POCKET CHANGE 2: A GAME OF CARDS
by Sharon R.
Chapter Six
Like the glow of an impressionist's painting, the brilliant orange and pink hues from the sky hung over the bright green tree tops at the edge of the airfield slowly fading into the black brush strokes of impending nighttime as a pair of headlights headed towards them. As they got closer it became evident that this wasn't the usual minivan or Land Rover, but a bus. Behind the wheel was a smiling Othiamba waving at the surprised crew as he applied the brakes. It was an old bus. Not obsolete, but nonetheless an older model.
"What in the world is this?" Sean asked Bob.
"Nope. Not my doing. I just borrowed the guy to help haul some special cargo." Opening the rear fire door of the bus, Bob pulled out a half dozen cases of Nile Special Lager. "It's not the piss weak American stuff or warm fuzzy Irish shit, but Ugandan beer isn't half bad."
"Gee Bob, you do care." Luka mocked as he opened up the first box and helped himself.
"Don't get carried away Hero Boy. If I have to hang around here I ain't gonna do it slinging back shots of packaged tap water."
In the hoop-la of the beer delivery, Othiamba was left holding the keys as the children suddenly rushed him and the bus. Toomay scolded the children in English, French and Lingala while trying unsuccessfully to wave them away from the large vehicle.
"We can paint red crosses on it to signify that we are a medical facility," Othiamba gleefully announced.
"Othiamba," Carter quietly and with much reserve, asked, "where did you get the bus?"
"I know some people."
"Where did you get the bus?" Carter repeated.
"I know the people and they let me have it for the camp."
The beer didn't quite make it into the building before hands dove into the cases. Warm or not, it was a nice treat and welcome change. The group decided to stay outside in the moonlight enjoying the rare bug free nightscape. Even Bob joined them, popping the cap from a beer and handing it to Carter.
"No thanks, I don't drink."
"Since when?" Maggie asked, giving him a friendly elbow in the side. "What happened to the Carter who enjoyed a beer or two after a long shift?"
Carter smiled sheepishly, shook his head a little and shrugged his shoulders, choosing instead to change the subject. "So Sean, tell us about you. What took you away from Ireland?"
"Mmm. Well, I suppose it was a need to do something for people."
"Geez, could have stayed home for that," Bob blabbed as he hiked his pants up around his slightly pronounced love handles.
"This is my part of the world now." Sean put down a good half of his first bottle of beer before taking advantage of the group's curiosity. "Okay. I grew up with my sister and two brothers in Kinsale, County Cork on the southern end of Ireland, primarily a fishing village right on St. George's Channel. Beautiful green moss and trees, lovely spring wild flowers. The sea air always had a chill, but was so invigorating." Luka smiled at the Irishman as they wordlessly shared their seaside memories.
"We rented a little stone house on the hill just above the coast and below some farm fields." He was lost in thought as he put himself back in his homeland. "Me Da had a fishin' boat and he worked every single day except Sunday, of course, maybe eighteen hours a day. We kids had to help him out sometimes giving us good reason to play hooky from school. Ma, she didn't like that very much, but we had to take advantage of the season while we could. Most everyone in Kinsale worked in the fishing industry in some way and the church made sure that morning mass and confessional was at 5am. No excuse to miss it, and me Ma walked Da and us kids to the front door of the church to make sure we got there."
Toomay laughed as she got up to take the children to their beds for the night. "My Joseph would have said that that woman was born holding all of her family's tickets to St. Peter's gate in her pocket."
"So did you come here as part of a church mission?" Luka asked.
Sean paused and waited until Toomay was out of site with the children. "No. Me Da died when a boom on a boat docked next to his fell on him. I'll never forget the day the priest and church secretary came to tell me ma. Landlord gave her a week to pay ahead six months or get out. So Ma packed us up and moved us to Dublin to live with our grandmother in her two bedroom apartment, and join the rest of the ne'er-do-wells on the dole." His comforted smile was now gone, replaced by the somber face of an aged country boy, disaffected only by the passage of time. "It was never the same again. My oldest brother, Jacob, was eighteen and expected to be the working man of the family. He found work alright, but it wasn't a factory job." Sean was lost in thought, peeling the label off the bottle as he spoke. "He was learnin' the ropes from the IRA bastards. Kevin, the baby of the family, used to follow him around. He really looked up to Jacob and his pals. Fekkin' eejits let him be like a mascot of sorts. Kevin had a pitiful stutter and my grandmother, she prayed over him every night after he went to sleep hoping that the Virgin Mary would be so kind as to deliver a miracle. That's how she would pray."
Sean laughed and mocked his grandmothers voice. "Please, blessed Virgin Mary, if you would be so kind as to deliver a miracle to our boy, Kevin, it would be most appreciated." It was a memory that translated to everyone on that porch in some way as each made do with their own smile. "Every morning she had him read the headlines from the paper to her, and every morning she was disappointed to hear his stutter again. One day the coppers raided the house the IRA boys were making car bombs in. There was a big lot of shootin' and one of the bombs went off killing him."
"Jacob?" Carter asked.
"No, Kevin. He was twelve years old." In the hush, Sean grabbed another beer, tossing the cap into an empty box, the metal clanking against the others that had grown in quantity very quickly. Clank. "Jacob was thrown in prison. Still there today as far as I know, but I haven't seen him in close to fifteen years."
"And your sister?" Luka asked.
"She's back in Kinsale with a husband and I believe her seventh child on the way."
"You've had your share of heartache," Maggie remarked quietly.
"Nah… not compared to some people. I've got my work and my friends." Sean looked around and focused on Todd who was still in his chair, a full open bottle of beer in his hands. "How about you, Todd? Have you made some pals here yet?"
"No. I… I don't really have much in common with the other college students here." Todd stared at the student dormitory building, sounds of laughter and chatter floating towards him as the kids wrapped up their evenings in wild card games. "But that's okay. I guess I'm used to that."
"Just remember, the first drop of broth is the hottest. Give it time, lad. For now you stick with us." Sean never failed to see the good in everyone, and even though he knew Carter was not pleased with his assistant, he hoped that Carter and Todd would somehow manage.
By the end of the first case of beer, Carter had filled Maggie in on the rest of the ER crew.
"Is Romano still there? Or did he finally get his bigoted sexist ass hauled to court?"
"No, he's still there. Actually he had a run in with the tail prop on a medivac chopper and lost an arm."
"Really? Rightous!" Maggie reveled in her celebration for just a moment until the silence around her set in. "Okay… as long as we're talking about massive blood loss… when are we going to get that blood chemistry machine we talked about earlier?"
"Ahhh…," Sean stood to toss his bottle and grab another, "is this the wasteful piece of nuts and bolts Mr. Tyson was complaining to me about earlier?" Clank. "He seems to think that it would be as useless as tits on a bull."
"Yep," Carter was exasperated at that point, "we have a patient whose life is in the balance. If we had a platelet count and other values we might be able to take a risk and transport her to the hospital, but if the count is too low the rough trip on those roads could cause hemorrhage. Tyson doesn't understand that something like this might prevent us from taking unnecessary trips out of the camp with critically ill patients. It tells us so much about what is going on inside a patient that we can't see."
"And in the long run may very well save money," Luka added, supporting his colleague.
"Can't you get her out by chopper - a smoother ride?" asked Bob.
"No," Carter shook his head, "the sudden altitude change and pressurization would definitely cause an intracranial bleed. But who knows. Maybe her count is above 30,000 and it would be a risk worth taking."
"Well, in any event, I wouldn't count on your Foundation or the Alliance to approve it" Sean countered. "I can't think of any refugee camp I've ever worked in that has had such laboratory equipment."
"Until now, it was always massive in size and cost prohibitive," Luka added. "But now these units are not much bigger than a desktop PC."
"Let me talk with the people I've been working with." Maggie jumped in. "I don't think I'd have a problem getting the funds."
"Forty thousand dollars?" Sean blurted out. "From a research grant program?"
Carter smiled as he assumed naiveté. "Look Maggie, thanks for the offer, but if the Carter Foundation pisses on the dollar amount, I don't see how…"
"It's the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation."
"What?" Carter did a double take.
"The Schistosomiasis Control Initiative is sponsored by Bill and Melinda. We worked under the Ugandan Bilharzia and Worm Control Programme." Maggie looked around as once again she caused a flurry of silence. "Schisto is a nasty parasite that comes from contact with contaminated water…" Maggie soon realized she had little more than polite attention. "Anyway, it may take time, weeks maybe, but I can probably arrange it."
"You're full of surprises." Carter put his arm around her shoulder. "And I am so glad that you're here."
"Yeah? So tell me. Why are you two guys here?"
Standing against a post, Luka glanced down at Carter, both wondering who would get into this long, mess of an explanation. He opened his next beer and successfully made a basket with the cap. Clank. "Carter and I volunteered a few months ago with the Alliance in the Congo."
"And you loved it so much you came back for more?"
"Something like that." Carter gave Maggie a squeeze she took for something akin to squashing a secret.
Maggie grabbed herself another beer as well. "So you know everyone here?" Clank.
"Yep. Sean and Toomay helped us with the clinic. Othiamba was a soldier we got to know."
"How about you, Bob? What did you do?"
"Me?" Bob stopped short, taking looks from Sean, Othiamba and Toomay who had returned from putting the children to bed. Carter and Luka kept their gaze down hoping not to bring too much attention to the events that led to their initial encounter with Bob. "I guess you could say I was their meet and greet liaison."
Maggie stiffened and Carter sensed her questioning of events. Knowing his secretive CIA cohort valued his secrets, Carter couldn't resist egging him on to spin another of his yarns. "Now, Bob. We're all friends here. Come on down and tell her the truth." Putting Bob on the spot was fun.
Luka straightened his slouched posture and stepped away from the post. "Bob here is with the CIA… or FBI… or FDA or SAT … well, something with initials. He likes to hang around these parts for jollies." Bob barely registered acknowledgement - in character for him.
"No, really," Maggie dug deeper, "what is it you do?"
"Throw me another beer and send Toddler off to the nursery and I'll tell you a story."
Todd took the hint very well, and without fanfare, was off the porch and heading to his own retreat.
"My specialty is the Middle East." Clank. "I was there before the first Gulf War, traveled around a lot, made contacts both in and out of the area. Then after a few years when Clinton tripled the funding for counter terrorism, I got to pick my assignment, so I settled in northern Iraq, Turkey and the rogue nations of the former Soviet Union." Bob was in his element. "You want to see desolate and outdated, go there. Some places took me days of driving and hiking just to reach. Take the Pamirs in Tajikistan. Ruled by warlords, deserters, smugglers and Islamic Guerrillas, this place is only conducive to two occupations: weapons trading and narcotics. The Iranians loved this hell hole and easily dealt with the Soviet officers of the old regime still in uniform, who were drunk more often than not, and obviously unaware that the Cold War was long over." He laughed to himself, ignorant to the people around him who had actually laughed with him. "These guys live in huge junkyards of old soviet weaponry and tanks. What I wouldn't have given to get into one of those antique communist tanks just for a joy ride."
"The Russian Government doesn't want to clean up the mess they left behind?" Carter asked.
"Hell no. This is a dirty little secret and they know they're better off pretending it doesn't exist. More frightening is that they are sitting on uranium and other stuff for nuclear bombs they are more than eager to sell. During this time in the late nineties I started coming across intelligence regarding possible interior revolts against Saddam as well as information pertaining to Americans greasing their palms with money from terrorist nations under the guise of legitimate business. It was like a see saw, going back and forth between the two or three groups planning to topple Saddam Hussein while maintaining their own centuries old hatred for each other, and the western educated informants wearing head scarves and suits carrying briefcases and AK-47's." Bob took no time gaining entrance to his third beer.
"About the time of the change in administration, I got wind of a collapse within the agency." Clank. "Everybody wanted a piece of ass, and the more involved one was with field agents abroad, the more likely they were easy targets. See, the greasy hands weren't just in the middle east. Washington had its fair share and they were positioned at the top of the agency, all the way to the White House. Experienced, entrenched field agents were replaced with puppet strung desk jockeys who had never traveled outside of the continental United States. I'll give you one guess when this occurred." Bob looked around at the faces. "No takers? January of 2001, the day after the presidential inauguration and 9 months prior to 9/11. So I got routed back to a desk in the states, my ass and reputation were hung out to dry. Seems a certain newly elected higher-up had run one of those companies that set up a subsidiary with the home office residing in a post office box in the Cayman Islands and done business with those countries including Hussein himself. They did all they could to fry me in the name of good housekeeping, but I had started a paper trail long ago going straight to the agency's legal department. Long story shorter, I could have quit and lost my benefits and pension, but they knew that that would only free me to open my trap about certain things to an extent. Keeping me employed and out of reach for four and maybe 8 years was to their benefit. One month before 9/11 two things happened: our president pulled a majority of the funding used to keep the uranium and assorted nuclear weapons ingredients secured where they were, and I was assigned to this God forsaken wasteland of illiterate, disease ridden, double digit cognitively impaired maggots setting up and maintaining intelligence contacts." Now that produced an uncomfortable air as Othiamba and Toomay loudly stacked their empty bottles in the box of trash. Crash.
Carter looked over at Bob. "Are we one of those contacts?"
"Something like that."
"And on that note, I think I will retire," Toomay tersely announced to the late nighters, glaring at Bob who sat nonchalantly tapping his beer bottle against his knee.
"Yep, me too." Maggie hopped down the stairs before returning to Bob one last time. "Oh, just so you know, those tanks kick ass. I did a month in Dushanbe at a TB clinic. One of those drunken Soviet generals gave me the keys to his T-72. What a rush." With a final pat to Bob's knee, Maggie was off, Carter quick on her heels.
"Hey, you really drove a Russian tank?"
"Soviet - from the Soviet era, yeah." As Carter stopped to gain control of his raised eyebrows, Maggie found her way into the staff quarters of the clinic. "Paled in comparison to the MI-8 helicopter though. Goodnight Carter."
I will not permit any man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him. -Booker T. Washington 1856-1915, American Black Leader and Educator
Luka sat on the edge of the porch dangling his feet watching the children play ball in the setting sun as Carter whispered in his ear. It wasn't intelligible, quite garbled in fact. Turning his head to the left he encouraged Carter to tell him again. Again, Luka faced forward watching the children kicking the ball as the voice mumbled in his ear. From behind he could hear his friends tossing their beer caps in the box. Clank… clank.
Placing his weight on the palm of his left hand, he looked down before turning to Carter again for clarification. His hand was resting in a pool of blood and he paused trying to figure out where the warm red liquid was coming from. Again the whisper, and as Luka looked up at his friend he could see the blood pouring from his face and head, but Carter was unaffected. Clank… clank.
The seemingly slow motion of the event lent itself to the open field as the children slowed to a surreal pace, the kicked ball hanging in the air far too long before reaching another foot, eventually rolling to a stop below Luka's hanging legs. Clank… clank. Turning his head to the left again, the owner of the whispering voice was no longer a bloody Carter, but a maimed Joseph. He was just sitting there, enjoying the sunset and the game as the blood streamed from the ragged and exposed exit wound that dominated the majority of the upper right side of his face.
Before Luka could rise to inquire about the oddity of the situation, the man suddenly whispered in his ear again, this time in a deeper voice. Reflexively he looked one last time to the left only to find Jules laughing in his sick self deprecating satisfaction. Luka could feel the warmth from his shoulder so close to his. So close. The evil tyrant sucked the air between his teeth and laughed one more time before raising his hand in the air. Click… bang. A child fell at Luka's feet, his dying hand reaching for the help a frozen Luka was unable to give.
Click… bang.
Click… bang. The children stood in line as Jules ordered another man to shoot each one.
Click… bang.
Click… bang.
He gasped loudly, imagining he had choked on something, as he sat up in bed grasping at the mosquito netting nearly ripping it from the hook on the ceiling. I'm not choking… I'm not choking. He's not here. It was a dream. He held the draped shear material tightly almost as if it were an anchor, not wanting to be dragged back into a dream state anytime soon. Luka had produced more sweat than he had all day and wiped his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt just above the flexed bicep that was the force behind his fist of netting. Rolling out of his moist bed, he nearly fell to the floor in fear before taking a deep breath and willing the strength to return to his legs. It was a short walk out of the building but Luka couldn't get to the fresh air soon enough. Leaning against the wall of the building, he lit a cigarette he had stored away for just such an occasion. A long drag as his shaking hand retreated to his side, and he began to calm.
"What are you doing up?"
Luka startled, then cleared his throat as Carter came around the corner, the hazy dawn sunlight sneaking from behind like a halo. "Can't sleep."
"Yeah, I can see that. You okay?"
"Sure." It wasn't convincing and he knew it. "Just a... just a dream. I don't know where that came from. Probably the beer." He half smiled then bit at his lower lip as he tried to cover his sudden anxiety of what, until now, had been fleeting and not quite so evil.
"Uh huh. And you're smoking?"
"Old habits die hard I guess." Luka noticed the stethoscope draped behind Carter's neck and took advantage of the segue. "We have a patient?"
"Just Sue Wiant. I traded a cot for Bob's SUV and took a blood sample over to the hospital in the village."
"By yourself?"
"No. I'm not that stupid. I took a soldier with me."
"Maggie would have sufficed," Luka had composed himself now as he poked fun at Carter.
"Her platelet count was 6,000."
"Six? She's a six?" Luka immediately thought about how they could possibly save this woman whose healthy platelet count should average around 300,000. Tossing the cigarette butt aside, he joined Carter on his walk to the Midway porch. "What the hell are we gong to do?"
"The only way is to transfuse her with packed platelets. She was a hard stick, but we finally established a line, thanks to a slick pedes nurse in there." Carter gently let Luka in on his secret. "She just finished her first unit. I've got two more waiting."
"Wait a minute. How did you do that? We don't have that here."
"Yeah… well… it's amazing what you can barter with around here. I, ah, gave them a dozen vials of the Cefotetan ADD-vantage packs. There should be more arriving in this morning's deliveries."
"That's it?" Luka knew there had to be more. With Carter, there usually is. "Blood products are pretty rare in these parts."
"Well, actually, I kind of loaned them me."
"You?"
"They're short docs, so I'm going to help out there when I can."
"Good morning bloaks," Sean belted out in a fuzzy morning voice, "Bob here tells me that you went for a spin last night, Carter."
"Yeah, well get me that VetScan unit and I won't have to do that anymore." This time Carter was glad to see Bob as he exited the hanger doors a few steps behind Sean. "Thanks Bob. How did you sleep?"
Bob grumbled a little and cleared his throat while combing his mostly disappeared hair with his fingers. That was about as much of an answer as Carter was going to get.
In through the gates came a semi truck with food, supplies, mail and enough muffler noise to awaken the rest of the camp. Maggie made it out in time to unload the meds and Toomay was excited to get her shipment of canned foods. Bob sat on the porch with his feet on the wobbly railing in his usual non-supervisory role.
Luka checked through what little actual mail had arrived and tossed a large white envelope to Carter with a wink. "Hey, I think our other special request came through."
The breeze picked up tossing Sean's hat into the swirling dust and dirt particles. Running to get ahold of it, he stopped short, turning instead to face the security gate in the distance. At the same time Bob rose to his feet as well, his eyes on the figure who entered the camp alone, on foot.