Authors: Alan Zendell
“Eleven thirty,” she said, correctly interpreting my searching look, and glancing at the wall clock I hadn’t noticed until then. I must have still had a questioning expression on my nerve-deadened face, because she went on in her clear slow-speak. “Thursday evening. Do you remember anything?”
I didn’t, but I never got a chance to answer her. An awful dread had overcome me when she told me it was nearly midnight on Thursday, though I had no idea why. I felt her gripping my hand, and then she was gone and there was sunlight streaming in through the blinds.
The pain in my head had lessened and the fog had lifted somewhat. Thursday was still pretty much a blur, and concentrating too hard still made me dizzy, but some survival instinct drove me to work out what was happening.
Relax; let the memories return at their own speed.
Years ago when it was in vogue, I’d practiced meditation until I could slip into a light trance virtually at will. I found it now, not the trauma-induced unconsciousness of yesterday, but a soothing tranquility.
Who are you?
- Dylan Brice.
Do you have a wife?
- Yes, Ilene. She must be worried as hell. Why haven’t they told her where I am?
They can’t. You don’t carry identification on covert operations.
- Covert operations?
Do you remember anything at all?
- A ship. My friends. Oh, God. Someone’s dead. Samir?
Who’s Samir?
- I’m not allowed to say.
I can’t help you if you don’t cooperate.
- I’m afraid. I’ve forgotten something important.
Relax. It’ll come to you.
- I know…I’ve forgotten what day it is. Tell me, I need to know. Tell me!
I was becoming upset, agitated. I must have been a little delirious.
“Tell you what, mister?”
I looked around, grateful that I could hear the voice, remembering to move my head cautiously. A man in green overalls, wrinkled brown skin, rheumy eyes, a badge with the name Thomas Johnson, and a mop in his hands, stood beside my gurney.
“What day is today, Mr. Johnson?”
“It’s Wednesday, least it was when I woke up.”
Memories came flooding back, making me feel like I was drowning. I checked the clock. It was 6:52. A.m. or p.m?
“What you doin’ in here? This room suppose’ to be empty. No one know you’re here you won’t get no breakfast,” he said. That was easy.
Mr. Johnson had quite a bit on the ball. He’d seen my chart hanging from the gurney and was reading it. “Somebody messed up real bad, mister. Says here you were admitted tomorrow night. Never seen nuthin’ like this before. You wait here, now. I’ll be right back.”
As if I had a choice. I’d have run if I could have without falling. “No, don’t go. Please. I’m sure it’s just a mistake. I’m always forgetting the date, aren’t you?”
He hesitated. “You forget your name, too? Says here you a John Doe.”
“I must have been unconscious when they brought me in.”
“You got a wallet, don’t you? Ain’t you got a drivers license?” Mr. Johnson was full of surprises.
“I guess the guy who mugged me must have taken it.” He was looking at me funny now, not suspicious, just curious. “Look, Mr. Johnson, I appreciate your concern, but this is just a mix-up. I’ll straighten it out when the doctor comes in. The night nurse said he’d be in to check me at ten o’clock.”
He looked at my chart again, and nodded knowingly. “You got that Doctor Chandrakhar. He’s one o’ them foreign docs, always messin’ up. I hear the regular ones talkin’ about him all the time. They’s always sayin’ he gonna kill someone one day.”
“See? It’s just a mistake. You don’t want to get involved in this. Doctors don’t like it when other people catch them making mistakes. You don’t need trouble.”
“I’m guessin’ you’re right, mister.” He put the chart back where he’d found it. “You sure you’re okay? You don’ look too good.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep. Would you close my door, please?”
I hated screwing with him. He was a good man trying to help, but I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally left. How would I explain why I was here on Wednesday morning? It still hurt to think but I had to come up with something. Maybe I could tell them I was a patient of Doctor Schliemann at the Hackensack Medical Center. He’d confirm that I suffered blackouts. I must have wandered away last night and somehow found my way here.
Great, Dylan. Is that the best you can do?
It was seven a.m. on Wednesday. I needed to let Ilene know where I was. I’d had a secure government cell phone with me on the pier. It must still be in my pocket. Where the hell were my clothes? There was a small wardrobe about twelve feet away. I ought to be able to make that. I tried to sit up, but the gurney was narrow and awkward and I was more than a little unsteady. The wave of dizziness and nausea wasn’t as bad as last night, but it was enough that I almost fell off.
I was breathing hard, exhausted from even that meager effort. I tried again, but had to lie back down.
Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Let your heart rate get back to normal.
My pulse pounded in my neck, slowing gradually. It was almost hypnotic.
***
I opened my eyes to full daylight, but the sun wasn’t shining though the window any more. I must have fallen asleep again. I looked at the clock. Shit, it was nearly 4:30. I’d slept all day; I must have needed it. The door was still closed and apparently no one had come in all day. As far as the hospital was concerned I wasn’t even there. Tom had said the room I was in was usually empty, but there must have been so many patients on Thursday, I’d been triaged into the last available exam room.
No one would have come in here unless they needed the room. If Tom hadn’t looked in during his morning rounds…no wonder I’d slept undisturbed all day. On the other hand, the Thursday night E.R. staff would think I disappeared; they’d be searching for me Friday morning.
Ilene said I was dressed in a robe when she picked me up. They must have undressed me Thursday and put me in a hospital gown. My clothes, if they were still wearable, would have stayed behind when I jumped back to Wednesday, along with my secure cell phone. I had to find a way to call Ilene and get out of there.
Long story short, it wasn’t all that difficult. The sleep had done me good. Moving with great care I got down off the gurney and made it to the wardrobe without breaking my neck. I had to hold on for a minute, but my fainting spells seemed to have ended. Not surprisingly the wardrobe was empty except for a freshly pressed robe like the one Ilene described finding me in.
I shuffled to the sink and confirmed in the mirror that I looked like hell. I gingerly washed off what I could, wet my hair, and dried it enough to be presentable. Whatever they’d smeared on my burned face seemed to have helped, but it was still red, and it felt stiff and dry. Dead skin was flaking off.
The room I’d been left in was way in the back of the ER, just inside an exit door leading to the main part of the hospital. Even on a slow day, ER personnel are so pre-occupied, if you’re not on their schedule you might as well be invisible. I had no trouble slipping undetected into a public corridor. By then I could walk reasonably well if I was careful. I looped around the connecting hallways until I came to the administrative offices. It was after 5:30 and a woman was packing up to leave for home. She saw me looking in expectantly.
“Can I help you with something?”
“I need to use your phone for a minute. My cell phone battery’s dead and I have no way to charge it. Please, I just need to call my wife. I’ll be quick.” When she looked skeptical I did my best to smile helplessly, and she relented.
Forty-five minutes later, I was in the parking lot exactly where Ilene said she’d met me. She looked so shocked at my appearance, I considered telling her that when she woke up Thursday morning I’d be normal again, but that didn’t seem like a very good idea. For one thing, I still had to call William, and I had no idea how that might change Thursday, and possibly me, today. In its present condition, my brain couldn’t handle the maze of causality that raised. And if nothing changed, I’d still be recovering from my injuries on Friday morning, which, for me, ought to be tomorrow.
At home, I told Ilene I had to call William, but first, I verified that
Al Khalifa’s
berth had been posted on the maritime website, guessing that he didn’t know yet. It wasn’t his style to dig that way, so he probably wouldn’t find out until his sources notified him. He knew as soon as he heard my voice that the call was important so he dispensed with his usual brusqueness.
“What’s on your mind, Dylan?”
“I thought you should know
Al Khalifa
is scheduled for a berth tomorrow morning. Do we have an impound order yet?” On my Thursday, he hadn’t known until that morning, which was why we arrived so late. Now, he fumed at Homeland Security, using the same profanities I remembered from Thursday on the dock. So far so good.
William wasn’t quite the hard ass he seemed to be. He’d hear me out if I approached him correctly, but I couldn’t come off sounding like a mystic with a crystal ball. I knew from our post-nine-eleven days how much he hated working in the dark, with sketchy intelligence. He’d gathered the squad together, one night, before a raid on an alleged terrorist safe house.
He’d begun in typical William fashion. ““I’m proud of the way you’re all willing to put yourselves on the line. None of us is comfortable with this operation with intel not what it should be, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep putting any of you at risk this way.”
William’s instincts had been right. We’d burst in on a den of heavily armed drug dealers in a rundown section of Hoboken, and two of our squad were shot and nearly killed. I’d heard the same kind of misgiving from him as we approached the terminal, Thursday morning. It was the only card I had, so I played it.
“I know I’m not a tactician, but I think it’d be a mistake to rush down there and confront them on the dock. If there’s been any kind of leak about the impound request, that’s exactly what they’ll expect us to do. I think there’s a better way.”
“I’m listening.”
“Keep
Al Khalifa
under tight surveillance starting tonight. Forget subterfuge. Let them see you out there. Tomorrow, don’t let the ship berth, impound order or not. If Homeland Security squawks you can deal with them later. You know they won’t risk a public rift.
“Pull whatever strings you have to with NYPD to float enough harbor patrol boats to scare off any tugboats that try to approach
Al Khalifa
. Tell them we’re trying to deflect a credible threat to the city’s infrastructure and HSA’ll brief them later. That way, you’ll disrupt anything they might have been planning on the dock.”
“Then what?”
“Then you let them stew out there while you get your ducks in a row, and we board the ship openly with a full force, Friday morning.”
“What if they break for international waters before we can board them?”
“C’mon, William, with your connections, you ought to be able to arrange a small blockade with the Coast Guard.”
My plan wouldn’t be easy to pull off, but I didn’t care. My only objective was keeping the squad away from that pier, Thursday morning. Could I change the outcome and save the men who were killed in the explosion, likely including Samir? Referring to my theory of significant events, the deaths of three agents would probably be no more than a faint ripple in the fabric of space-time, but they were damned important to me.
William and I kicked it around for almost two hours. I didn’t know whether I’d convinced him, and I couldn’t argue directly against keeping the squad away from the terminal. He had to reach that conclusion himself.
It was late. I knew I’d better break off the discussion or he wouldn’t have time to act tonight. I hung up knowing I’d done what I could, but not if I’d done the right thing. What if William did what I suggested and the squad never went to the Marine Terminal tomorrow? I might have averted the disaster I’d lived through on Thursday, but caused an even worse outcome down the road.
The possibilities were mind-numbing and there was no one I could talk to about them, but I wasn’t the only one it was hard on. I sat quietly after hanging up the phone, knowing I couldn’t keep on this way. Ilene’s reaction to finding me uninjured Thursday morning and the emotions streaming from her as she told me about her Wednesday had changed something inside me. The anguish I’d felt shutting the door on her when I called William made me see what I had to do.
I’d always hated keeping secrets from Ilene, but I’d signed on with William for the duration and that was one of the conventions I’d agreed to play by. She went along with it because she believed in keeping commitments and she trusted that anything I was willing to invest so much in was worth doing. I badly wanted to talk to her, to tell her that regardless of what William said, there’d be no more secrets between us, but it took all my remaining energy to fall into bed. Talking would have to wait until my tomorrow, which I prayed would be Friday.