Under Fire: The Admiral (12 page)

Hunter clamped his hand over his friend’s
hand. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said fiercely.

“Oh yeah he is. The boats are here,” Bambi
said. “You, my man, are going to a nice clean bed.”

Ben felt life slip from the SEAL.

“In a few days you’ll have every single nurse
in the hospital fighting to take care of you,” Bambi went on.

The last breath Vegas pulled into his lungs
escaped in a long sigh.

“Fuck, no,” Hunter shouted. He pushed Gemma
back, leaned over the man and began chest compressions. Bambi
tilted the man’s head, put his mouth over his friend’s and began
respirations. Ben sat back on his heels watching the two men and
slowly released the artery he’d fought to pinch off. He raised a
hand to touch Hunter’s arm and tell him it was no use. Gemma
blocked him and shook her head. He understood. Nothing he could say
would make them stop working to save their friend. Eventually
they’d realize. Gemma continued to hold the lieutenant’s hand. If
Ben had any doubt that Gemma was the woman who saved his life, it
was now gone. What she told the lieutenant was exactly what she had
told him. And it was her voice. The voice of an angel. Soft, calm,
and gentle.

Bright lights bounced and swayed through the
tangle of undergrowth followed by men carrying cases of medical
gear. Hunter stopped compressions. After a moment he put a hand on
Bambi’s shoulder. “He’s done.” Bambi didn’t stop. Hunter leaned.
“It’s okay to stop.” Bambi blew another breath and stopped, then
slowly sat back. Ben did his best to cover the wound with shreds of
Vegas’s pants. Gemma gently laid down his hand and stood. “Let’s
give them some space,” she said.

They moved off a few feet, watching the
scene. Intensity vaporized into a somber and subdued atmosphere and
he felt oddly detached.

This was the worst part of being a doctor.
Experiencing life slip from the organism called the human body and
not being able to prevent it. To experience life leaving the
particularly strong body of the lieutenant was excruciating. “I did
everything I could.”

“Don’t make this about you,” she said.

He gave her a hard look. “What are you
talking about?”

“I know you did everything you could. We both
know there was . . .” She took in a stutter breath. “He died doing
his job. His duty. Something that matters. Not because
you
couldn’t save him.” She turned her tear-streaked face to him. “Do
you understand?”

“Yes.” He did.

They went silent watching Hunter and Bambi
prepare Vegas to be moved.

Gemma turned her back to the scene but he
couldn’t tear his eyes from the body. “Listen carefully to what I’m
going to tell you.” He nodded. “Soon, we’re going to be hustled out
of here.” Her voice dropped so low he was forced to turn and lean
in to hear her. “When they get to us, let me do the talking. They
ask you a question, give me a chance to answer for you. If I don’t,
you answer. Don’t offer any information. The less said here on the
ground the less confusion.”

“You want to explain?”

She grasped his arm and maneuvered him away
from the others. “There’s a lot going on over there.” She cocked
her head in the direction of the boats. “There will be plenty of
time to answer questions later in a more
controlled
environment.”

“Ma’am,” a voice said from behind them. They
looked over their shoulders to see a man dressed in camouflage like
the SEALs with U.S. Secret Service stenciled on his vest. “I’m . .
.” He gave them an up-and-down look. “Jesus, you’re wounded.” The
man clicked on a flashlight, moving it over Gemma, then Ben.

Ben looked at her bloodstained clothes then
down at his own. She held out her arms, palms up, twisting them
over and back again. “Not mine,” Gemma whispered.

“Not ours,” Ben agreed, looking past the
agent to the SEALs.

“Beg to differ, ma’am. Your arms are covered
in scratches.” He shifted the light to her face. “Your head.” He
shook his head. The beam moved to Ben’s arms. “You too, sir. Need
to get you out of here.” He put a hand on Gemma’s shoulder, guiding
her away.

“But what about . . . ?” Ben looked back at
the SEALs again. It didn’t feel right leaving the lieutenant.

Gemma touched his arm. “His brothers are
taking care of him.”

As if he knew what they were talking about,
Hunter looked up and gave a nod.

A macheted trail and lights made walking
relatively easy. The agent, Money Man, who never gave them his
name, stopped, removed his hat and held it out to Gemma. “Put it
on, pull it down as far as you can and keep your face down.” Then
he removed his U.S. Secret Service vest and body armor, holding the
vest out to Ben. “Same goes for you, sir. Don’t make eye contact
with anyone here on the ground,” he said while helping Gemma into
the body armor. “Keep your heads down like you’re watching where
you walk. Anyone speaks to us, I’ll answer.”

“Mind telling me why we’re doing all of
this,” Ben said.

“Sir.” The agent glanced around and tugged on
his ear. “This isn’t our show. The Colombians and Ecuadorians are
in charge. While friendly, it’s not uncommon to have leaks. Seeing
a woman here raises questions. Discovering a U.S. Coast Guard
admiral was on the ground during an op raises questions we don’t
want to answer. The presence of a doctor from a
nonpolitical
medical organization
at a major drug op could mean future
problems for all medical teams.” He pulled on a mud-colored ski
mask, covering everything but his eyes and mouth. “We’ll move
quickly from here to a Coast Guard small boat.”

“Agent—Money Man, how did
they
find
out the doctor and I were here?” Gemma said. Ben assumed the
they
meant whoever was in those boats offshore.

“As soon as it went bad Vegas reported you
were here and asked for a priority evac on the encrypted sat phone.
We need to—”

“Can you take me someplace where I can at
least see the sub and boat?” Gemma interrupted.

The agent tipped his head and squinted
through the opening in the mask.

“Stopping these people is what I do for a
living,” Gemma said. “To be this close and not get a chance to see
it . . .”

The agent was silent for a moment considering
her request. “This way.”

Ben wasn’t prepared for the scene. The river
was hardly more than a ten-yard-wide channel. To the left men
worked on clearing the trees from the water. To their right men
swarmed over a boat tied to a crude-looking dull gray submarine.
“What’s that thing made out of?” he said low. It looked like
papier-mâché.

“The sub?” the agent said.

“Fiberglass,” Gemma said. “It’s painted with
something that helps prevent radar detection.” Gemma looked at the
agent. “Have you been inside?”

“Not yet. As soon as I get you safely on your
way out of here, I’ll go aboard.”

“You have no idea how much I’d like to go
with you.”

“Ma’am.” The agent rubbed the back of his
neck. “I wish I could but . . .”

“I know.” Gemma looked wistfully across at
the boats. “I hope what you’re looking for is there.”

Chapter 9

Gemma and Ben boarded a boat to take them to
a cutter waiting a few hundred yards away in deep water. Their
small boat was retrieved aboard and the cutter’s captain, Sue
O’Donnell, an officer Gemma had served with, greeted her
formally.

“Admiral, this way please.” O’Donnell
gestured to a passageway leading inside, not to a waiting helo.

Gemma didn’t move. “The helo isn’t
ready?”

“It’s ready but . . .” O’Donnell stepped
close. “You and Dr. Walsh should get cleaned up and I want you
checked out by a health tech. It won’t hurt to get some food in you
either.”

Gemma said nothing, looking at the women and
men surrounding them studying her and Ben.

O’Donnell leaned closer. “Gemma, your clothes
are blood-soaked, wet, and muddy.”

Gemma glanced to Ben. The cutter’s lights
turned the predawn sky into day. He looked like he’d been in a
bloody battle. She must look the same. O’Donnell was right. Sitting
in these clothes for hours would become uncomfortable. “Yes,” she
said. “Thank you.”

Gemma showered in O’Donnell’s quarters. The
health tech went over her many scrapes and bruises, applying
antibacterial cream and giving her pain meds for the soreness
setting in. She dressed in the blue Coast Guard work uniform
provided, buttoning up the shirt all the way to the neck to hide
bruises and leaving the sleeves down to cover multiple scratches.
Forty-five minutes after coming aboard, she made her way through
familiar surroundings to the cutter’s galley to join Ben.

O’Donnell had offered the officers’ mess for
their use but she’d declined. The room was small and more than
likely they’d be alone. Here with the crew comings and goings she’d
be reminded of who she was and more able to keep it all business
between them.

She found him seated at a table with a plate
of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, circling a
stir stick in a coffee mug. His hair was wet and combed back, the
bright overhead lighting exposing flicks of silver. He’d forgone
shaving his three-day beard. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled
to the elbows, exposing scrapes and cuts. He looked up and gave her
the wide smile he’d shown her that first day. The one that had made
her stomach flip and drawn her in like moths to a high-beam light.
He pushed to his feet, scanning her carefully.

“I’d hold a chair out for you but they’re . .
.” He looked down at the bench seating that was bolted to the
floor. Nonetheless, he came and stood behind her. When she was
seated he bent and whispered, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to
treat an admiral. If I do something wrong, let me know.” The smile
in his voice put a smile on her face.

“I will.”

Before Ben was seated again, a plate of food
and a steaming coffee mug was placed in front of her.

“Can I get you anything else, ma’am?” the
eager young woman asked when she returned with four water bottles
and a pot of coffee.

“Thank you. This is fine.” Gemma glanced
around. Everyone in the mess was watching. Ben followed her gaze,
tipped his head to a group.

“They’ll want us in the air in a few. You
better eat what you can unless being in the helo upsets your
stomach.”

“Nothing upsets my stomach.” He took a bite
of the egg sandwich he’d made.

“Your hand.” A silicone bandage covered the
back of his left hand. “Is it serious?” The words “surgeon” and
“hand injury” did not go together. Instinctively she reached out
but caught herself and rested her hand on the table.

He put down the sandwich. “No. Wanted to keep
it clean.” He made a fist and opened it, resting his hand on
hers.

“Anyplace else?” She looked anxiously at his
arms and then his face. He applied a gentle pressure to her hand.
“Relax, survivor admiral woman, I’m fine. A very efficient kid came
in and cleaned everything out. Didn’t you hear me screaming when he
poured on the antiseptic?”

She couldn’t suppress a smile. “That was
you?”

He hitched his chin. “You?” He looked
pointedly at her neck, where bruising was visible above her
collar.

“Same as you, minor scratches and bruises.
I’ll live.”

His smile vanished. “We both had a lot of
blood on us, and with these cuts and scrapes,” he said, going
doctor, “we should be tested for HIV first thing.”

Gemma shook her head. “The team—back there on
the ground—will take blood and DNA from everyone. We’ll be notified
if we . . . if any of that is . . .” She withdrew her hand from
under his and wrapped it around her coffee mug, considering her
next words carefully.

“I.” She started faltering at the way his
dark eyes locked onto her. “Thank you for saving my ass back
there.”

“Didn’t want you to fail at your primary
goal.” His smile reached his eyes.

God almighty
. Saying good-bye to this
man and wiping him from her memory was going to be one hard-ass
thing to do. “I mean it, Walsh.” Her hand went to her throat,
remembering her world going gray while hands held her underwater.
Choking the life from her. “You saved my life.”

“And you didn’t save mine?”

Keep it professional,
she
thought
.
“Dr. Walsh.” The formality of the address and tone
got his full attention. “Listen to me carefully. Once we’re on the
helo anything we say will be recorded. On the plane to D.C. we will
be questioned. This is the last time we’ll talk with any degree of
privacy.”

“D.C.? I’m not being taken back to
Esmeraldas?”

“No. I’m being flown back to D.C., and since
you are from the area it’s more convenient.”

“The hell it is. They could get me to
Esmeraldas in less than an hour and a half.”

“It’s for your safety, Doc.” It was also a
way to isolate and convince him national security depended on his
silence, which of course it didn’t. His own security sure as hell
did. A single slip at the wrong time, heard by the wrong ears, and
he could become a cartel target. At best, ending his days of
volunteering in South America. At worst, ending his life. They
would both be given an official cover story and it would be
suggested
in the strongest of terms he stick to it. She, on
the other hand, would be given a direct order.

“We’re going to be taken to Panama by helo.
From there it’s a government jet to D.C.”

“One of those like congressmen and senators
use, I hope. With full champagne service.”

“Pay attention, Dr. Walsh.” She paused and
lifted her coffee cup. “On that jet we will be questioned.”

“About what?” He pushed his plate away. “The
SEAL’s death? The bad guys?”

Gemma sipped her coffee and peered at him
over the rim of the mug.