Chapter 23

Memory & Desire

“ April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain. ”

- T. S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

"Where are they? You're sure. Right now?"

Mr. Melrose's deep bass voice brooked no interference, and Amanda was only grateful that whoever was on the other end of the line couldn't see the expression on his face.

*If they could see his face, they'd probably dig a hole and crawl in,* she thought reasoned.

Her boss was never someone to trifle with and right now he was holding onto his temper by sheer force of will. Looking at the fingers of his left hand, gripping the receiver so tightly that it seemed to become part of his fist, she realized she had never seen Billy Melrose so tense.

"Where is he?" Melrose's control was fraying with each delay. "You are absolutely sure?"

The corporate jet was taxiing into position outside the Logan International's main terminal. Its frustrated passengers needed and wanted to disembark immediately, and the standard procedures for doing so were taking, in all three of their opinions, entirely too much time. The transfer tunnels worked, and worked well, but they were slow and cumbersome.

A ground crew rolled a set of metal stairs up to the aircraft cabin door even as Billy Melrose fought to maintain contact with the security and tower staff via hand-held phone.

The big man nodded once, indicating that some of the information he'd requested had been verified and was being relayed to him.

Amanda watched in uncharacteristic near silence.

Her hair was brushed back from her face and her sweater drawn tightly over her shoulders. One hand held the front of it firmly together, as if she had forgotten how to button it.

"Cold?" Francine asked.

"No, just worried."

Francine Desmond understood. She reached around Amanda's thin shoulders and gave her an extemporaneous hug.

"He'll be okay."

Amanda nodded. She just wished she believed it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lights flashing and siren shrieking, the rescue truck pulled up at the double glass doors of the international quarantine area. Only very rarely did anyone arriving on a domestic flight require such medical care; it was much more likely that an overseas passenger would bring an unknown virus or bacterial strain into the country.

The double doors retracted automatically as the four-man crew of "medical personnel" hustled their patient into the building. Right behind them were the incapacitated man's brother and his friend. They had, at their own insistence, accompanied him all the way.

"Amanda?" The patient's voice was scarcely above a whisper. He forehead burned with fever and his entire body trembled.

One of the paramedics was already in contact with the closest hospital via two-way radio. They'd established that link as soon as they'd realized the gravity of the situation. From the rescue vehicle, that was really all they could do.

Permission was given to start an IV and saline solution drip. Blood was drawn and sealed in special containers. Almost immediately a courier was there to take it for analysis.

Hammoud watched the man hurry out of the glass-and-steel-enclosed medical facility. He began to worry. When they checked Lee Stetson's blood, the medical staff was sure to discover the drugs he and the others had been giving the helpless man. Fear sweat damped his armpits. This was not good. Not good at all.

More medical personnel blocked Hammoud's view of his prisoner, the man for whom was responsible. They moved his 'brother,' gurney and all, down a short hall and into a private room. Hammoud turned away. There was nothing he could do right now and no place Lee Stetson was going. The worried man found a reasonably comfortable looking chair next to the Palestinian 'friend' that had undertaken to transport Lee Stetson with him. He sat down heavily.

"What else could possibly go wrong?" he wondered aloud, but so softly that only his compatriot heard him.

"That!" the other man whispered back.

Looking up, Hammoud noted a local police officer being fitted with a sterile suit. The disposable plastic garment fit poorly over the man's uniform, but it would allow him to enter the quarantine area without fear of contamination.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Yes, Mr. Melrose." The female Agency operative posing as a 'paramedic' spoke into a hand-held phone. "We have him."

There was a pause as Billy Melrose apparently passed that information on to those accompanying him. Then the man was back with more questions.

"Yes, sir. His right arm is in a cast of sorts, quite possibly broken. No, sir. I do not have that information yet. No, sir. He is not cognizant of much at this time. I believe the term they're using is 'non-responsive.'"

"Oh, my God…" the woman's voice trailed off leaving Billy asking questions of 'dead air.'

The medical team had cut away the tacky blue polyester and permanent press to reveal scars and untreated wounds. Some of them had obviously reopened and were bleeding now. Manhandling him out of the airplane, they had not been aware of the extent of the damage he's already suffered. She hoped the doctor they'd been informed was 'en route' got here soon. In trying to help him, she realized how much additional harm they had done.

"I'll have to get back to you, sir." She cut the connection.

* * * * * * * * * *

Delta commuter flight 229 taxied up outside the quarantine area. One by one, its passengers were led into the medical facility. Each was quickly checked for fever or other symptoms and sent to an appropriate waiting area.

Most had no symptoms whatsoever. A few, the hypochondriacs, invented some unique ones. And one or two showed possible signs of real colds or a flu-like illness. If there really was any illness to deal with, they and the young man believed to be the 'carrier' were the ones the medical people needed to be concerned about. Each of the 'suspect' newcomers was immediately assigned a bed, albeit not in the same area as Lee Stetson.

There was 'no' disease. There never had been, unless the terrorists had infected Lee with one, but Billy knew this was the surest and hopefully safest way to contain these people.

Walking into the cordoned-off area, Melrose was immediately met by a medical technician with a 'sterile suit.' Sometimes his own good ideas came back to bite him. He donned it quickly and stepped through a private door that allowed him immediate access to his Agent.

Lee was surrounded by four real paramedics and a doctor the Agency kept on-call for emergencies. The man had made excellent time getting there. Melrose wondered if they'd used a medical evacuation helicopter to bring him in.

The two paramedics from the first response rescue team had been supplemented by two others from regular airport staff, and the two 'quasi-paramedics' had taken up position as the security they, in reality, were. One guarded each door to the small room. The doctor was clearly in charge.

A monitor beeped quietly on the far side of the gurney recording heartbeats that were anything but regular and strong. Fluids, including a general antibiotic, dripped from three separate intravenous bags. Somewhere in the midst of all of it was 'Scarecrow.'

Billy Melrose closed his eyes and made what he knew would be an unpopular decision. He didn't want either Francine or, especially, Amanda to see him like this.

"How is he?" Billy asked quietly.

"Alive."

"That bad?"

"That bad." The doctor was an older gentleman with a short, neat beard and dark brown hair streaked with gray. He'd worked with the Agency for a long time and did not 'sugar-coat' his diagnoses. "We need to figure out exactly what they've given him, so we know how to counteract it. His temperature's high…too high. Normally, I'd wait for the blood work, but I've authorized a broad-spectrum antibiotic already. If we can get the 'infection' under control, the fever should break."

The doctor ran his fingers back through thinning hair. This wasn't going to be an easy one.

"I can't begin to guess when the last time he ate was. He's showing classic symptoms of starvation. He's dehydrated, and I'd guess lacking some vital minerals. It's bad. His body nearly shut down on that plane… completely. We're 'lucky' he's alive at all."

Billy Melrose nodded. They had Lee back. He wished he felt 'lucky.'

* * * * * * * * * *

Passengers and crew from Delta flight 229 waited with ill-concealed impatience. They had places to be, people to meet, meetings to chair, and deals to close. This was ridiculous.

Security declared it was no such thing.

Flight attendants did their best to calm fears and ruffled feathers. One passenger, an Arab identified on the passenger manifest as 'M. Sadr,' produced a diplomatic passport and demanded to be released immediately. Sadly for Mr. Sadr, medical emergencies overrode even such diplomatic privileges.

A few businessmen used the provided telephone service to inform their colleagues of the situation. Most just waited.

Frank Syperski made himself as inconspicuous as possible. Once they were on the ground, Sadr had disassociated himself from the medic as quickly as possible, but that didn't mean that someone else wasn't watching him. He knew that. Nervously, he picked at the cuticle on one of his fingernails and wished he could have a cigarette. He couldn't. Large signs proclaimed this a no-smoking area for the very good reason that oxygen could be, might be in use.

He pushed himself away from the wall and headed for the nearest flight attendant. He'd stalled long enough. If he was going to be any help, he had to do something now. If he waited any longer it might be too late.

* * * * * * * * * *

Billy Melrose sat alone in the terminal waiting area. He'd sent Amanda King and Francine Desmond to check on the other passengers on Lee's flight. They'd already identified two of them as suspected terrorists—Palestinian sympathizers. That was good, but they had more checking to do.

Billy felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up from a cup of cooling coffee. It was the physician who was attending 'Scarecrow.'

"We've got a break."

"What? What happened? The blood work come back already?"

Billy Melrose glanced at his watch and began following the doctor back to the quarantine area.

"Blood work isn't back yet, but…" the doctor pointed to a young man standing with one of the flight attendants just inside the door to Lee's room, "…he's been monitoring your agent through everything apparently, and he's just come forward now." The doctor registered the look of abhorrence on Melrose's face. "According to the flight attendant, he told her that he was a medic in 'Nam. I don't know what the kidnappers are holding over him, poor sod, but they've obviously been blackmailing him into helping them. He's pretty disgusted with himself and sick of the whole business. My advice would be to accept his help…."

"Does he know what they gave Lee?"

"Yeah, he does."

Billy drew a deep breath and walked up to the obviously frightened and uncomfortable man. He squared his shoulders. This man was helping them. Whatever else had come before, now he was on their side. He held out his hand.

"Thank you."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," the flight attendant addressed the assembled passengers. "It has been determined that there is 'no' health hazard. If you will let the representatives at the door know your anticipated destination, transportation will be provided and connecting flights arranged where necessary. Thank you for flying with us, and we apologize for the delay."

A smattering of applause from the group met the announcement.

Mahmoud Sadr pushed his way toward the front of the queue. He was the third one through the door.

"Destination?" a petite, polite lady in a Delta staff uniform asked quietly.

"I will make my own arrangements. Thank you." He moved to push past her.

"You're sure we can't help in some way?" Amanda King raised her large brown eyes sincerely. Under the brim of the Delta staff cap, they looked even larger than normal.

"I will be fine." He pushed forward again.

"If you insist." She stepped back and allowed him to pass.

At the next doorway, he was met by four burly Agency operatives who both knew and liked Lee Stetson.

"I have 'diplomatic immunity,'" he began reaching for his passport and papers.

Amanda King relinquished her post at the door over to the Delta staff person whose job it actually was. She turned her back on the protesting man and his escort and walked down the corridor to where she knew Billy Melrose would be waiting. In her left pocket rested a diplomatic passport and a small sheaf of papers that should prove very interesting indeed.

Sadr would walk away. They couldn't stop that, but they could and would track all of his contacts from now until he did so. It would take some time to replace a 'diplomatic passport.' There were some things she was good at. She grinned for just a moment and sobered quickly.

Now, if they would only let her see Lee.

End of Chapter 23

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