Code 13 (23 page)

Inside the command center, every naval officer, every enlisted man, and every civilian stood with eyes glued to the scene on the ground.

“Are we video-recording all this?” Paul asked.

“Yes, sir, Captain,” the lead civilian controller responded.

Unlike the cackling from a few minutes ago at the spectacle in Balboa Park, every man now seemed stunned, soberly watching the real-time drama unfolding on the ground.

“Look, Captain. They're carrying somebody out on a stretcher.”

“Where?”

“There.”

“I see it,” Paul said.

Four paramedics surrounded a stretcher with a man on it in the area near the end of the reflecting pool. One paramedic applied chest compressions. When they lifted the stretcher, they began moving, first at a brisk walk, and then almost at a jog, toward an ambulance waiting by the World War II Memorial. Six DC policemen circled the paramedics, clearing the crowd out of the way as the paramedics moved toward the ambulance.

“Can you get a close-up on that?” Paul said.

“Yes, sir,” the lead DHS controller replied.

The screen flashed to a closer view, then flashed to a still-closer view.

The man on the stretcher was motionless. His mouth hung open, with tubes going in, and the pillow behind his head was bloody. His eyes were closed, and his skin looked white as a ghost.

One paramedic continued chest compressions on the man, even as they all rushed toward the ambulance.

“That guy on the stretcher looks familiar,” Paul said.

“Yes, he does,” Jefferies said.

“Is he Navy?”

“Not sure, sir, but he does look familiar.”

“I don't like the looks of it,” Paul said.

“Me neither, sir. If that guy makes it, it'll be a miracle.”

“Gentlemen,” Paul said, “if you are into prayer, I think now is the time to pray for that guy.”

The paramedics arrived at the back of the ambulance. As they prepared to slide the stretcher inside, a slim woman wearing jogging shorts and a T-shirt could be seen running toward them from the direction of the reflecting pool.

Three policemen stepped in to stop her, but she pushed against them, trying to force herself past the cops and toward the back of the ambulance.

“Look at the woman,” one of the drone controllers said.

“What's she doing?” said another.

“She looks like she's screaming,” another said.

“She must know the guy,” still another said.

“Can we get a closer shot of the woman?” Paul asked. “Maybe a still frame?”

“Sure, Captain,” the DHS controller said. “Let me see what I can do.”

The screens went black.

A second later, the word
recalibrating
appeared in white lettering in the middle of the black screen, and then the screen reappeared with an even-closer view of the scene.

The woman appeared in the middle of the screen, and she was still being restrained by police. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her arms reached out desperately toward the ambulance as it began pulling away.

Who was this woman? It was hard to tell from images, even live images, showing mostly the top of her head. But still.

Then, in her flailing, she glanced up for a split second and then back down again. The screen shot of her was so fast that he couldn't really tell, but long enough to accelerate his heart. Could it be?

“Can we do a playback and do a freeze on that woman when she looks up?”

“If the computer decides to cooperate, I think we can, Captain.”

“Do it, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Again, a black screen. A second later, the word
recalibrating
appeared in white lettering. And then she appeared.

Paul froze. His heart fell into his stomach.

“Oh dear God, please no.”

“You know her, Skipper?”

“She's Navy. Navy JAG. Stationed at the Pentagon. And I have a feeling the guy they just put into the ambulance might be JAG too.”

“Doesn't look good for the guy,” Commander Jefferies said.

“John, do we have any choppers on the flight line available for transport?”

“I think the squadron has three Sea Stallions on standby at the moment, sir.”

“Call the squadron commander. Tell him I need a lift to the Pentagon. Now.”

“Aye, sir.”

EMERGENCY ROOM

WALTER REED NATIONAL MILITARY MEDICAL CENTER

BETHESDA, MARYLAND

The second hand of the clock on the wall swept past twelve again, and Caroline could do nothing except pace back and forth and watch it sweep another loop around the numbers of the dial.

Two nurses and several orderlies had crisscrossed in the spaces behind the admitting area, behind the corpsman chief who manned the desk. Several other visitors milled about in the waiting area, as if trying to avoid stepping on a bridge to nowhere.

What was taking them so long?

P.J. had been in emergency surgery now for almost thirty minutes. Still nothing.

“Dear Jesus, please save him,” she whispered, then realized that no one even knew where they were. She needed to call Captain Guy. But she didn't have a cell phone. What to do? Without her cell phone, she didn't even have the Pentagon number for Code 13.

“Commander McCormick?”

She turned around. The rear admiral, standing there in summer whites, wore a burnished cross on his right collar, signifying that he
was a Christian chaplain in the U.S. Navy. His name tag pinned to his shirt said “Lettow.”

“Sir . . . I . . .”

“I'm Rear Admiral Lettow. Chief of Navy Chaplains.”

“Sir, how did you know?”

“We got a call from a Captain Paul Kriete. Somehow he knew.”

“Paul? I mean, Captain . . .”

“It's all right. Captain Kriete saw some photographs of the scene and alerted JAG. Some members of your command should be here anytime. Admiral Brewer, who is a longtime friend of mine, called me immediately. I was here at the hospital visiting a senior officer who just had surgery. When I found out, I wanted to come down here and wait with you, and pray, if that's okay.”

“Thank you, sir. That would mean a lot.”

He looked around and then motioned to a couple of chairs over in the corner. “Why don't we go over there and wait. Might be a little more private.”

“Good idea, sir.”

They walked over and sat in two corner chairs separated only by a small coffee table with a vase of flowers. Her stomach was torn, her eyes watering. But something about the chaplain's presence brought her comfort.

“Looks like you could use this.” He handed her a handkerchief.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome. You know, it's kind of chilly in here. They jacked up the air-conditioning. Want me to find you a blanket or something to cover you up?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “That would be nice, sir. Thank you.”

“Let's see what I can do.” Lettow got up and walked over to the desk, prompting the senior chief who was sitting behind it to rise. They talked for a moment, then the senior chief stepped away from the desk.

Caroline needed to get herself together. She was a naval officer. People were looking. People were watching. Thank goodness she wasn't in uniform at the moment. Maybe the nurses and corpsmen and
other military personnel milling about wouldn't know. But Admiral Lettow knew. And if anyone from Code 13 showed up, as the admiral hinted, the last thing she needed was to make a lasting first impression of a crybaby. P.J. would agree.

She bit her lower lip, and the admiral returned.

“Look what the chief scrounged up.” He handed her a gray sweatshirt.

“Thank you, sir.” She took the sweatshirt and pulled it over her body. A baggy fit, but the fleece trapped the heat in her body and felt good against the cold air-conditioning in the waiting area.

“What's your connection to him?”

“To P.J.?”

“Right.”

“We had a relationship in San Diego. We talked about getting married. Almost got engaged. Seemed like it would happen. Then . . .” She looked down, then up at him. She tried fighting her emotions, but the tears flowed again. “Thank you for this.” She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief he had given her. “I wish I didn't need it.”

“I understand.” His voice filled with compassion.

“Anyway,” she continued, “you know how it is in the Navy, sir. He got his orders here. It looked like I was going to be sent to Europe or Japan. Anyway, we were a world apart. We never got engaged.”

“But I take it the feelings never died?”

“No, sir. At least not from my standpoint. I mean, others were interesting, but I never could fully shake P.J. And then . . .” She dabbed her eyes again, but at least her voice remained under control, thank God. “And then I got these orders to Code 13 here at the Pentagon, the very same duty station where P.J. was stationed. And to be honest with you, sir, I'm thinking, ‘Is this the hand of God?' And now this. I may never know.”

“Has the doctor told you anything about his condition?”

“At first they weren't going to talk to me at all because of HIPAA. They said they could only talk to immediate family members. So to be honest, I sort of embellished the truth. I told him P.J. and I had been engaged. The doctor even said that wasn't enough until we were
married. But I kind of begged and he relented. He said P.J. is critical. That he'd taken a bullet to the brain and they were going to have to perform surgery to remove the bullet. Even still, he said P.J. had lost lots of blood, and there could be massive damage to the brain, and I . . .”

Her lips began quivering, and her voice cracked. The tears flowed again. She couldn't finish her thoughts. She brought the handkerchief to her eyes.

“It's okay,” Lettow said. “Don't say any more. I get the idea.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You know, Caroline, I don't always know the will of God. But I do know this. This very moment is in the hands of God, because everything is in his hands. Unfortunately, we still have to deal with sin and strife and division and, yes, even death in this fallen world. But despite the pain and despair we all feel, it's all in his hands. Do you know if P.J. knows the Lord?”

She nodded. “Yes, he told me he gave his life to the Lord at age thirteen. He talked about his faith often when we were together, and I know he prayed.”

“You know what?” Lettow said. “If he was praying to God, and if he confessed his faith in Jesus, that makes me feel better about him, no matter how this turns out. Would you feel comfortable letting me lead us in prayer right now?”

“Please do, Admiral. Please pray for him before it's too late.”

“Let's pray.”

She bowed her head.

“Dear Lord in heaven, you have said where two or more are gathered in your name, there you would be also. And so we gather now in your name and know you are here with us. And you have also said that in all things we should pray, and about all matters we should pray, and at all times we should pray. You have said your burden is light and your yoke is easy. So we come to you with our heads bowed, in obedience to your instructions, believing you will hear us and trusting that you have all things under your control.

“Now in this critical hour, and in this critical moment, we pray for
our shipmate and for Caroline's friend, Lieutenant Commander P.J. MacDonald. Lord, P.J.'s life is in danger, as you already know, as the doctors you have appointed for this hour work to save his life.”

Caroline reached out and took the chaplain's hand. He responded with a warm squeeze.

“Lord, we don't know the full extent of P.J.'s injuries, but you do. And so we ask that you would sustain him, and give him strength, and give him life. We pray that you would watch over the doctors who are treating him. Give them wisdom and steady their hands as they work to remove the bullet from his brain.

“And, Lord, you say we can ask you for anything. And so even as the doctors perform surgery, we ask that you would not only save P.J.'s life but bring about full healing, as only you can do. We believe you can heal and save P.J., if only you will, and if only you so choose.

“Lord, you have said that you have appointed for everyone a time to die. None of us knows when that hour may come. You've appointed that hour for me, you've appointed that hour for Caroline, and, yes, you've appointed that day and hour for P.J. too. So though we are asking you for a miracle, we also ask that if you have made a decision to take P.J., that you not take him, please, until his salvation is assured. Caroline has said that he has professed your Son, Jesus, and I pray that this is true, because there is no way to heaven without a personal relationship with Jesus.

“And as I close, Lord, I ask that you will be here for Caroline, too, and comfort her with your Holy Spirit. Thank you for hearing our prayers and being with us. May your will be done. In Jesus' name, amen.”