Born A Hero

“Damn,” Gordon said softly. “I don’t suppose this child has been rescued?”

“Not yet. Unfortunately, we’re thin on experienced pediatric surgeons at the moment as well.”

“I’m sure you understand we seldom have a call for this kind of medic,” Gordon replied tersely, “but I know someone back home in California who would be outstanding. Her name is Dr. Katherine Remson. I’ll give her a call and see if she’s available.”

“Tell her we’ll pay anything she asks, only for God’s sake, get her here as soon as you can. God willing, if that baby is pulled out alive, we don’t want to lose her simply because we don’t have the proper personnel.” Andretti’s voice sharpened. “No matter what happens politically, we must keep these people alive.”

A haze of smoke and weariness permeated the hotel suite’s center room as five somber-faced men sprawled on chairs and couches. Clothes were rumpled, eyes stung, stubborn jaws sported a day’s growth of bristly whiskers, and throats were raw from too much smoke and talk. No one had even considered sleep. Gallons of coffee had been brewed and drunk while they worked out a strategy in this chess game between sworn enemies. Living on adrenaline and caffeine was second nature now, though it had been months since they’d been tested.

“Damn, these all-nighters used to be more fun,” Eddie Ramsey grumbled.

“Everything used to be more fun,” Richard said. “Let’s face it, guys, we’re getting old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Caleb declared as he poured himself a cup of fresh coffee from the carafe Jonathan had just set in the middle of the table. “Me, I’m in my prime.”

“In your dreams, Stone,” Gordo retorted.

After pacing the room, Jonathan lowered himself awkwardly into a chair. His hip was giving him fits, but he’d been reluctant to take the medication that dulled his mind along with the pain. “You guys can blow smoke all you want,” he said as he unfolded his napkin, “but me, I’m ready to admit I’ve had it with field work.”

“Amen, brother,” Richard muttered.

“Okay, hotshots. If we give up the field, who’s going to take our places?” Cal challenged.

“Funny you should ask,” Gordon told him with a grin. “I’m seriously considering asking Elliot to handle the medical end in Montebello.” He paused. “According to the Medics Without Limits scheduling clerk I rousted out of bed a couple of minutes ago, he’s taking R and R in Spain as we speak. Depending on transport, he could be on scene in a matter of hours.”

Jonathan regarded him with thoughtful eyes. “You think he can handle this kind of assignment?”

“I know he’s rock steady in the OR, which is what’s desperately needed in Montebello at the moment. How he would react under more extreme mission conditions is another question. Maybe the best thing is to take it one step at a time, see how he handles this, before talking to him about joining us.”

The room fell silent as the others considered. Coffee cups clinked against saucers for a good five minutes before Jonathan broke the silence. Although the Noble Men had no official leadership hierarchy, as the man who’d gathered them together into a cohesive force, he was considered the group’s de facto commander.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” he stated, his drawl more prevalent than usual, a sign of weariness they all recognized. “In fact, I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing Jack into the mix now and then. Provided he’d be interested.”

“Hell, we’ve all been thinking about bringing our boys into the fold,” Eddie declared, glancing around the table with eyes habitually attuned to the smallest flicker of emotion in friend and foe alike. “Me, I don’t mind admitting it’s something in the nature of a dream for me, the thought of working closely with my boy.”

“Maybe it is time we gave this some serious thought,” Richard mused aloud. “This thing in Montebello could be a good testing ground, at least for Gordo’s boy and maybe some of the others.”

“Then we’re agreed—Elliot gets a call?” Gordon asked, his emotions tangling despite the calm deliberately layered into his voice.

“Agreed,” Jonathan said immediately.

“Works for me,” Cal said as he refilled his cup. The others chimed in with various comments, all of which were affirmative.

Gordon excused himself to make the call. He only hoped to hell he wasn’t asking more of his son than Elliot could bear.

Elliot wasn’t dead. He knew that because some sadistic SOB was presently pounding a dull railroad spike into the cavity behind his eyeballs.

He opened his eyes slowly, then winced at the sudden glare of daylight filtering through ancient venetian blinds. The .44 was on the pillow next to him. Still fully loaded.

Nothing had changed. He still wanted to die. So why hadn’t he pulled the trigger? His dad’s voice, that’s why, shouting in his head. Remember this if you never remember anything else, son—as long as he has breath in his body and blood in his veins, a real man never surrenders.

A real man? Hell, Elliot had ended up crying himself to sleep like a two-year-old terrified of monsters in the night. The inside of his eyelids felt raw, and he was pretty sure he must have swallowed sandpaper while he slept. One arm was numb, and his gut was full of greasy eels.

Slowly he rolled to his back, then waited out a sudden rush of nausea. He figured he could make it down the hall to the can before his stomach revolted—as long as no one was foolish enough to get in his way.

It took some doing, but he managed to sit up and get his feet on the floor without upchucking. He’d just braced one hand on the night table and was working up his courage to push himself to his feet when the cell phone next to his hand suddenly rang.

Something resembling cymbals crashed in his head, and he let out a pitiful groan. Damn thing, why hadn’t he tossed it after buying the bottle? What does a dead man need with a cell phone, anyway?

He was giving serious thought to smashing the miserable thing before the conscience he’d never quite wrestled into silence kicked him into answering.

The smell of chlorine and sex swirled around their heated bodies. His mouth was hot on hers as tension built to a feverish pitch inside her. Her soft, eager moans mingled with the soft humming of the filter behind the pool house wall. Strong, skillful hands lightly stroked the sensitive curve of her inner thighs, sending warm ribbons of mindless pleasure swirling through her naked body.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice thick and urgent.

“Yes, oh yes, Elliot. Please love me, please. I want you….”

His broad chest radiated heat as he pressed her deeply into the thick cushion of the pool house lounge. The hair covering his pectoral muscles rubbed against her small breasts. Awash in pleasure, she writhed, desperate to find relief from the sweet pressure in all the private places inside.

“Spread your legs for me, Katydid. Let me inside you.” His voice was harsh, his breathing labored. His dear face was taut with strain, his eyes dark with an almost savage need.

“I love you,” she cried as he plunged into her, rending intimate flesh and ending her innocence.

The phone by the bed was ringing. Kate jerked awake to discover her fingers clutching the pillow, her breath coming in harsh gasps. A quick glance at the clock had her letting out a heartfelt groan. Not quite 6:00 a.m., it was far too early to be waking on the last day of her vacation.

She was definitely not on call, so it couldn’t be the clinic. Heaven help the person on the other end if this was a telemarketing call. Accustomed to phones ringing at all hours, she took a moment to clear her throat and focus her mind before sitting up to reach for the receiver.

“Dr. Remson,” she said crisply.

“Katherine, this is Gordon Hunter. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Shock rendered her speechless for a full second before she found her voice. “Uh, no, not at all, Dr. Hunter. Is…is something wrong?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Before she could give voice to the questions already jamming her head, he went on. “Are you near a TV set?”

“Yes, why?” She glanced at the small set on her dresser.

“Turn on CNN and then we’ll talk.”

“Just a sec.” She fumbled for the remote control device on the Mission oak table by her bed, then switched on the set and surfed quickly to the right channel. An instant later stark images of a scene reminiscent of the Oklahoma City bombing filled the screen. Her breath caught as the camera panned to a shot of a tiny pink sneaker half buried under a mound of debris.

As she stared at the shifting images, a hole opened in her stomach, and her heart picked up speed. “Oh my God, Doctor, what happened?”

“A bomb went off in a popular restaurant in the center of Montebello’s capital city of San Sebastian della Rosa. It appears a number of people having breakfast were buried. No one knows for sure how many.”

Kate watched in horror as rescue workers in hard hats and surgical masks dug frantically through what appeared to be a mountain of rubble.

“Montebello? Isn’t that one of those islands in the Mediterranean near Saudi Arabia?”

“Yes, it’s next to Tamir, where the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries met a few years back.”

“Wasn’t Montebello pro-West during Desert Storm?”

“Indeed. As a matter of fact, I have some investments there, and King Marcus Sebastiani is an acquaintance of mine. He called to ask my help in locating surgeons to help treat the victims the rescue workers think will be pouring in soon—including several children, I’m told. I was hoping you’d be available to help.”

Children? She thought of that tiny sneaker and her heart sank at the damage falling debris could do to delicate bones. Oh God. Of course she wanted to help, provided she could juggle her responsibilities as the children’s clinic chief of staff.

Quickly she ran through a mental checklist of the surgeries she had scheduled for the next two weeks. None were critical, nor were they so complicated she would hesitate to turn them over to her associates. Of lesser importance were a staff meeting next week and a routine appointment with the clinic’s accountant. Both were easily postponed.

“I’m available,” she declared finally. “I’ll have to make arrangements with my associates to cover for me for the next two weeks, but the clinic staff is terrific at improvising.” She took a fast breath. “Sarah and I just got back around midnight last night from a week in Baja, and I haven’t unpacked more than my toothbrush. Provided I can get reservations, I can leave sometime today.”

“Don’t worry about reservations. I took a chance you’d agree and made your travel arrangements for you. A car will pick you up at nine-thirty, and one of the king’s planes is already on its way to San Francisco Airport. It will be landing at SFO at ten-thirty, and after a quick refueling, will return to San Sebastian immediately. Weather permitting, you’ll be in Montebello before the sun sets.”

“You must have been fairly sure I’d say yes,” she muttered, more than a little awestruck.

Relief was audible in his voice. “Let’s say I was hopeful. You’ll be met and briefed when you land.” There was a momentary pause before he added softly, “Bless you, Katie Remson. I know a lot of desperate people in Montebello will be very happy to find out you’re on your way.”

As Gordon hung up, his conscience reared its ugly head. A man who believed in fair play would have told her that Elliot was even now in another of the king’s personal planes.

Believing in his children’s right to privacy, Gordon had never let on to either Kate or Elliot that ten years ago he’d seen her leaving the pool house at dawn, her face streaked with tears. The same pool house from which Elliot had emerged a few minutes later, his face white and his expression grim. For days afterward, Elliot had lashed out at everyone like a badly wounded animal. Helena was sure he’d somehow hurt Katie very badly.

Gordon had a gut feeling Helena was bang on this time. Until the morning in question, Kate had routinely joined them for family celebrations. Indeed, both he and Helena loved the girl like a second daughter. After that morning, however, on those rare occasions when Elliott came home for a visit, Kate invariably had “other plans.”

Sorry, Katie, he told her silently as he gave a thumbs-up to the weary men watching him with bloodshot eyes. Personal feelings don’t mean squat when children’s lives are at stake. Still, Gordon couldn’t help saying a quick prayer that neither of these decent, caring people would end up getting hurt again….

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