Chapter 30
Michael Patrick De Rosier stared at the solemn faces of Secret Service and FBI special agents as they held out their hands gesturing for him to mount the chopper. He was dressed in jeans, dress shirt with a heavy winter jacket over that, but nothing on his head. Deep lines of grief had marked his face, he looked much older yet still handsome and distinguished. Ms. Penny stood near him, holding his briefcase of notes on the land issue he was investigating.
“Senator!” The senior FBI agent called. “We need you to come immediately.”
He looked around, the chopper had set down on the lawn of the preserve’s gatehouse expressly for him.
“What for?” He shouted over the noise of the turbines.
“President Rickover will explain when you arrive, Senator. Please, step inside.”
“May my PA come with me?”
“Certainly, sir. We’ll make your apologies to the Director of the preserve.”
The Senator climbed inside and offered Ms. Penny a hand. Both belted themselves in, and the SA shut the copter’s hatch, standing well back from the blades as the the pilot lifted off, turned sharply and headed back to Washington.
“Senator,” Ms. Penny asked nervously through the earphones. “What can this be about?” Although she had been with the Senator for over ten years and knew the important crusades he was on, she also knew he wasn’t senior enough to rate a Presidential pick up, nor deny the President’s request.
The SA came back and sat opposite the Senator. “Is there anything that I can get you, sir? Water, coffee? This trip will take about twenty-five minutes, total.”
“Why?” De Rosier asked simply, looking at the FBI logos on the interior and the man’s coat.
“The President will explain sir,” the agent said carefully. “Agent James is there, also.”
“Jake James? My former bodyguard? Where exactly are we going? The White House?”
“I believe he is the same agent once assigned to you, Senator. No, we have orders to land at Walter Reed.”
“Walter Reed? Is Rickover injured or sick?”
“No, sir. The President will explain. I don’t know much, just that it involved a shooting near the White House.”
“Felice? Felice is okay?”
“The President’s daughter is with him, and as far as I know, both are fine.”
“Thank God for that. May I have a large coffee, extra light and sweet?” He asked. “Penny?”
“Black.”
The special agent went forward and brought back two thermoses and two covered mugs that had the FBI logo on them. He poured black coffee into both mugs and from the other, milk into the Senator’s, offering him a choice of sweeteners in colored packages.
“Sorry,” he grinned. “No Dunkin Donuts, or Keurigs on board. Budget cuts, you know.”
De Rosier grinned, pulled out a handful of his own yellow packets and added them to the stash. He drank the cup down and held it out for more.
“His blood is half Colombian supreme,” Ms. Penny grinned nervously.
“Is not,” De Rosier came back. “It’s 100% American.” He fell silent, wondering why he was heading for Walter Reed hospital.
*****
The surgeon came out two and a half hours later, looking tired and frustrated. His hands were very clean and cold as he shook the President’s hand.
“Mister President, I’m Doctor Abrams, cardiac surgeon. Doctor Sisson is still in surgery, closing up for me. We repaired the damage to the heart and his lungs, have the blood loss replaced. The bullets hit somewhat high through his back, the first one through his lung, hit his sternum and bounced back into his spine. The second is the one that exited. That one tore a hole in his pericardium, the sac around his heart. The stitches are holding, he’s come through surgery and is still maintaining his blood pressure. His heart is weak, traumatized. He is a 40% chance of surviving the night.”
Felice sobbed in a breath and Rickover hugged her. “Still, I gave him only a 20% chance of surviving open-heart surgery. The oddest thing, I looked under a microscope at the damage when I was stitching and I swear I could see the marks of up of a… birds foot holding the wound closed.” He held out his hand and in them were four the tiny talons with just a hint of blood on them. “They kept the blood from his heart from drowning it until I opened him up. Now tell me, how could a bird get its claws inside a man’s chest and do what it did to try and save his life?”
“You believe in miracles, Doctor Abrams?” The President asked. “Because I do.”
“He’ll be in recovery, then, ICU. Probably won’t wake up for quite a few hours.”
“When can we see him?” Gaines asked, his face white. “I’m his dad.”
“His name is Daniel Gaines? We were told. –.”
“You said the bullet bounced off his chest and hit his spine?” Felice asked, wiping at fresh tears.
“Ms. Rickover. Yes.”
“How bad?” Her eyes were huge in her face.
“If he lives, he’ll be paralyzed for life. From the waist down.”
“No. No, no, no!” Felice screamed and turning, she pummeled the wall, the chair until her father restrained her. “It’s not fair!” She cried. “It’s not fair to Danny! God, I hate you!”
“Felice,” her father hugged her in a bear hug that shut out the world. “Felice, you have to be strong. For Danny and for his dad.” He took her into a corner, and whispered to her, slowly getting control of her breathing and emotions. Waiting.