Chapter 53
Ginge gripped Yusuf's elbow and steered the lanky youth from the room. "Leave it to Indy," he cautioned in Pashtun. "Let's us get some chow on." He sensed the boy's hesitation.... Da'reek Raheen had been placed in his care by this ibn Sikander chap. "Tea," he said. "He'll need tea... water. The fever will dehydrate him. Understand?"
Yusuf nodded, and the pair diplomatically took themselves off to the kitchen, leaving Nick to deal with Derek.
"Let's get you into bed," the SEAL instructed his friend. "We need to have a look at that shoulder."
"No," Derek protested. "I'll sit here a while," he said, standing listlessly in the middle of the small room. "I'm OK.... Go eat.... See to yourselves.... You need to keep a close eye on that burn... and you've both been on those feet a long time. Check them and get some clean socks out of that supply room.... Then we'll get on with our search."
Diversionary tactics, Nick thought. "I'll get us both something to eat.... You need to eat too.... How about some soup?... We've got lots of canned borsht... or whatever it is?"
"Not hungry...." Derek's stomach lurched at the thought of food. He sat down heavily in the shabby armchair, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "...Just thirsty.... I'll bet Yusuf has the kettle on."
"Don't think I like the odds on that bet," Nick joked, trying hard to penetrate the wall that was going up. "Favors the house.... Yusuf's always got the kettle on." He placed two fingers on Derek's exposed carotid artery and shook his head... the pulse was too fast. There was a flutteriness to it. He again felt a shiver course through the precept's body. His voice grew serious. "Boss... you've gotta rest.... You said we got time.... You wanted us to rest for three days.... It's not even been two days, and you've had us out wandering around for hours.... Why the sudden rush?... Did you 'see' something?"
Derek looked up and firmly met the SEAL's concerned eyes. "It's... nothing," he stated.
Nick recognised that the barrier had slammed up.... The door had closed. "Right," he said as he draped a blanket over his friend. "I'm getting food.... After you've eaten, we'll check your shoulder and talk some more.... We haven't really had the chance to catch up, have we?"
"Nick!" the precept murmured. "Check out those computers. Check the serial numbers inside... on the chips... the mother board... in the systems and program files... anything that's left.... Look for... look for a sequence... 'AI-86'."
"What?..." the SEAL said, turning back in surprise. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.
Derek rubbed a shaking hand across his eyes and sighed, "Just look.... I'll explain later." He watched his friend leave, then sank back into the chair. His shoulder throbbed with heat. Not good, he thought. This place... the smell of recycled air and dank concrete... the claustrophobia... the disconnect with the outside world... not knowing day or night.... He prayed that was why his mind kept drifting towards West... otherwise....
Nick joined the others in the kitchen. He crinkled his nose at the powerful smell of fish. "Whew!... Sure that's safe?" he asked.
"Should be," Ginge replied, looking up from the pot he was stirring. "Figured we might be able to make some 'alf decent soup out of this canned stew, if we doctor it enough. Hope he likes fish?... How's he doin'?"
"He's worn out, but won't admit it.... It's that damned Dutch stubbornness."
They watched Yusuf pour the tea, take two cups, and head for the precept's room. "He wants us to check out the computers... for a number... AI-86."
"What?... Why?" The Brit asked, echoing Nick.
"How the hell do I know?" The SEAL said in frustration. "This is what I meant, when I said he pulls crap on me.... He's either known something all along... or he's 'seen'...." He hesitated, realizing his slip, then quietly added, "...something."
"'Seen' something?"
"Derek just gets really strong hunches," Nick quickly explained, "and they're right more often than not, but he plays his cards so damned close to his chest."
Ginge nodded thoughtfully. "Ri...ght... like with the minefield." Again, he wondered about these two... had to be CIA. Save for the now bubbling pot, the room remained silent for several moments. At last the Brit spoke, "Indy... let's leave him here," he suggested, as he poured tea for the two of them. "Yusuf can stay with him.... He's a good watchdog."
"You don't know the meaning of the word 'obstinate' until you've seen Derek Rayne in that mode," Nick warned. "He's worse than a pit bull with a bone. If he says he's going, he'll go till he drops."
With a bang, the door slammed open. Both soldiers instinctively reached for their sidearms. Yusuf spoke rapidly, grabbed Nick's arm, and dragged him towards the precept's room.
"What's he saying?" the SEAL asked.
"Can't understand," Ginge replied. "Talk slower," he said in Pashtun.
* * *
Nick rushed into the room, glanced quickly around, but failed to see his friend. Yusuf pointed to the bathroom, where Derek lay face down on the floor. The small room smelled of vomit.
Nick knelt down beside the older man, "Derek," he whispered, his fingers searching for a pulse. "Jesus... he's so hot. I shouldn't have left him."
Ginge read the fear on the SEAL's face, grabbed the first aid kit from where it lay on one of the footlockers, and crouched down beside the two men. "Pulse?" he asked, pulling out the blood pressure cuff, then searching the waterproof bag for the thermometer.
Nick met his eyes. "Fast.... He's completely out of it."
"Check his airway.... Put him in 'recovery'," the SAS man instructed. He waited while the SEAL worked, then slipped the digital thermometer beneath Derek's arm and wrapped the blood pressure cuff just below. While Nick disappeared into the bathroom, Ginge slipped the stethoscope into his ears, pumped the bulb to inflate the cuff, and listened for the beat as he watched the meter.
A moment later the SEAL returned with a wet wash cloth. First he cleaned Derek's face and beard, then laid it on his forehead while he checked the unconscious man's pupils. "They're reacting normally."
"Not the concussion, then." Ginge was relieved.... He'd feared the vodka he'd persuaded the other man to drink. "BP's high.... Pulse is fast. He's skipping beats," he said as he removed the cuff. The thermometer beeped. "Shit!" he exclaimed, looking at the read-out.... Let's get him into bed." The three men half-dragged, half-carried the precept into the bedroom. Yusuf...." The corporal turned to the Afghan. "Ice... snow... to cool him down."
Understanding what was required, the young man nodded and hurried away.
While Nick removed Derek's boots, Ginge undid his belt and pulled off his shirt. "I'll check his shoulder," he said, as he gently loosened the dressings. "Dammit!" he swore. He smelled the bandages and gently probed around the stitches. "We've got infection here." The SAS man reached for the antiseptic. "The erythromycin isn't cutting it... and we don't have much left anyway."
The SEAL glanced over at his friend's shoulder. He could see the pus; red streaks discolored the bruised skin even more. "Maybe it wasn't any good. He got it on the black market in Pakistan."
"Maybe," said the Brit. "Maybe the shots did the trick with us... or maybe it was a combo of the shots and the erythromycin.... Whatever.... We're gonna have to open it up... before the swelling tears the stitches... flush that crap out, and let it drain.... All I know is we're all gonna have a hellava time... 'cause Dutch's gonna get a whole lot sicker before he beats this... if he beats it," he added. Seeing the SEAL's face, he regretted giving voice to his fear.
Ginge sank back on his heels and, thinking, sucked at the gaps in his teeth. "I wish we had some maggots," he muttered, "or a boiled onion. Me mum used to use onion to draw poison, stingers, and such."
"Maggots?" Nick asked in disgust. "You gotta be kiddin'."
"No," Ginge replied, his tone serious. "I'm surprised you don't know.... Back in the old days, it was a soldier's remedy. They carried the little critters with them in boxes and fed them bits of rotten meat. Then when somebody got wounded and the wound went sour, they'd bind 'em up in the wound. The maggots would eat the infection, but leave the good tissue alone.... After they'd done their job, they'd pull 'em out, piss on the wound, and stitch it up. Then slap some honey on it, if they had any, tie it up, say a prayer, and that was that.... You lived or you died."
"It's still sick," the SEAL insisted. "Same as leeches.... Besides... where're we gonna get maggots in a snowstorm?"
"Hey," said the corporal, "modern medicine's using leeches on amputations... just like the field surgeons did back then."
"Whatever!" Nick said in frustration. "Derek!..." he called, leaning over the prone figure. "Boss?... Can you hear me?... Come on.... Wake up."
Yusuf returned with a bucket full of snow and several icicles. "Good man." Ginge smiled and patted the youngster on the back. "Tear the towels up and soak them in the snow," Ginge instructed Nick. "Lay them on his skin... at pulse points.... Should get his temperature down."
"I know...." Nick's memory replayed the scene in Wells Ward as he laid the cold cloths over Derek's body.
"Yusuf... sterilize these," the corporal said in Pashtun, as he handed the scissors and a few other items to the boy. "Like before... and we'll need hot water and more towels."
* * *
At last, Derek groaned. His eyelids fluttered. "Boss?..." Nick looked hopefully towards Ginge. "He's coming around."
"Looks like...." Ginge laid his fingers on Derek's neck. "Pulse is still fast." He glanced down at the hazel eyes that were appraising him. "Welcome back."
The SEAL restrained the older man as he tried to sit up. "Lie still.... How do you feel?... Want a drink?... Water this time.... Vodka don't agree with you," he joked.
Derek managed a wan smile, as Nick perched on the side on the bed. He held a glass to the precept's lips, while his other arm crept around Derek to offer support as he raised his head to sip the water.
"Finish it," Ginge ordered, "and take a pill." He handed Nick the packet that contained only about a dozen remaining pink tablets, then again slipped the thermometer beneath Derek's arm. The precept seemed not to notice. A moment later, the Brit met Nick's eye and gave an imperceptible shake of the head.
"What?..." Derek murmured.
"What happened?" Nick finished the sentence. "Yusuf found you out cold on the bathroom floor.... You're shoulder's infected.... Ginge had to open it up."
Derek sank back into the pillow, unable to focus his mind on anything. He fought down a surge of panic and nausea. He had to hold himself together.... He had to....
"Can you eat something?" Ginge offered. "Derek?..."
"Dammit!" he swore at himself.... "Leave me alone," the precept muttered, unable to keep his eyes open. "Sleep...."
"Might be the best plan," the redhead agreed. "Rest...." He looked up at Nick. "You and I can get back to those labs.... Yusuf can watch 'Dutch' here."
"I'll stay with him," Nick insisted. He read the question in his companion's eyes... and back-pedaled. "I've... well... we've been through stuff like this before.... I know what to expect.... The boy can't cope.... If Derek... if he gets delirious... or whatever...." The SEAL's voice trailed away. How could he explain Derek's "gifts" to the logical, British soldier? How could he explain the traps that lay there?
Startled, perplexed, Ginge looked over at Nick. He studied the SEAL's face, looked deeply into his eyes. "We need to talk," he said at last. "Yusuf... stay with Da'reek Raheen. Keep putting the cool cloths on to kill the fever, but the warm cloth goes on the wounds.... OK?... To draw the poison?" He looked into the boy's eyes to see if there was understanding.
The boy nodded. "OK...," he said seriously. "I have seen this done before," he explained. "Musa, our hakim, does this.... Our doctor," he added in English.
The two men returned to the kitchen. "Sit," Ginge ordered, determined to understand what was going on. He brought the kettle over to warm their tea, then slipped into a chair opposite Nick. "OK.... What's the problem here, Indy?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Yusuf will do just fine with Derek.... He's a good, capable kid.... All any of us can do is make sure the infection keeps draining out... apply compresses... get what's left of the antibiotics in him... and keep him from getting dehydrated. Hopefully, with rest, he'll be able to fight this off... and maybe with luck... considering what this place might be... maybe we'll find something to help him."
Nick remained silent. Everything the soldier was saying was the truth... except....
Ginge continued, "If you're worried about delirium... he's not got the strength left to get physical, and even if he did, the boy's in better shape to handle it than we are." He saw Nick's reluctance... read it in his dogged expression, in the nerve that twitched in his cheek... in the way he clinched and unclinched his fist, as if trying to reach a decision. "Look...," he battled on. "I know Derek's important to you.... Shit... I only just met him and I can see why... and I can guess why you're worried about his mental state.... What happened to him was a butcher's work... but us sitting on our arses won't help him.... We got a mission to finish."
"Without Derek there wouldn't be any mission," Nick quietly countered. "We'd be dead... or worse." He looked the other man square in the face. "Have you forgotten that!"
"'Course not!" Ginge snapped back. "He worked a bloody miracle... getting here... finding us... getting us out. I'll never forget that."
"Right!" Nick retorted. "He's the one that came through hell for us.... Now you want to leave him... when he needs us."
"He doesn't need us," the corporal reasoned. "He needs antibiotics, which we ain't got.... He needs someone to care for him.... Yusuf can do that."
Nick's eyes flared in anger. "So... he risks everything for us... and we piss off.... Gee!... Sorry, Derek... nothing we can do for you!"
"Come off it... Squid!" Ginge's voice rose in volume. "I'll tell you what we can do for him.... We finish this.... If I'm any judge of men, it's what he'd tell us to do... and you bloody well know it.... Hell, it's what he was trying to do.... We find the fuckin' 'nasties' and destroy 'em, if we can.... If we can't, then we get the information and 'Dutch' outta here.... 'Cause if we fuck up... and those murdering bastards get their hands on 'em, we can kiss our world good-bye."
"We got time," Nick weakly persisted. Christ!... He felt like a mealy-mouthed whiner, making a bunch of friggin' excuses... tap-dancing around the truth. "You and Derek agreed that there was time.... They'll never find us... not in a thousand years.... This place is perfect... food... shelter. Hell... that blizzard's still blowin' out there.... Derek said to rest three days.... It's not even been two.... Nobody can haul us out anyway.... We got time for him to regain control...."
The word hung in the air for a moment. "Control?" Ginge at last repeated. "He's got an infected shoulder... shrapnel wounds gone bad... or is there more?... Is this tied up with the looney bin business?... You're afraid he's going over the edge again.... What the fuck aren't you tellin' me?... I've figured out that you're CIA or something... and 'Dutch' must have got himself caught and worked over by a hellava pro... like I said... a butcher... every bit Nelson's match.... Where?... Iraq?... Chechnya?... Africa?... and you blame yourself.... I said I understood secrecy and 'need to know'.... Well, Yank... it's 'need to know' time... now."
Nick sighed heavily and scratched at his beard in aggravation. It irritated the hell out of him. Something else irritated him as well, he knew everything the soldier had said was right... but the thought of leaving Derek... again... as he had left him in Wells Ward... as he had failed him with West... gnawed at his soul, yet how could he break Derek's trust... or the Legacy's?... "Face it, Boyle.... Whatever you do will be the wrong thing," he muttered to himself.
"What?" Ginge asked.
"Sorry... just thinking out loud," the SEAL replied. To whom did he owe his loyalty?... The Legacy?... Fuck 'em?... They'd hung him and Derek out to dry more times than he could count.... To the SEALs?... Derek?... 'Fess up, Boyle.... He's where your loyalty lies.
Nick smiled to himself.... That's where his dilemma lay as well. Derek would find it inconceivable... disappointing and appalling... if he didn't put the mission first. So... to be true to the precept... he'd have to go against his own gut instinct... his own heart. It would have to be the game as Derek Rayne would play it... not Nick Boyle.
The decision made, Nick knew that Ginge and Yusuf would need to know what
could... and probably would... happen. What being around Derek Rayne could mean.
It was unfair and dangerous for all to keep them in the dark any longer. "OK.... I'm
callin' a 'Chinese Parliament'." He saw Ginge's blank look and remembered the
language gap. "SEAL-speak.... A meeting.... We'll talk," he said firmly. "But you'd
better break open a bottle of vodka.... You'll need it... and Yusuf has to be in on this....
He has to know what might happen.... What he could have to deal with."
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