Chapter Twenty-Five
President Rueben Howell arrived at St. Mathews General Hospital shortly after three o’clock with the Secret Service in tow.
They enclosed him in a huddle of safety as he marched toward the service elevator and climbed inside.
The elevator took off with a jolt, humming as it sailed up to the third floor. A ding sounded, signaling his arrival at the Intensive Care Unit.
He waited for his men to exit first before stepping out into the hallway and trailing off to Henry Sutherland’s room.
A tall doctor stood at the foot of Henry’s bed, studying a chart with the intensity of a hawk. He looked up as Rueben stepped through the door.
“Mr. President. We’ve been expecting you,” the doctor announced, replacing the chart and extending his hand. “I’m Bruce Ortega.”
Rueben accepted his palm with a smile meant to put Ortega at ease. “A pleasure, Doctor Ortega. How is our patient doing?”
“Please, call me Bruce.” Releasing Rueben’s hand, the doctor turned toward Henry with a bleak look. “He’s stable for the moment, but the prognosis isn’t looking good.”
“He hasn’t regained consciousness at all?”
Ortega shook his head. “We have him in a drug-induced coma to give him time to heal, but as with any drug, it can have adverse effects.”
“Such as?”
“Well, for one, slowing brain function, preventing his body from telling us when it’s in distress.”
Rueben wanted to rip the ventilator from Sutherland’s throat and demand that he tell him where the aliens were hiding. Instead, he handed the doctor a card. “I am staying at the Hilton a few miles from here. You will call me the minute he wakes up?”
“Of course.” Bruce took the card and tucked it into his coat pocket.
The president turned toward the door. “Do we need to wear masks to visit the top floors?”
Ortega pulled Henry’s curtain closed and followed Rueben into the hall. “The virus isn’t airborne, sir. It’s bacterial. As of now, it is spread only through sexual contact, open wounds, and saliva.”
Rueben rubbed at his eyes. “As of now? Does that mean you expect it to change?”
“Anything can change, Mr. President. And at the rate this thing is mutating, it could be airborne quicker than we think if a vaccine isn’t found soon.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“The pathogens and bacterium are dividing. The more they divide, the smaller they become, expelling through a sneeze, a cough, or even a laugh, risking everyone unfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity of its host.”
“I see. Maybe I’ll pass on the upper floor touring until we better understand what we’re dealing with.”
“Probably a wise decision, sir,” Bruce admitted, shaking his hand once again before rushing off to respond to a code.
Rueben boarded the elevator, retrieving his cell phone as the doors slid shut behind him. He selected the number two key and pressed the call button.
Secretary of Defense Gerald Kerik picked up on the third ring. “Kerik.”
“I need to speak with you,” Rueben began without preamble. “Have you arrived in town yet?”
“Yes, sir. Got here this morning.”
“Can you meet me at my hotel in an hour?” Rueben rattled off the address.
There was a brief pause. “I’ll be there, sir.”
President Howell disconnected the call and stepped off the elevator into the lobby. A spark of hope took root inside his chest at the thought of the Navy ships now docked offshore in the Gulf of Mexico.
If anyone stood a chance at discovering the aliens’ lair, it would be Gerald Kerik. The man was ruthless and would leave no stone unturned when it came to uncovering the truth.
And the truth was out there, Rueben thought, as he sandwiched himself between his men and made a dash for his limousine. Yeah, it was out there all right. He just had to expose it.
* * * *
Bruce Ortega lowered his head in exhaustion as he pronounced the time of death on a heart attack patient who had arrived in the ER earlier that morning.
“You did everything you could,” an older nurse assured Bruce with a pat on the arm. “Go get some rest. We’ll contact the family.”
With a nod of appreciation, Bruce left the room and ventured off to the doctor’s lounge for a much-needed cup of coffee.
After pouring the hot liquid into a paper cup, he meandered over to the couch and eased down to the cushions.
If President Howell ever found out about Henry’s whispered words to Bruce only seconds before Ortega had induced the elder man’s coma, Howell would no doubt have him arrested for obstruction of justice.
He set the cup on a glass table and positioned himself horizontally on the couch. No matter what happened from here on out, Bruce could never repeat what he’d learned from Henry.
Closing his eyes, he thought back to the seconds leading up to Henry’s coma. How Abbie’s father had pulled at Bruce’s coat, forcing him to lean in close.
Sutherland’s mouth had opened and closed before he’d whispered, “Waterfall.”
Though it made no sense, Bruce was sure he’d heard him right. What did a waterfall have to do with the aliens? Maybe they weren’t in the gulf, after all, but in a cave near a waterfall.
No matter where they resided, Abbie was with them, and Bruce would never lead the military to her doorstep.
She meant too much to him. Even if she’d chosen one of those things over him. No, he could never hurt his Abbie…