Chapter 38

Alan paced restlessly in the hallway of McAllen Medical Center's emergency department. Megan had stepped outside with her cell phone, but Colby and David stood guard in the hall. In spite of Alan's rising anxiety, he appreciated the sight of familiar faces, their solid, reassuring presence. His sons and Ian Edgerton were ensconced in three adjacent rooms in front of him. He hadn't been allowed in yet, and to know that his sons were so close, and he couldn't see them, was maddening.

Finally, one of the doors opened, and a doctor stepped out, stripping off his gloves. His eyes fell on Alan. "Mr. Eppes? Father of Don Eppes?"

"Yes," said Alan eagerly, rerouting his pacing to stand in front of him.

"Your son is stable, but he needs surgery. He's awake, now - I thought you might want to see him for a moment before we take him up. You'll have to keep it brief; he's lost a fair amount of blood. We've started a transfusion, but we need to get the leg repaired." Alan nodded, and the doctor turned and held the door open.

Alan took a deep breath as he entered, and his gut twisted. Don looked worse than he had ever seen him. He had lost weight, and it was apparent in his face, which was bruised and swollen on one side. There were ugly contusions on his chest to match, and a sheet covered his lower body, which hid the leg wound that Alan knew was there. He was wearing an oxygen mask, and his eyes were closed. Most disturbing to Alan however, were the tears streaming down the sides of his son's face.

"Donnie," he said softly, stepping forward. Hospital personnel bustled around, moving trays, getting the gurney ready to move. Don's eyes opened, and Alan could see grief and agony in them. He put a comforting hand on his son's arm. "It's okay; now, they're going to take care of you."

Don murmured something under the mask, and Alan bent his head forward. "What, son?"

"I'm sorry," came the hoarse voice, cracking with a repressed sob.

Alan shook his head, confusion mixing with tears of his own, brought to his eyes by Don's obvious distress. "Why are you sorry? You brought him back, just like you promised."

That brought a look of pure pain, and fresh tears, as Don shut his eyes tightly and shook his head. Alan was beginning feel real alarm. How bad was Charlie, anyway, that Don was acting this way? He spoke, trying to reassure himself as much as Don. "They're working on Charlie right now, Donnie – he's going to be fine. You just concentrate on yourself." He stared as Don's eyes flew open, looking at him with a bewildered expression.

"We need to take him now, sir," said one of the nurses softly, and Alan nodded, preparing to step back, but he was stopped by Don's fierce grip on his arm.

Don had fixed him with a piercing stare. "He's alive?" The words were muffled, but Alan thought that was what he heard.

He gaped back. "Yes, they have him right next door." His heart plunged as he watched Don lean his head back and close his eyes, with yet more tears, now generated by relief, streaming down his face. "You thought -," began Alan, stunned to realize that Don had thought his brother was dead.

He looked around at the hospital personnel, angrily. "What's the matter with you people? Don't you know what's going on in your own ER? How could you let him think that?" They stared back at him, disconcerted by the outburst, but he didn't care. He was beyond caring what other people thought, when it came to his sons. He stepped forward and squeezed Don's arm. "It's okay, son. You just relax. I'll be here when you get out, and so will Charlie."

Don nodded, relief still in his face, and Alan watched as they wheeled him away, with a sick feeling in his stomach. To see his oldest in such pain; and Charlie…He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to see his youngest son – he had to know how bad it really was. He stood still for a minute as the doors swung shut, then, galvanized by fear and the protective instinct that came with it, strode through the doors. He didn't stop on the other side; instead he turned, and marched straight through the doors into the next room, where he had been told Charlie was.

He was dimly aware of voices admonishing him that he couldn't come in, but they fell on deaf ears. All he could see was the figure on the gurney, nude except for the sheet over his hips. He had made a mistake, he was in the wrong room, he thought, dazedly. That skeletal figure, covered with bruises and burn marks, could not possibly be his son. It looked like something from a horror movie. He stepped backwards, still staring, and felt someone take his arm. That someone was Colby, but Alan wasn't even aware of him. He backed out through the doors, into the hallway, and into a chair on the other side of it, and as the phantom hand released his arm, he put his head in his hands with a moan.

Megan walked up as Colby gently guided Alan into the chair, and her face flashed with alarm. She looked from Colby to David; and back again. "What's going on?"

Colby shook his head, and spoke under his breath. "He walked into Charlie's exam room while they were working on him – I think he got a little rattled. They just took Ian up to surgery, and Don was right behind him. What did Merrick have to say?"

Megan glanced around her, then back at them, her voice quiet. "Merrick wants to get the word out that Charlie didn't make it – the story is that he was DOA, cause of death, drowning. I have to talk to his doctors, and we need to set him up in a secure room. Merrick's going to feed that story to everyone, including the NSA, until Charlie has a chance to recover, and tell us what happened. Merrick thinks that once everyone knows that Charlie had a chance to talk, that he'll be safe – there will be no reason for them to try to get rid of him. Either he'll tell us who they are, and they'll be taken in, or if he doesn't know anything, his attackers will know that too, because they won't be apprehended. In the second case, we'll need to get the word out that he talked, and didn't have anything for us. They won't have any further need to come after him."

David nodded. "I'm assuming we're on security."

"You got it," Megan said, with a small smile. "Merrick's going to get a couple of our guys out of Houston to help out. We'll do the fake obituary, just like we did with Don – private cremation ceremony, and so on." She felt a pang of guilt as she spoke; she knew that they wouldn't be able to tell Larry, Amita, or Millie, and she could only imagine what the news of Charlie's death would do to them.

She glanced at Alan. "We'll need to fill Alan in. The big thing will be making sure the doctors are discreet – that they and their staff keep it quiet."

She glanced at the doors to Charlie's exam room as they opened. They were wheeling Charlie out, and Alan shot to his feet, and was at the gurney's side in an instant.

For the first time, Alan got a look at Charlie's face. It was thin and pale under the oxygen mask, but that part of him at least looked something like the son he knew. "Where are you taking him?"

"We need to get a CAT scan and an MRI of his head," replied the doctor, his eyes compassionate. "You can come with him to Radiology if you like." Alan nodded, his eyes glued to his Charlie's face, fighting the tears that sprang to his eyes. It seemed like years since he had seen him; and he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. The young man on the gurney seemed almost like a stranger – they had been separated by time, by distance, by the horrific things that Charlie had gone through. He desperately wanted his son back – to look into his eyes, and know that Charlie was still – Charlie.

As the gurney moved away, Megan gently pulled the doctor aside to discuss Merrick's plan with him. Colby and David kept pace with the gurney, and as Colby glanced at Charlie's still, lifeless face, he hoped fervently that the obituary they planned to issue would actually be a false one.

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"Paulson." Jeff Paulson answered his cell phone, turning away from Weeks, the border guard captain.

Tompkins spoke from the other end. "Jeff – I got the message that you called. I'm sorry; I was on the other line, talking to Merrick. I'm guessing that you have a report?"

"Well, a partial one," said Paulson, as he stepped away from Weeks, who nodded his understanding of the interruption. "I'm still on the Mexican side, working with the border guard. What's the word on Eppes?"

Tompkins sighed heavily. "That's what Walt called to tell me. I'm afraid Charlie didn't make it. He was DOA – by drowning."

Paulson felt a huge surge of relief, but he put on a crushed expression for any onlookers. "Damn it, Bob. After all that…"

"I know," said Tompkins quietly. "It doesn't seem right."

"What about the others?" asked Paulson.

"Don Eppes and Ian Edgerton were injured – gunshot wounds, but I think they are going to make it. They're at McAllen Medical Center, in surgery, right now." He paused for a minute. "What happened today?"

Paulson picked his words carefully. "Well, as you know, we didn't get a call this morning. I guess the Feds decided to strike off on their own. I had put a couple of guys scanning the highway on/off ramps, watching traffic, and one of them picked up Conway's van, getting on in a hurry and heading toward Reynosa. It took us a few minutes to collect our guys, but we got on after them. It was a lucky break, really."

"When we got to town, it was a mess. We could see the traffic backed up way ahead of us, then we saw Conway's van and two sedans pull out of line and start heading east. We followed them to the river, and got involved in the gun battle. We were trying to help the Feds, but it was a mess – we were firing at each other in the brush, trying to figure out who was who. I'm afraid when we do all of the ballistics we're going to have some friendly fire casualties." Paulson paused to let that sink in.

"How many?"

"We're still trying to find and ID bodies, but the only guys I have left are Avilar and Kirtland."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

Tompkins sighed; then spoke as if a thought suddenly occurred to him. "We did get an ID on one of the men – I guess Edgerton came around before surgery and told one of Merrick's people that one the guys involved in the pursuit was Tommy Sykes. It kind of threw me, because I thought he worked in your area."

Paulson froze, his mind working furiously, manufacturing a blatant lie. "Yeah, he did. It was kind of a shock when Conway picked him – I was thinking of choosing him for my team."

Thank God, Paulson thought, that he provided a single list to Tompkins, in alphabetical order, of all of his and Conway's men together. There was no way to tell from that list which man was on which team. And since Sykes had been killed in the gun battle, there was no one to say differently. "I feel like all of this is my fault," he added. "You put me in charge of trying to find the traitor – I checked Conway out, and I never found anything.

Tompkins sounded tired. "Don't beat yourself up, Jeff. I picked Conway myself for this assignment. I basically let the wolf in the hen house. He had us all fooled."

"I'd love to get my hands on him," said Paulson, through gritted teeth. God, he was such an actor. He should get the Academy Award for this one.

"Wouldn't we all," said Tompkins grimly. "We'll find him, eventually."

Good luck with that, thought Paulson, smugly. "Yes sir. As soon as we have all of the casualties, I'll report back in."

"All right," replied Tompkins. "Thanks, Jeff; I know this has been a tough one."

"No problem, sir. I'll talk to you soon." Paulson hung up the phone and took a deep breath, fully cognizant of how close he had come to discovery. Actually, now that Tompkins believed that Sykes had belonged to Conway, Sykes' death actually lent credibility to the story. It would look like one of Conway's men had been killed on the scene. And Charles Eppes was dead. Things were looking better and better.

He frowned for a moment, thinking about the FBI's involvement in this. He still didn't trust them. He motioned for Avilar, and pulled him aside. "I need you to verify something for me. Tompkins just called, and told me that Eppes didn't make it – just as you suspected, he drowned. After all of the bullshit the feds have been feeding us, I want to make sure. Go stake out the hospital; see if you can find out one way or another."

Avilar nodded, and discreetly made off. Paulson walked back over to Weeks as some border guards trundled by, carrying Abboud's body. "Iranian bastards," said Paulson to Weeks, looking at Abboud, knowing that ballistics would find his bullet in the man's chest. "I think I got that one myself."

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Tompkins hung up the phone, and hit his speed dial. "Walt?"

Merrick responded. "Yeah, Bob. Did you talk to Paulson?"

"Yeah, his story seemed to check out. He told me that Conway actually picked Sykes for his team. Everything he said seemed to jive with the facts as we know them. I don't have any reason to think he isn't clean, especially with Conway being AWOL."

Merrick sighed. "I still think it's a good idea for you to keep the fact that Dr. Eppes is alive to yourself. Someone had to be leaking info on their movements – maybe one of Paulson's guys is dirty, and he doesn't know it."

"No, Walt, I agree. There's no reason for me to give out that information – in fact, after what's happened; wild horses couldn't drag it out of me. Any word on their condition?"

"Don Eppes and Edgerton are in surgery right now; and Dr. Eppes is going through some scans and some testing. He's still unconscious."

Tompkins paused for a moment, fighting off a cloud of guilt. He was keenly aware that he had put the young professor in this position, and had given his son-in-law the assignment that led to his death. His only solace was the lives that had been saved, as a result of their involvement. He collected himself, gave Merrick a perfunctory thank you, and hung up, lost in his thoughts.

Merrick sat immersed in dark thoughts of his own. Finally he picked up the phone again, and dialed his secretary. "Marcie? Can you get me the address of Gerardo Garcia's parents? Thank you." He hung up and stared at the blotter on his desktop, wondering for the first time in his career if the job wasn't getting to be a bit too much.

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End Chapter 38