Chapter Eleven

Just over two hours later, at 8:00 PM, Barbara was in the recovery area, and Dr. Ramirez reported to McCall that the surgery was successful. As soon as they were sure she was stable, they would move her to a room on the third floor, the doctor told him.

By this time Garcia had arrived at the hospital, so he heard that Barbara was in recovery, too. He had a lot of questions for Mrs. Robert McCall, and he wanted to ask them as soon as possible, maybe even tonight.

"Robert, the German embassy called just after you left the hotel. They're sending a man down tomorrow. We're meeting at 10:00. I need to talk to her before then."

"Alonzo, come on, let her rest. She's been shot, had surgery. Let her at least sleep the night."

"Only if I can talk to her tomorrow before the German gets here, Robert. Will you guarantee that?"

"How can I guarantee it, Alonzo? For God's sake, anything could happen between now and tomorrow," McCall said, exasperated.

"You know what I mean, Robert. If she's able to talk, of course."

McCall could just hear what Barbara would say if she knew he was speaking for her, as if he were her keeper. No matter, he had to do it. "All right, all right. Come at 9:00."

Garcia didn't think 9:00 would give them enough time, but he relented. "OK, 9:00. See you then."

A half hour later, Barbara was in her private room on the third floor, and McCall was seated beside her bed.

Barbara opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was McCall. She smiled. Sometimes she thought she had only dreamed him, and often when she awoke and found he was really there, it was an unexpected but treasured gift. One of her arms was attached to an IV, but she reached out the other and touched him, as if making sure he was real.

"Hello, my dear," McCall told her. "How are you feeling?"

"Hum…," Barbara said. She was still very fuzzy from the anesthetic.

"Dr. Ramirez said that the surgery went well. The bullet's out, there's no major organ damage, and they got the bone fragment out fine."

"Hum…, good," Barbara was able to say.

"I'm going to stay here for a while until everything's settled, then I've got to take care of some things. Is that OK with you?"

"Hum…yes." She'd rather he stayed, but it wasn't possible, so she had to let him go. Soon she was asleep again, and McCall left, planning to deal with the weapons in her car, to keep evidence against Barbara out of Garcia's reach.

At first Barbara slept well, exhausted and drugged as she was. The man known as Karl Frenzel kept trying to force his way back into her mind; he might be dead, but in spirit, he still haunted her. She resisted him, turning this way and that. The wound yelled: Stop. The pain woke her.

Looking shakily around, she saw that she had broken the IV line. Oh, shit, that's not good, she told herself. Trying to pull herself together, she thought: Call the nurse, that's what you should do. All you have to do is push the button. The door opened, and she wondered if she'd already pushed the button but didn't remember. A beam of light from the doorway illuminated part of the room, and someone walked in. It must be the nurse, come to fix the IV, she supposed.

As the person was approaching the bed, and she could see him more clearly, Barbara stiffened in fear. It was not the nurse. It was Carlos Costa, and he was holding a hypodermic needle.

Her senses deadened from drugs and the surgery, Barbara didn't immediately react. She couldn't think what to do. If he got close, she didn't have enough strength to stop him. She fought against panic. She could only think of one thing to do.

When he got closer to the bed, she screamed as loudly as she could and rolled away from him. She fell on the floor, pulling the bedside table and everything on it down with her. It made a huge crash, one she was sure they could hear at the nurses' station. She was also sure that she had torn open the wound; it hurt like hell.

Costa swore, threw down the needle, pulled out his gun, ran around the bed to where Barbara lay on the ground, and pointed it at her. Just then the door opened, and a nurse started to turn on the light.

"Gun," Barbara called out. "Get out!"

The nurse let the door fall closed as Costa shot in her direction. Barbara didn't know if she was hit. She had other things to worry about.

Costa turned to her and pointed the gun, snarling: "Damn you, bitch, I am going to enjoy shooting you."

"How are you going to get out, if you shoot me?" Barbara struggled to get her mind working beyond the panic and the pain. "They know you're here. If you kill me, you'll never get out alive."

Costa knew she was right. She had ruined his plan. Well, instead of dying now, she could be his hostage; that just might work, he reckoned. He didn't like it, but he hadn't survived this long without being flexible.

"Very well. We'll postpone your death for a few hours, my dear lady."