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Chapter 12
"Do something!" Ruth screamed at the paramedics.
The paramedics intubated Harry and one began assisted respiration while the other pumped his chest.
"One, two, three," said the one pressing into Harry's chest cavity.
"Breathe," said the one pumping the bag attached to the intubation tube.
Ruth watched in horror as they repeated the process three or four times.
"It's not working," the second paramedic stated flatly.
The lead paramedic grabbed the portable defibrillator, turned it on, squeezed gel on the paddles and waited until it was ready.
"Clear!"
He hit Harry's bare chest with the paddles sending 200 joules into his body. Ruth felt tears begin to fall as she watched in terror as Harry's body jumped with the volts sent through him. And still the electrodes connected to the EKG showed a flatline. The paramedic with the paddles increased the juice to 250.
"Clear!"
He hit Harry again with the paddles sending the man's body flailing from the shock of electricity.
Ruth covered her mouth with her hands in a vain attempt to stifle a sob, "Oh God…"
The paramedic increased the juice to 300.
"Clear!"
He hit Harry once more and this time the EKG began to blip.
"We've got v-tach," said the second paramedic.
The one with the paddles put them down and the one bagging Harry's intubation tube continued to pump air into his lungs. The lead paramedic quickly pushed an ampule of epi into the IV line. He looked over at the other paramedic.
"Much too close."
Ruth stifled another sob, terrified that for the second time in a week she was going to be forced to watch Harry die.
"Sorry, Miss…"
"P-Pearsall, Mrs. Robert Pearsall…"
"Ah, I take it this is Mr. Pearsall?"
Ruth looked down at Harry. "Yes, yes it is."
Beth used her key and Lucas followed her into Ruth's house.
"Ruth?" Beth called, "Ruth, are you here?"
There was no answer. Lucas and Beth quickly ascertained that there was no one and nothing out of place downstairs, at least until they found drops of blood on the floor near the stairs. Lucas took the stairs two at a time, gun drawn, quietly following the blood on the floor. It led him to Ruth's bedroom. Lucas quietly indicated for Beth to follow him, and together they entered the room, guns at the ready for action. They were not prepared for the sight that greeted them.
"Oh God," Beth breathed heavily. "What in the hell…"
"Looks like someone lost a lot of blood..."
The bed was a disheveled mess. On the floor was a bloodied duvet, and what looked like a man's black field outfit, also full of blood. The bathroom had bloodied surgical instruments in the sink, and in the middle of it all sat a Jack Russell terrier, who was on the bed, whimpering. Lucas looked at the dog.
"Harry's dog?" Lucas asked.
"Apparently," Beth responded, Tariq told me Ruth picked her up this morning and brought her over here.
"Odd…"
"What is?"
"Most Jack Russell's would avoid a room filled with items covered in human blood; they're bred to flush out small rodents or other game. And if the owner of those bloodied clothes on the floor was an intruder who forced Ruth to help him, this dog would not have just sat here while it happened."
"Why is she whimpering?"
"Don't know, she doesn't look hurt," Lucas commented. His brow furrowed. "Let's get the clothes and a sample of the blood on the duvet back to the Grid and get it analyzed."
"What about Ruth?"
"Let's see if the local CCTV footage can tell us anything."
Ruth continued to twist the frayed tissue in her hand, occasionally dabbing at the tears that refused to stop falling. The trauma waiting room was packed with people waiting; waiting to be seen by doctors and waiting for people who were being treated. But Ruth was the only one who was there alone. She had kept the feelings of loneliness and self-doubt tucked as far away as possible, locked away somewhere with her feelings for Harry; but if she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit to the terror that had stricken her broken heart at the sight of him fighting for his life. It had petrified Ruth to the core. She couldn't go through the pain of losing him again.
She glanced at the clock on the wall; what was taking so long?
Beth walked slowly toward Lucas' desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. He looked up and noticed her pallor and that her hands were shaking.
"Beth? Beth what is it?"
"The blood, Lucas," she swallowed hard, "the DNA match…"
"Who is it?"
She looked at him, a mixture of relief and confusion in her eyes. "Harry's."
He took the paper from her, and Tariq, having overheard, stood and walked over to join them.
"This is impossible," Lucas breathed. "I was standing right there, holding his hand. Harry's gone." He felt a sickness beginning to spread from his stomach upward, and he swallowed it down, hard. "Who in the hell in the lab thought that this was a funny joke?"
Beth touched his arm. "Lucas, they checked it three times because they thought it had to be a mistake. There is no mistake. It's his." She looked into his tortured eyes. "That would explain," she said softly, "why Ruth wasn't there and why the dog was whimpering on the bed."
"But why wouldn't Ruth have at least told us?" Tariq said, hurt to the core.
"That's a good question, and one that I intend to have answered. Tariq—" Lucas started.
"—I'm on it," the young man said, "I'll check all hospitals in the area." Tariq hesitated as he sat down at his desk, and looked back at Lucas. "She wouldn't have used Harry's real name…"
"No, given that Ruth neglected to tell us that he was even alive leads me to suspect that's true." He looked at Beth. "I've never known Harry to use a legend; his field days were before my time. Can you check the files for all the aliases he's used over the years?"
"Yes." She leaned in and quietly asked, "Why Lucas? Why would Harry have faked his own death to us? He had to have known that it would be…difficult on the team." She looked into his blue eyes. "And Ruth? Do you think Ruth knew all along?"
"No, Ruth is good, but she's not that good. The tears we saw were real." He pursed his lips. "Harry would only have done something this drastic on the orders of someone very high up; and I think I know who that someone is…"
"The home secretary?" Beth asked.
"Uh-huh. He's been very cagey through all of this…"
"It must have been one bloody hell of a clandestine operation that Harry was on," Beth surmised.
"A black op most likely," Lucas offered.
And then they looked at each other.
"Oh Lucas, you don't suppose…"
"Yes actually, I do. It would explain why at Van Deert's house the assassin fired warning shots at us instead of just killing us."
"Then that means that one of us shot him, Lucas."
"I'm afraid it does, Beth."
"The amount of blood at Ruth's…"
"Wherever he is," Lucas stated, "he's in bad shape."
The doors to the trauma room opened and a nurse with a clipboard stepped out.
"Pearsall? Mrs. Robert Pearsall?"
Ruth stood. "Here."
"Follow me, please."
Ruth nervously followed the woman who stopped next to a doctor. "Dr. Allen?" The man in the white coat turned round to face them, and the nurse continued, "This is Mrs. Pearsall, her husband's the one in ten…"
"Oh yes, yes," Allen looked Ruth over and could easily see the worry and fear on her face. "Mrs. Pearsall, sorry to meet under these circumstances. Your husband is stable—"
"—Oh thank God," Ruth sighed as fresh tears of relief streamed down her face.
The doctor put a steadying hand on her elbow. "You all right?"
"Yes, yes, please go on, I'm sorry…"
Allen had spoken with many spouses and family members and had become an adept judge of both character and the nature of most relationships. While he sincerely doubted that the woman had told the truth about being married to the man, or for that matter, given real names, he could easily see the depth of love this woman held for his patient– that, at least, was the truth.
"As I was saying," the doctor picked-up, "Mr. Pearsall is stable, and we're watching him closely. We'll be transferring him up to a bed shortly." He shuffled his feet and swallowed, "Erm, there is one thing that I need to ask you, however…" Ruth stared at the man, waiting, and finally he continued, "He suffered a gun shot wound sometime in the past 24 hours, which was stitched up, rather poorly I might add… I'm afraid the police will have to be called."
Ruth thought quickly through her options and chose one. She pulled her security services ID from her bag and handed it to him.
He looked at it and then at her. "MI-5…I might have known." Off her curious look he finished, "You're the only ones daft enough to try and perform medical procedures on your own to avoid moments like these."
Ruth felt anger bubble up, but she stuffed it back down; she needed this man to agree to her terms. "Dr. Allen," she said softly, "this is a matter of national security. That man in there is a very important man within British security services—"
"—But not really your husband…"
He read the sadness in her eyes as she admitted, "No, no he's not." Then she continued, "That's not…that's not the important part," Ruth struggled to maintain her balance; it was as if this doctor could see right through her. "As I was saying, he is very important, and yes, I was the one who attempted to take care of him so that we could avoid this very moment." She narrowed her eyes at the man. "I need to know that you can be trusted, Dr. Allen. His life is still in danger if it becomes public knowledge that he's here."
"Is this the part where you make me sign a promissory note of the securities act?"
"Erm," she swallowed, "well, yes, normally that is what I would ask you to do…b-but in this case, I just need you to keep up the appearance that he is my husband and that his name is Robert Pearsall, not call the police, and I need you to pretend that this conversation never took place."
He could see she was flustered, and if he was any judge of people at all, he guessed it was because she was actually in love with the man he knew as Robert Pearsall. "Very well, Ms… erm, Mrs. Pearsall. You should know that I took the time to remove all the stitches that were there and put in proper new ones. We have put him on an intravenous drip of morphine and the antibiotic biaxin since he is allergic to penicillin and its derivatives." The doctor smiled kindly. "Would you like to see him?"
"Oh yes, yes I would." She touched his forearm softly. "Thank you, Dr. Allen, thank you for everything."
"This way, Mrs. Pearsall…"
TBC