Wouldn’t stop him tonight, though. It couldn’t. Not with so many lives at risk while those in power twiddled their thumbs or maybe worse. He stuck a hand in his pocket, feeling for the folded paper Shackleton had given him earlier. Still there.
Cole felt bad for the Navy security guard standing watch outside his room. He was going to take a lot of crap when someone finally realized what happened. Of course, no one ever actually said Cole was supposed to stay under strict confinement—there was a whole other ward of the hospital for those patients—but it was pretty clear that this was Howard’s intent.
Retired General Howard.
How’d I manage to get on his bad side?
Sure, the mission into Virunga didn’t turn out quite as planned, but a lot of good had come of it, too. So why was he being punished for this?
Cole walked back to the door and popped his head outside.
“Hey man, mind if I close this? I’m having a tough time sleeping in here.”
The poor kid looked momentarily startled, as if he’d been caught daydreaming. He must have been just about the twins’ age. Chase and Anna were only a few miles away, but Cole hadn’t been able to see—or warn—them yet. If everything went according to plan, that would soon change. The young sailor stood up straight. “No problem, sir. Make my job even easier.”
Simple enough. Cole closed the door gently and waited a couple of agonizing minutes just in case the kid changed his mind.
Nothing.
He climbed into his high-tech hospital bed and pulled the hanging curtain all the way around it. They’d have to have a pretty good reason to disturb him before the morning vitals check.
And by that time, he’d be long gone.
Cole stood on the bed and placed one foot onto the heavy-duty headboard covered with outlets and attachments of every kind. It held him easily. The styrofoam ceiling tile felt almost weightless in his hand as he lifted it up and over into the crawl space above. Was this really as easy as they always made it look in the movies?
No time like the present to find out.
He hoisted himself up onto the top of the wall separating his room from the next one over. The crawl space was about three feet tall—plenty of room to maneuver, if he could just find a way through the maze of oxygen tubing, electrical wiring, and central air ducts. And avoid putting a hand or knee down in the wrong spot, of course. That would make for an unpleasant surprise for some poor old lady sleeping in another room.
Cole pulled his legs up and leaned over the open hole looking down on his bed. Silence. He carefully lifted the tile from its temporary resting spot and replaced it back in its original position. Perfect.
Now to get his bearings. The outer wall of the building made for a hard stop about fifteen feet in front of him, but back over his shoulder and on either side the space seemed to go on almost indefinitely. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the trip into the hospital that afternoon. The entrance to this unit was a ways off to the left, he was sure about that, with an elevator lobby just beyond it. If he could just make it there, past the nurses’ station to the lobby beyond, he’d be in the clear.
He slowly turned around until he was facing in the opposite direction, toward the hallway. At least he knew he’d have a solid wall beneath him to follow all the way out. One hand up and over a tight coil of wires, then the other one, and finally the legs, always careful to gently test the surface before letting his weight down on top of it.
It was slow going, but not difficult. The most important thing was to minimize any sounds that might be detected by his guard or a passing nurse in the hall. This wasn’t like the old cabin on the ranch, where strange noises in the ceiling were expected and best ignored.
It opened up a little bit at the intersection where his room hit the hall. The careful turn was just about complete when his left knee came down too hard right on the edge of the framing. The adjacent tile shifted slightly, and with it a harsh crunching sound of styrofoam on metal.
Crap
. It sounded like a train whistle in Cole’s ears and set his heart racing. He froze and started counting. Sixty. One-twenty. At three hundred seconds, and with no indication that anyone below was any wiser to his efforts, he started to move again. Even slower now, and more deliberate, if that were possible.
Twenty minutes passed before he got to the massive bank of elevator shafts piercing through the crawl space. He found what looked to be a far corner above the lobby and gently lifted one tile up a few inches.
It was empty, and the door into his unit was closed. Sweet relief. More quickly now, he moved the tile all the way to the side, turned around, and lowered himself most of the way down through the hole. One more check over his shoulder, and he dropped to the floor. He punched the elevator call button and watched the numbers steadily rise. Almost there. What would he say if his favorite nurse happened to be coming off a snack break, riding that same elevator back to her floor? That wouldn’t do—no reason to risk an awkward confrontation until it was absolutely necessary.
The door to the stairwell was just around the corner, and Cole was already at the next landing before it closed behind him. It felt good to be on the move, warming up muscles that had been confined too long. He flew down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, watching the floor numbers decrease until finally he was at the lobby level. The original plan had been to walk right out the front entrance, but as he looked down at the blue scrubs and white disposable slippers they’d given him, he began to question that decision. Sometimes the best disguise was no disguise at all, and at some hospitals it might have worked. Not at Walter Reed, though. There would be more security guards at the entrance, and the slippers especially might raise some eyebrows. Much to his annoyance, there’d been no sign of his own clothes or gear anywhere in his room, but at least they’d returned a little Ziplock bag with his wallet in it.
No, there had to be another way.
He continued down two more levels until the stairs ended in the bowels of the building. The door opened onto a darker hallway, and the thick scent of industrial laundry detergent filled Cole’s nose.
This might work.
The first door off the hallway opened into a large room filled with tall shelves stacked high with clean linens. A long row of super-sized washers and dryers stood silent against one wall. But what about the stuff that was just too far gone to wash? There had to be some way to get rid of it, along with all the other thousands of pounds of trash produced every day in a hospital of this size.
He backtracked to the hall and followed it to the end. A thin line of bright light was visible under wide double doors.
Integrated Waste Management Department
. This was more like it. Every warehouse needed a loading bay, and that meant a way out.
The door opened easily into a tall-ceilinged warehouse that smelled surprisingly clean given its function. It was quiet, but not silent. The soft thuds and rustling of garbage being sorted echoed in the empty space.
Cole slid inside and moved quickly into the shadow of an enormous trash compactor. The noises continued unchanged. So far so good. He crept to the edge and looked around. There it was, just fifty feet away—a tall overhead door and beat-up iron ramp leading out to where the trucks must come to pick up their loads.
“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”
Cole did his best not to jump. He turned around to find an older Asian man staring up at him, a skeptical expression on his face.
“Oh, good,” Cole started. Time to think fast. He extended a hand. “I’m Dr. Davis, one of the new residents up in surgery.”
The man just stood there.
“Can you tell me where I could find the regular trash collected this evening?” Cole said, trying his best to project acute embarrassment. “Think I tossed my ID badge along with whatever I didn’t finish for dinner.”
The man visibly relaxed. “Which floor?”
“Third,” Cole guessed.
“Over here.”
Cole followed him past the loading dock to a series of dumpsters along the same outer wall.
“Probably this one,” the man said, pointing, “but you sure this is worth it?”
“I’ll give it a try anyway. Don’t worry about helping me—I know you probably see enough of this stuff as it is.”
The man didn’t move as Cole lifted the top and started pulling bags out. Once he had a nice collection of them, he tore into the top of one and started sifting through the contents with both hands. It was mostly filled with plastic wrapping and a few empty water bottles—so much for the recycling program. Not too bad yet. The second one was a little worse, with sticky food containers and a few used tissues. Did people really get that sick in the heat of summer?
Finally, the man gave him a nod and walked away. Cole didn’t wait long, only ripping through a couple more bags before deciding it was time to make his move. The regular door beside the loading dock was locked, just like he expected. Only the night manager would have a key, and Cole had no intention of seeing him again. But the overhead loading door itself hadn’t made it all the way down to the ramp, and he could feel a draft coming through the remaining six inches or so as he lowered himself down.
It would be tight, but definitely worth a try.
His left arm and most of the leg went easily, but that was it. Was there any give at all? He drew his arms under him and started to press against the ramp, lifting his back up into the hard edge of the door.
There it was, a slight shift, and then the door began to move. Cole slid under it the rest of the way and dropped over onto the concrete.
Free at last.
The loading area was lit, but there was no one around. Cole took off at a fast walk around the side of the building, sticking to the shadows, and within minutes he reached the complex’s front security entrance. It was much easier to get off of a military installation than onto it, and he planned to take full advantage of that. Now the scrubs might be an asset—he was just another tired doctor who didn’t feel like changing, heading out to catch the Metro home after a late shift at the hospital.
The gate guards didn’t even glance at him. Or at least they didn’t say anything. Cole didn’t look back to find out, but continued down the sidewalk until he came to the intersection with Rockville Pike. The entrance to the Medical Center Metro station welcomed him from across the street, and he didn’t wait for the crosswalk.
Cole almost flew down the two long escalators, only slowing when he came into view of the ticket area. It was Saturday night, so the trains were running late, but the deserted space proved this place wasn’t much of a hot spot for the D.C. party scene.
Two old pay phones were tucked away against the wall beside the ticket machines. He’d waited a long time for this.
Cole pulled the folded paper out of his chest pocket and opened it up. A phone number, that was it. He just hoped whoever was on the other end wouldn’t mind accepting the collect call.
“This is Morgan.” A woman’s voice. Didn’t sound like she was sleeping.
“Hi.” Cole paused. “I was given this number by Dr. Bill Shackleton from the CDC. He seemed to think you might be able to help me.”
You sure we won’t run into any cops over here?” Haddad whispered. He looked across the wooded glade separating their parking spot from the low red brick structure in the distance. Seemed like a long way to go, especially lugging the two heavy containers at his feet.
“I’m sure,” Adel said. He closed the truck’s door quietly and lifted his own fertilizer drums. “I’ve been out here every night this week—the foot patrols are every hour, on the hour, and that’s it.”
Ahmad smirked beside him. “Just watch out for those Capitol Police dogs—they can smell an Arab like you from miles away.”
“Right.” Haddad knew he was kidding, but the thought still sent a shiver up his spine. He’d never liked dogs, not since that fateful afternoon when a pack of them slaughtered his favorite ewe’s newborn lambs while he napped in the hills above the village.
Even though the risk was minimal, they had decided it would be best to look as official as possible. The four men all wore extra pairs of Adel’s green work coveralls, each one printed with the Architect of the Capitol’s large stylized logo. He’d been working there almost twenty years, starting out as an assistant gardener in the Botanic Gardens and working his way up to general foreman of the grounds keepers. The job wasn’t as lucrative as Haddad’s entrepreneurial pursuits, but it fit Adel’s personality better. They’d always known this position right at the center of the government’s beating heart might one day come in handy, but Haddad never imagined there would be such a direct link between a future operation and his cousin’s line of work.
They followed a paved footpath through the tall trees. Not a single tourist around now, but the next night it would be a totally different place.
Every break in the thick foliage gave him another glimpse of the gleaming white dome looming overhead, its perfect shape complemented by a fluttering halo of stars and stripes just below. And off to the other side, blocking his view to Reflecting Pool, he saw the massive stage set up and ready for the next night’s performances.
A Capitol Fourth.
Haddad couldn’t fend off the nostalgic feelings the sight evoked inside him. He’d brought Nour and Myriam to the annual celebration many times over the years, and it always left him feeling proud and glad to be an American. Even a messed up American sworn to betrayal. Those were the nights when he did his best to forget his true purpose there in the land of the free. Not to revel in being one of them, but to punish and avenge for the injustices this nation had inflicted on his own true people. If they were caught now, how would he explain himself? That he meant to tell someone…tried to stop them…was just waiting for the right moment? His opportunities to act were slipping away.
The thin wire handles of the heavy buckets dug into his hands, but he kept walking. There was nothing else to do.