mouthed, "Thank you," to Alex, who just nodded and gripped his hand tighter. They were landing on the hospital's rooftop helipad. Nurses and doctors crowded around and took the gurney from the medivac copter. They rushed beside the gurney as they shouted between them:
"90 over 50, holding steady!"
"Run another IV line!"
"Have the blood standing by. Bleeding has slowed to a seep now with the compress!"
The medical personnel disappeared into the gaping hole of an automatic double door before Alex could even extract herself from the helicopter.
"Thank you," she said to Chris. "Thank you for keeping up the pressure," was all she could find to say to a heavily perspiring Chris, who was panting slightly with the non-stop exertion of applying pressure to Frank's wound.
He's got a lot of stamina, Alex thought to herself. Thirty minutes, maybe more, of compress.
"Not a bother, ma'am," Chris replied and wiped his brow. "He'll be in the ER," he indicated and Alex felt a bit sheepish. She turned and ducked under the still whirring blades of the helicopter, intent on following Frank.
Next thing she knew, she was in the treatment room, and she'd heard the doctors arguing about a blood dilemma. The hospital's blood bank was out of every type of blood, except O-type. A little boy, aged ten, had been injured in a car accident. Loss of blood from a lacerated liver and possible paralysis, she'd heard the doctors shouting to each other. There wasn't enough blood for both Frank and the little boy.
She grimaced as she'd held Frank's hand. Ten years old and possibly paralyzed. Apparently Frank had heard the commotion as well, for he whispered,
"Give the blood to the boy first."
Alex gasped. "Frank! You've lost an enormous amount of blood," but Frank cut her off by holding up his hand.
"Give. The blood. To. The. Boy." Frank said as forcefully as he could and gave both Alex and the ER doc a hard stare.
"Are you refusing treatment...for the moment?" The doc asked, needing to be sure.
"Yes. I am refusing treatment...for the moment," Frank managed to whisper before he'd slipped into unconsciousness. One of the ER nurses took Alex by the arm and led her from the treatment room.
The doc shook her head and shouted "give the blood to the boy--this patient's requested it!" The nurses gathered around Frank's bed shook their heads as well as they continued to cut Frank's clothes off him.
Alex remembered being awed at Frank's gesture. He had to have known what was happening, what could happen if he didn't get his own blood replaced.
*******
Alex mind now turned towards the time she had sat in the dining room. When she had come back to herself, she'd noted her cigarette had burned down almost to the filter, leaving a grey tube of bitter ashes in its wake.
"Bitter, like my tears," she muttered to herself. The movement of her arm caused the ashes to break up and they dusted her shirt and the table. She swiped at them, then sighed heavily and instead picked up the now-cold coffee cup and stood up.
Going over the exit, she'd tossed her cup into the trash when she'd heard her name on the loudspeaker.
"Alex Cross to the surgical waiting room. Alex Cross to the surgical waiting room," a male voice said. "He's in surgery now, and he's got blood, Alex. He has plenty of blood," and Alex had broken out into a grin. The voice belonged to Paul Bloom and he had usurped the intercom system and was telling her to move her butt back upstairs.
**********
Alex came back to the present time. The van was bumping along a back road. Cody was muttering, Monica was staring out the window and Jake had an absent look on his face.
She wondered what each of her teammates was thinking as the van continued to bump along the back roads that Cody had chosen to get them back to the nest quicker.
She looked at Jake, fear and worry showing in her blue eyes.
Chapter Six: Alex's Thoughts on the Shooting
Alex sat in the van, dejected. Emotions ran hot and heavy through her mind. The foremost of which was relief. Relief from seeing Frank alive and breathing. Relief at knowing blood had been found in time to save Frank's life.
She'd been shocked when Frank had directed the ER doctors to give the last of the blood to the boy. He'd lost so much of his own--three pints--and she was well aware that he could slip into a coma much like the little boy in Florida had done. And still, all these months later, that little boy hadn't woken up and doctors thought he was brain damaged from the extensive loss of blood.
After she'd been shuffled out of the treatment room, she'd been left to wander down to the waiting room on her own.
As she sat back in the van, hearing the familiar sounds of the team member's breathing, her mind sunk down into relaxation and she allowed herself to remember the events of the previous evening as if she was an observer.
"Bum a fag?" she'd asked a well dressed man already in the waiting room.
"Pardon me?" he'd asked, evidently not understanding the British usage of the word.
"A cigarette. Fag is British for cigarette," Alex had said, and force what she hoped was a genuine smile at him. Her stormy blue eyes twinkled at him and he'd smiled back and offered her his pack. Marlboro's, she'd noted.
She'd taken one and accepted his offer of lighting the cigarette. Sitting back, she dragged deeply, exhaled and sighed.
"Looked like you needed that," the man commented.
"Yeah, bad day," Alex admitted. "By the way, name's Alex. Alex Cross." She twisted around and offered him her hand.
"Michael Dunlop," he said. "You waiting for your husband?"
This question had taken Alex by surprise. She'd never thought of herself as 'wife material', except with Carlos. But she was at war with herself and her job, and hadn't known what road to take when Carlos had offered her a way out. She'd had to think on her feet and she'd taken the easy way out--that of refusing his offer.
Which, she now reflected, staring into Michael's dark brown eyes (the same shade of brown as Frank's, she thought), she'd already made her choice: she would not take Carlos's offer. For when she'd refused him, she had made the choice of staying with her job. For better or worse, she was married to her job. She only hoped Carlos would understand.
"No," she said, as she turned her head and dragged on her cigarette. Exhaling, she continued, "I'm waiting for a friend."
"Ahh! And he's in surgery now?" Michael inquired as Alex turned her head and dragged on her cigarette again. Alex had felt a bit irriated at the personal question. But then the thought flashed through her mind that she needed a friend. The rest of the team was back in Peoria and wouldn't be here until later tonight, perhaps tomorrow morning.
Their unit was an elite undercover unit. Elite, Alex now thought spitefully. Elite from what? There's only five of us on the team. Monica and Cody don't do much--if any--undercover work, and they don't fully understand the complexities of going undercover. Hell, I'm living undercover, under an assumed name, as is Jake. Frank is not that forthcoming and Alex and Jake knew by now that Frank was not amenable to either of them griping about their jobs.
Needing someone to bitch to about their work, Alex and Jake had, in the past few months, taken to griping about their jobs to each other. This, the two of them knew, would irriate Frank to no end if he found out and so they kept their distance from him when they were having one of their bitch sessions. Alex could hear Frank's voice in her mind: "to catch a criminal you have to become a criminal. And you both know the danger in that," his soft voice echoed through her mind.
"Yes, he's in now. Or should be. As soon as they can stablize him, he will be," Alex said, knowing that as she said these words, they were jumbled, twisted, like her mind. She couldn't think straight. Michael, for his part, smiled at her in reassurance.
"Yeah, me too. Waiting for my sister to come out. Emergency appendectomy." He got up and offered his hand to Alex. "Want to go to the cafeteria to get some coffee?" he asked and Alex nodded. She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray next to her and took Michael's proffered hand.
They had gone down to the cafeteria and there had made small talk until the broadcast system sounded Michael's name and he looked up. "Got to go see little sis," he said as he took up his coffee cup. "See you later around here?" he asked by way of asking her for another coffee date. Alex nodded.
"Yeah. I'll be here," she said as she forced another smile. Michael smiled back and went off to see his sister in the recovery ward.
Alex had remained in the cafeteria. She felt bad and probably looked as bad, given the surreptious glances the other diners were giving her. Looking down at herself, she saw her blood-soaked shirt. Frank's blood, she thought suddenly and just as suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes.
They drifted down her face in a small flood. She couldn't stop them. They coursed down her cheeks, clearing paths through the dirt on her face. Her shoulders heaved slightly with the effort of trying to contain the tears.
But she couldn't contain them and down they coursed, dripping onto the dried blood on her shirt, Frank's dried blood. Alex had come so close to losing another man in her life. First she'd lost Carlos to jail.
Then she'd lost John to death. John was the first man she'd been in love with since she'd busted Carlos. John had been there for her, in fact, he'd helped to bust Carlos. He'd understood what she was going through--she'd fallen for the bad guy. A good girl turning bad. John had reassured her she wasn't going to the other side, but still Alex had cried upon Carlos's sentencing.
Then Carlos had been sprung and he'd come for her--in fact, had saved her life by speaking to his cronies at the prison and in the course of the prison riot she'd found herself treated more as a guest than a hostage.
But Carlos had asked her to go away with him. In a manner of speaking, Alex had sensed Carlos was asking her to marry him and leave her way of life. She'd refused. Then, as now, she'd found herself with tears coursing down her face.
And now, Frank was gravely injured. Lying there in the ER, missing three, maybe four pints of blood from a very tiny gunshot wound which had undoubtedly nicked an artery in his shoulder.
That was the trouble with gunshot wounds. They could look so small, so easily treatable on the outside, but on the inside, they wreaked their own brand of havoc. And someone with a good eye could aim for a non-vital part of the body but strike an artery. And in a few minutes--or a few hours, the injured could bleed to death.
Alex sat at the small, rickety dining room table with another cigarette in her hands. She stared out the window and remembered the scenes of a few hours previously.
****************
"Alex! Get down," Frank's voice sounded in her ear. His voice had an sharp edge to it and Alex instantly obeyed. She dropped to the ground, flat on her stomach.
"Now pull yourself along the ground on your stomach," Frank's voice said. Alex crawled on her stomach towards the safety of the car. Once there, she breathed easier and sat up and cautiously peered around the car's wheels.
"Jake, third floor, to your left!" Alex had shouted upon seeing the second sniper taking aim at Jake, the sun glinting off the eye-sight of his gun giving the sniper's location away. Jake spun around, took aim, and fired. Alex saw the flash of Jake's muzzle as the bullet left its temporary home and Alex saw Jake fall.
"Noooooooooooooooo!" she screamed but Frank's voice in her ear cut her scream off. "He's fine."
Jake confirmed this as soon as he hit the pavement, doing a double roll on the ground, then leaping off his back onto his feet, taking two huge leaps and dove behind the huge metal containers containing some of the contraband cocaine.
"Jake, you got him," Frank's voice said in her earpiece (Frank had evidently said this to her as well as Jake in order to let Alex know Jake had also gotten the sniper) and Alex had watched as Jake's sniper slumped against the railing, his gun falling down and hitting the ground with a boom as the gun went off.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Frank motioning to her. Alex left the cover of her car and ran as fast as she could towards Frank.
Neither of them saw the third sniper until it was too late. They'd thought there were only two snipers and both were now down.
Jake was the one who spotted the thrid sniper, on the roof of the small building across from the warehouse--said building directly in front of Frank-- the gun-sight trained on Frank. Like the second sniper, the sun glinting off the gun-sight gave him away.
"Frank! Across from you!" Jake had shouted and Frank's eyes had followed Jake's hand. He saw the sniper taking aim and he aimed his own gun. Alex watched the scene in slow motion as she ran towards Frank, hoping to reach him and tackle him to the ground and roll him behind his car before the sniper could fire.
But it was too late. Alex heard the sound of the sniper's gun, compounded by the sound of Frank's gun. She knew Frank was an expert shot and idly she wondered where Frank's bullet would hit. She looked up in time to see the sniper clutching his groin and Alex felt a momentary satisfaction. "Ha! Got what you deserved!" Alex thought cruelly but then she glanced at Frank.
Frank had already thought of Alex's reaction and had started to fall to the ground. Frank ended up on his hands and knees, his right hand supporting his weight. .
His face was sheet-white and going grey. Alex had started to scream, tears welling in her intense blue eyes, but Frank, despite his injury, looked at her sharply. He was trying to gather the energy to sit but was teetering towards the ground and his face bore a pained expression.
Alex reached him at the same time Jake realized Frank had been shot. Jake had come running, leaping over the metal barrels as Cody and Monica had simultaneously exited the van, Cody on a phone calling for an ambulance.
Alex helped Frank to the ground. He slumped against her as she lowered him. She could feel the blood soaking her shirt. She slipped off his shirt, and saw where the bullet had hit his left shoulder.
"It's a non-vital area. Your shoulder," she told him.
Frank nodded slightly. "But it nicked an artery," he whispered and Alex realized Frank was right. There was too much blood pouring out of the small gunshot wound. With each beat of Frank's heart, blood was pumping out of the hole in Frank's chest. Alex started to wonder how the heck he could have been shot while wearing a bullet proof vest but she would think about that later.
The bullet had indeed nicked an artery and Alex knew the blood was pooling in his shoulder. She took her hand and pressed the wound. Frank grimaced and Alex took her hand away momentarily when Cody had come up with a towel. Blood immediately welled up and came out of the side of the bullet proof vest.
Murmurring softly, Monica had undid the straps of both Frank's gun harness and from the bullet proof vest and she and Alex eased Frank out of the vest. Laying him down on the ground, Alex had untaped the ice pack from Frank's left shouder, then took the towel Cody offered and pressed again on the wound.
As she'd surmised, Frank's chest was covered in blood and his blood pooled on the ground beside him, forming a dark pool in which Alex could see the anguished faces of her teammates as she pressed hard upon Frank's wound.
Frank was breathing shallowly now, his face strained and grey. His eyes were half lidded and he made no effort to move, apparently conserving his energy. Dimly, Alex heard the wail of the sirens in the background.
"In less than a minute," Frank whispered. Alex nodded. She knew he meant the ambulance would be here in less than two minutes. Damn him! Amongst his other abilities, he could judge the distance of sirens by their sound.
"You will be okay," she made this as a statement. Frank closed his eyes tightly, then opened them--his way of agreeing. He had to be okay, she thought.
"Might. Lose. A. Lot. Of. Blood," his voice whispered, now cracked. She looked up at Monica's small intake of breath. Monica's face and Jake's face behind Monica's shoulder were ashen.
Alex looked down. The towel was soaked with blood. It seeped up over Alex's hands and Alex could feel Frank's heart beat through the towel. She flashed back to Keller's death a few months previously and almost in the same circumstances. She hadn't been able to save Keller--too many bullets, and too much blood loss. She still felt guilty.
Tears had slipped down her face and onto the towel. Behind her, she heard the ambulance pull up and the medics running up to her.
"We'll take over. Damn! We're gonna need a medivac!" the medic had shouted over his shoulder to the driver of the ambulance. He took out another compress and had replaced Alex.
Cody now said, his voice tiny and scared, Alex noted, "Uhm, our other boss already called for one as soon as he heard me phoning for the ambulance."
Alex and Jake had looked at Cody. "Just how did Bloom know what was going on?" Jake asked, noting Monica was uneasily glancing around.
He looked a bit sheepish as he replied. "Uh, Frank didn't want me to tell you guys, but he had me patch a video feed to Bloom. Called it a 'visual performance report'. You know Frank hates to fill out paperwork and with performance reviews due soon, Frank decided to give a visual performance review," Cody explained.
The others just looked at him, then looked at Frank. They weren't angry with him, and while they were used to Frank's monitoring the video feed, they'd never expected Bloom to look in on their take-downs. This was a new habit of Frank's. Alex and Jake especially didn't like Bloom looking at the video feeds in real time.
Monica sensed their discomfort and she said, "this was supposed to be a training video," she said softly. "The taking down of criminals in a textbook manner."
Alex and Jake gaped. "You knew too?" Jake asked her. Monica nodded.
Frank moaned softly. His eyes were open but had a slightly glazed look. Alex knew he was in pain. And she also knew he could hear every word they'd said. Apparently, the others came to the same conclusion.
The sound of a helicopter broke their thoughts. Alex looked up and shaded her eyes to see the medivac copter getting ready to land in the parking lot to their right.
"Just a little while now Frank and we'll have you in the hospital," Alex had whispered to him. The helicopter had landed and medics rushed towards them with a gurney.
The four medics together got Frank loaded onto the gurney. "I'm going with him," Alex said. "Don't try and stop me." The lead medic nodded.
Cody looked lost as he bent over Frank. Frank's eyes were closed, his breathing even shallower. "I think of you as my father," he said very softly. Frank appeared not to hear.
"There's enough room for her," the medic said, indicating Alex with a nod of his head. Frank weakly raised his right hand and Alex took it as she half-walked, half-ran beside the gurney.
Loaded into the helicopter, with Alex crammed in beside Frank, holding his hand, the helicopter took off for Chicago Memorial hospital. Alex was surprised at their destination but if Bloom had been watching the video feed, he would want his top man taken care of by the best trauma team.
"He'll pull through. It's a non-vital wound, and although he's bleeding out pretty badly, he won't bleed to death before we get to Chicago Memorial," the medic told her in a reassuring tone.
Alex could only look at him dumbly, and grip Frank's hand. She looked as his face: a contortion of pain; he was trying to control his pain. His face had grown whiter with that frightening greyness just beneath the surface. His eyes were closed, although now and then he fluttered them open. Alex was amazed he was still conscious.
"You'll be fine," was all Alex could whisper into his ear as she stroked back his hair and held his hand fiercely. Frank wasn't expending any energy in gripping her hand and the undercurrent of fear bubbled up into her mouth. Frank was just lying there on the gurney, death pale, and unmoving except for fluttering his eyes now and then.
His breathing was shallow and the medic continued pressing on the wound of his left shoulder. "ETA to Chicago?"
"Half an hour? How's the patient?"
"Wish we'd been directed to Peoria Central to attend his blood loss, but he'll pull through. Bullet appears to have penetrated just below the collarbone but seems to have nicked an artery. He'll need emergency surgery as soon as he gets to the hospital. Vitals are 90 over 60 but holding steady," the medic said while the second medic adjusted the IV plasma drip into Frank's right arm.
Alex swallowed hard. That was not a good blood pressure. Her own face lost its blood. She was thinking of Keller, of Carlos, as she looked at Frank. "I can't lose you too," she whispered into his ear and buried her face into his right shoulder.
Alex didn't remember the rest of the trip to Chicago Memorial but she started up when the medic said "Chicago! Vitals are 90 over 50, dropping slightly. He's lost about three, maybe four pints of blood. Over!" the medic, who's badge Alex could now read: Chris Matheson.
"Copy. 90 over 50. We've got a surgeon standing by. Over!" the sound of the hospital ER's two-way radio crackled in response and Alex felt relief. Frank would be all right. They were here, at Chicago Memorial, with the finest trauma center in Illinois. Here there would be blood and surgeons to fix Frank. She gripped his hand.
By way of response, Frank opened his eyes, and mouthed, "Thank you," to Alex, who just nodded and gripped his hand tighter. They were landing on the hospital's rooftop helipad. Nurses and doctors crowded around and took the gurney from the medivac copter. They rushed beside the gurney as they shouted between them:
"90 over 50, holding steady!"
"Run another IV line!"
"Have the blood standing by. Bleeding has slowed to a seep now with the compress!"
The medical personnel disappeared into the gaping hole of an automatic double door before Alex could even extract herself from the helicopter.
"Thank you," she said to Chris. "Thank you for keeping up the pressure," was all she could find to say to a heavily perspiring Chris, who was panting slightly with the non-stop exertion of applying pressure to Frank's wound.
He's got a lot of stamina, Alex thought to herself. Thirty minutes, maybe more, of compress.
"Not a bother, ma'am," Chris replied and wiped his brow. "He'll be in the ER," he indicated and Alex felt a bit sheepish. She turned and ducked under the still whirring blades of the helicopter, intent on following Frank.
Next thing she knew, she was in the treatment room, and she'd heard the doctors arguing about a blood dilemma. The hospital's blood bank was out of every type of blood, except O-type. A little boy, aged ten, had been injured in a car accident. Loss of blood from a lacerated liver and possible paralysis, she'd heard the doctors shouting to each other. There wasn't enough blood for both Frank and the little boy.
She grimaced as she'd held Frank's hand. Ten years old and possibly paralyzed. Apparently Frank had heard the commotion as well, for he whispered,
"Give the blood to the boy first."
Alex gasped. "Frank! You've lost an enormous amount of blood," but Frank cut her off by holding up his hand.
"Give. The blood. To. The. Boy." Frank said as forcefully as he could and gave both Alex and the ER doc a hard stare.
"Are you refusing treatment...for the moment?" The doc asked, needing to be sure.
"Yes. I am refusing treatment...for the moment," Frank managed to whisper before he'd slipped into unconsciousness. One of the ER nurses took Alex by the arm and led her from the treatment room.
The doc shook her head and shouted "give the blood to the boy--this patient's requested it!" The nurses gathered around Frank's bed shook their heads as well as they continued to cut Frank's clothes off him.
Alex remembered being awed at Frank's gesture. He had to have known what was happening, what could happen if he didn't get his own blood replaced.
*******
Alex mind now turned towards the time she had sat in the dining room. When she had come back to herself, she'd noted her cigarette had burned down almost to the filter, leaving a grey tube of bitter ashes in its wake.
"Bitter, like my tears," she muttered to herself. The movement of her arm caused the ashes to break up and they dusted her shirt and the table. She swiped at them, then sighed heavily and instead picked up the now-cold coffee cup and stood up.
Going over the exit, she'd tossed her cup into the trash when she'd heard her name on the loudspeaker.
"Alex Cross to the surgical waiting room. Alex Cross to the surgical waiting room," a male voice said. "He's in surgery now, and he's got blood, Alex. He has plenty of blood," and Alex had broken out into a grin. The voice belonged to Paul Bloom and he had usurped the intercom system and was telling her to move her butt back upstairs.
**********
Alex came back to the present time. The van was bumping along a back road. Cody was muttering, Monica was staring out the window and Jake had an absent look on his face.
She wondered what each of her teammates was thinking as the van continued to bump along the back roads that Cody had chosen to get them back to the nest quicker.
She looked at Jake, fear and worry showing in her blue eyes.