Chapter 11

''Oh, God...'' Michael murmured as he leaned over the stretcher to tend to his patient - and saw the drill bit embedded in her leg.

Medics had begun tending to all three victims before the chopper had even left the ground. Steve's left arm had been immobilized, he'd been given a pain shot and he leaned now against the wall of the chopper, as close as he could get to Jaime without getting in the way of Michael and the medics. His arm would have to wait for treatment until they reached the Surgical Unit at National, since Michael's practiced eye had instantly spotted the compound fracture. Small, but there - and potentially serious - a piece of bone was protruding just slightly through the skin a few inches above his elbow. (He had probably braced himself - hard- to lessen the impact of sliding into Jaime, to avoid hurting her...and injured himself terribly for the effort.) Surgery would correct it and with a careful eye to prevent any infection (and depending on the other injuries his captors may have inflicted), Steve would be alright.

Russ had not regained consciousness while they loaded him onto a stretcher and carried him into the medevac chopper. He had so many cuts and bruises that it was impossible to tell where injuries from crashing the car left off and where the working-over he'd received from the terrorists began. As the medics began cleaning the blood from his face, Russ began to thrash and tried to fight them off. ''I'm only the driver!'' he said, not really awake. "I don't know anything, so do your worst..." He was still muttering the same when the second shot (it took two) calmed him and his body was still enough for the medics to continue. Michael issued instructions for his care to the medics and turned his attention to Jaime.

That was when he saw the drill bit. He thought it best to leave the care of Jaime's leg to Rudy who - at Michael's insistence - was waiting for the chopper back at National. They'd had no way of knowing what sort of situation they'd face when they arrived where they'd been summoned (the chopper could potentially even have fallen under attack) and Michael didn't want any unnecessary risk to the older doctor's heart. It appeared that several holes had also been drilled in her leg and Rudy's expertise would indeed be required.

Besides, with Jaime, Michael had far more urgent issues to attend to. She had a contusion with a corresponding cut just above her left temple. The swelling was minor (definitely present though) but bruising and discoloration had spread out around it like a terrible, macabre fan. It had obviously been a hard, concussive blow. ''Did she hit the side window?'' he asked Steve, ''or did they hit her?''

''I think her head hit the window; it happened so fast. I didn't see that bruise when we got out of the car, but -''

''You probably wouldn't have, not at first. What about later; was she -'' even as a doctor, he had trouble saying the word, when it pertained to Jaime, ''...beaten?''

''Not that I know of. But I can't say what might've happened in the car, on the way to the house. And they did throw her to the floor pretty rough...'' Steve knew that the worst of what had happened to Jaime had been done not to her body...but to her mind. ''Is she...alright?''

''I don't know,'' Michael admitted. He'd brought coumadin with him, to hold off any potential blood clots - but if she'd suffered any internal injuries during her ordeal the blood thinner could cause a catastrophe. Jaime needed x-rays, a brain scan, monitoring for intracranial pressure; a full work-up. For now, the best he could do was try to keep her stable and comfortable until they reached the hospital. ''I just...don't know,'' he repeated, then turned to call over to the pilot. ''What's our ETA to National?''

Back at the house, Oscar and Jack waited outside, coordinating the effort, while their combined agencies swarmed into the house. The teams found the attic door still jammed into place, exactly as Steve had told Oscar he'd left it. After creating a reinforced makeshift ladder, they pulled the trap door down and climbed up into the attic.

Oscar's datacom sputtered to life. ''We've got a problem!'' one of the OSI men called. ''Send all units that are still outside around the back of the house! Now!''

Oscar ran around to the back along with his men...and stopped short, cursing and not caring who heard him. A small, thin rope ladder (an old-fashioned 'fire ladder) extended from the attic window to nearly reach the ground. The next words over the datacom ''Two down and secured up here, Sir,'' barely made any difference.

Michael braced Jaime's stretcher (and the medics braced Russ's) while the chopper descended to the landing pad. Jaime's eyes fluttered open as her stretcher was placed on a gurney and wheeled inside. ''Where's...Steve?''

''Right here, Sweetheart,'' he answered, keeping right up alongside her as they rushed her down the hall.

''We...did it...didn't we?''

''We sure did, Partner.''

''Oscar...knows?''

''Yup.''

For a brief moment (as that was all that could be spared before Michael and Rudy began tending to her), Jaime reached for Steve's hand...and they shared a fleeting but triumphant smile.