Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) (18 page)

03:00 AM- Sunday,
September 10
^th

Sumner, VA

Jimmy yawned loudly as his patrol car shuddered to a stop in
the dark parking lot of Memorial Hospital in Sumner. There was still a faint
chemical odor, like that of burning rubber lingering in the air. The fire at
Carmike Chemical had saturated the local area in the acrid scent ever since
Friday's fire.

Officer Howe stepped exhausted from his patrol car and
pulled a well worn Sumner Police Department cap over his eyes as he finished
sending a text to his wife. She was sure to be worried, and though she was used
to long nights at home alone, he always liked to text her when he could.

It seemed to help her sleep.

Jimmy tucked the phone away in the pocket of his trousers
and stepped towards the concrete overhang that marked the entrance to Memorial
Hospital's emergency department.

It was the only level one trauma center in this area, and
was where Jackson Pike had been brought after suffering a near fatal gunshot
wound to the chest.

Jimmy shook his head as he walked beneath the overhang past
a taxi awaiting a dispatch that was unlikely to come at 3:00 AM.

He glanced at the vehicle as exhaustion began to overtake
him. This weekend had been frantic, confusing and sad, to say the least.

Somehow, at the root of it all rested Jackson Pike.

The man, who was still wanted in conjunction with the brutal
murders of his ex wife and daughter, had turned up the victim of a gunshot
wound at an apparent terrorist staging facility.

What was more, he seemed to have played a key role in
foiling one of the largest terrorist plots in American history and saving
countless lives.

As Howe stepped through the sliding glass door and to the
emergency department his mind continued to race as he walked to the triage
nurse who sat at the counter.

"Room 113," the pretty young nurse said without
looking up from the numerous papers that she shuffled around the long counter before
her.

"Thanks," said Jimmy as he stepped down the shiny
and pristinely clean hallway, which was quiet and empty in the night.

In retrospect, Jimmy hadn't even needed the room number, he
thought.

An officer was sitting outside of room 113 drinking a tall
cup of black coffee from a white Styrofoam cup and looking bored. Jimmy covered
the distance quickly, his tall thick frame approaching with haste towards his
bored brother in arms.

"How is the patient?" He asked curtly.

The other officer stood. "The surgery was successful.
They expect Mr. Pike to make a full recovery. It's a miracle. That gunshot
wound should have killed him. He is in a medically induced coma at this
time."

"Thanks," replied Howe as he stepped towards the
door.

The officer continued as Jimmy stopped and turned to face
him.

"It's the damndest thing. The guy woke up during the
surgery. The anesthesiologist said he'd never seen a patient that resistant to
the drugs."

Jimmy grunted before pushing the door of the room open.

He was sick of hearing how tough this Pike was.

He shook his head as he pushed through the heavy hospital
door. Immediately, Jimmy was face to face with a doctor and a nurse in deep
conversation in the shadowy light of the medical devices that cast an eerie
blue light in the dark room. The heart rate monitor on the far side of
Jackson's bed beeped noisily as Jimmy approached the bed.

The white haired doctor turned and acknowledged Jimmy before
hanging Jackson's chart on the foot of the bed. "Can I help you,
officer?"

Jimmy stepped towards Jackson's sleeping form. The injured man
wasn't what he had expected.

In his mind, Jimmy Howe had pictured a monster. In fact, he
had half expected to see horns, teeth and fur. But all that lay before him was
a man, unconscious and wounded.

Jimmy looked away and glanced back towards Dr. Sanders.

"How is he?" Jimmy said, glancing back towards the
heart rate monitor that glowed and beeped in the darkness.

Sanders glanced down at the chart. "I'm not his
surgeon, but based on his vital signs and what I've garnered from a cursory
review of his chart, I would predict he'll make a near full recovery, though he
likely won't be running any marathons soon."

Jimmy nodded. "I'll need to double the guard on this
door. If you would, please keep the entry and exit to this room to a minimum of
personnel. And let me know as soon as he wakes up."

Sanders glanced at the nurse. "We can do that. Do you
mind if I ask why we need to?"

Jimmy Howe grunted and turned to them both. "This man
is a suspect in a double homicide that took place last night in Sumner. His ex
wife and daughter were murdered execution style in her apartment. It was a
bloodbath."

Sanders and the brown haired nurse looked at each other for
a moment as Jimmy explained.

After he had finished, Sanders cleared his throat and shook
his head. "That's not possible," he said.

"With all due respect, Doctor," replied Jimmy,
anger and exhaustion creeping into his voice. "It damn sure is possible. I
was the first one on the scene."

Sanders shook his head once more.

"No, I mean the patient couldn't have been there last
night. He was at the hospital, under my care. He came in with a closed head
injury and associated loss of consciousness. It's all in the chart."

06:00 AM- Sunday,
September 10
^th

Sumner, VA

Jackson's eyes fluttered open and his body exploded in pain.

The fact that he was alive was no consolation. In fact, he
might have preferred it the other way.

A familiar brunette nurse was standing over Jackson's bed as
he came to, his eyes fighting for focus in the dim light of the early morning.
He was back in the hospital.

Jackson groaned and peered around the room.

The nurse greeted him much too cheerfully. "Good morning,
Mr. Pike." Her familiar southern drawl was all Jackson needed to place
her, even in the fog of the medication pumping through his veins. She had been
his nurse the last time he had woken up here.

They really needed to stop meeting like this, thought
Jackson as he glanced up at her face.

"Well,
it's
morning" said
Jackson. His day had started out as anything but good so far.

She nodded, a coy smile gracing her face as she turned
towards the door. "If you are feeling up to it, there are some officers
here who would like to speak to you."

Jackson sighed. That was no surprise. He was still a murder
suspect who had been found surrounded by dead terrorists. He was sure he'd need
to answer a lot of questions.

"Send them in" said Jackson as he shifted in his
bed, the stitches in his chest pulling painfully as he did so. It was no wonder
he wasn't handcuffed. There was no way he was going anywhere.

Jackson sat up and pushed his head into the soft pillows
that cradled his matted auburn hair. He didn't have to wait long.

A tall and burly uniformed police officer stepped into the
room moments later. He was followed closely by a shorter and much fitter man in
a suit. Both were serious as they approached Jackson's bedside.

The police officer led off with introductions. "Good
morning, Mr. Pike. My name is Officer Jimmy Howe. I'm an investigator with the
Sumner Police Department. I've been assigned to the murder case of your ex-wife
Leigh and daughter Clementine."

The man in the dark suit was quiet for a moment as Jackson
nodded. "My name," he said after a brief pause.
"Is
Agent Mulberry.
I'm the special agent in charge of investigating the
terror plot that was discovered last night."

Jackson nodded once more. "Good morning,
gentlemen." He replied weakly. His voice was calm. Jackson wasn't sure if
that was due to the drugs that pumped through his veins or the mental and
physical exhaustion of the past few days.

The police officer began first.
"First
of all, Mr. Pike.
I'd like to assure you that you are no longer a
suspect in the murders of your ex wife and daughter. You were here at the
hospital at the time that the coroner determined to be their times of
death."

The other man interjected. "We are very sorry for your
loss, Mr. Pike. But we need to know what happened."

Jackson understood. He had spent enough time in Special
Operations to know what these men were looking for.
Intelligence.

He nodded. They needed to know whether a threat still
existed.

He took a painful deep breath before beginning to recount
his tale of the last few days. He needed to pause frequently as he did so, both
to regain his breath and to ensure he wasn't implicating himself or Mike in any
criminal acts.

He spoke for close to twenty minutes, his chest aching as he
summoned the strength from deep within to recount his tale. During his story,
the two investigators took feverish notes and nodded knowingly, occasionally
stopping him to ask a question.

Jackson told the men almost everything.

He left out the part about the two men he had killed at the
Carmike headquarters building.

He also neglected to mention Mike's presence. According to
Jackson, he'd borrowed the vehicle they'd found a half mile from the shipping
and receiving facility from Mike earlier in the day and had Mike place an
emergency call at a preordained time.

According to the official report, that would be the extent
of Mike's involvement.

Jackson knew Mike wouldn't like the coming media attention,
and as much as he hated authority of any kind, he was sure his old friend and
teammate would appreciate not speaking to law enforcement.

Jackson peered up at the men as he finished recounting the
past thirty six hours of his life.

He felt as if he had done a good job of summing up in his
own words the chain of events that had led him from his couch on a Friday
afternoon to a murdered family, twelve dead terrorists, and two subsequent
nights in the hospital.

It sounded outlandish to Jackson as he recounted the tale.

But it wasn't. It had all happened. His family was dead, and
the Carmike Special Security Group was at the heart of the plot.

As he finished his story he rested his head back on the soft
hospital pillow. The two officers seemed to be satisfied with his story, and
nodded in thanks.

"Thank you, Mr. Pike."
Said
Mulberry, before stepping from the room.

Howe paused. He looked at Jackson for a moment.

"That's an amazing story, Mr. Pike. And the most incredible
part is that I actually believe you. I'm sorry about your family. Get some
rest. I'll come by later to tell you how the investigation progresses."

07:00 AM- Sunday,
September 10
^th

Sumner, VA

Doctor Sanders' phone began to ring insistently as he sat,
his head cradled in his hands within the cafeteria of Memorial Hospital.

He was staring intently at the television that was tuned to
CNN. So was everyone else in the room.

He tore his eyes away finally and stood up, stepping from
the room. He knew who was calling without looking.

"Hello, darling."
He
said, mustering as much cheer in his voice as he could after a twenty four hour
shift and the amazing events of yesterday evening.

His wife had always been supportive, but she'd never gotten
used to the hours.

Somehow, she always seemed to think that it would get
better, that with each progressive year since medical school, he'd get closer
to a nine to five schedule
. But that wasn't what Sanders had
signed up for, and she knew it.

He spoke quietly, stepping from the cafeteria, Styrofoam cup
of coffee in hand.

"I'm sorry I didn't call last night. One of my former
patients came in with a gunshot wound. It's truly an amazing story. In fact, if
you turn on the news, you'll likely hear all about it."

Sanders himself had been watching the news all morning.

He turned to face the cafeteria from the large doorway that
led to the hospital's main corridor. From here, he could still see the aerial
shots of the shipping and receiving facility where last night's events had
transpired.

Although no media had been allowed into the facility yet,
helicopters had circled for the better part of the morning, their telephoto
lenses panning across facility and the twelve large trucks parked in the lot.

Sanders realized he was becoming distracted again.

His wife had said something that he hadn't caught. He did
his best to cover his distraction.

"Yes dear. I love you, but I've got to go now." He
said as he continued, his heavy footsteps falling on the marble floor of the
hospital as he stepped towards the emergency department.

Throughout the hospital, all eyes were fixed on the nearest
television. And it wasn't just the doctors and nurses sitting in the cafeteria
eating breakfast before their shift that were transfixed by the story. The
televisions in the patient's rooms, the televisions in the waiting rooms, all
tuned to the network channels, and all covering the same story.

The terror plot was front page, international news.

And the hero of the story was a patient in this hospital.

Sanders paused for a moment in the hall before downing what
was left of his black coffee and feigning a smile. He showed his identification
badge to the two uniformed officers who stood before Jackson Pike's hospital
room before pushing open the heavy hospital door and stepping through.

The patient was asleep, which was no surprise given the
nature and severity of his wounds.

Sanders eyed the wounded Pike and glanced towards his nurse,
who was adjusting the clear bag of saline solution which flowed into the vein
of his right arm.
"Good morning again, Marie."

She turned her head and glanced towards the doctor. They
were two of the only staff who knew
themselves
to be
treating a man who had foiled one of the largest terrorist plots in American
history.

"Good morning, Doctor Sanders." She nodded towards
the television, which was itself tuned to CNN International.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" She asked, as she picked
up Jackson's chart and began to make diligent notes of his vital signs.

They both turned to face the glowing screen of the
television, their eyes turned upward towards the device in anticipation. It
truly was an amazing story.

Information was constantly flowing in to the press from
various sources. But, from what Marie and Doctor Sanders could put together, it
seems that on Friday afternoon, their patient had stumbled across a robbery in
progress.

A terrorist organization that many of the international
press organizations believed to be associated with the Iranian government had
robbed a massive chemical warehouse near Sumner sometime on Friday afternoon,
killing a security guard and burning the facility to the ground in the process.

After witnessing the crimes, their patient had made a run
for it, and somehow escaped the murderers, but not before wrecking his
motorcycle in the nearby Sumner River and sustaining a severe head injury.

That had been the first night they had met him.

From there, the story became tragic. The terrorists couldn't
risk leaving any witnesses, so they had apparently attempted to track Jackson.
They had been led to his ex-wife's home, where they killed his ex-wife and
daughter and attempted to frame him for the crime.

Jackson had eluded capture by the terrorists and the police
and had somehow tracked down the murderers. While a wanted man, he'd had a
friend call the authorities from a prepaid cell phone and attempted to
infiltrate the facility.

He had been taken prisoner.

But somehow, he'd escaped and killed eight highly trained
terrorists. In the process, he'd sustained a nearly fatal gunshot wound to the
chest before Sumner SWAT Team snipers had killed the remaining four terrorists.

Sanders and Marie looked at one another as the news anchor
continued to recount the story.

"Amazing."
Sanders said,
looking at their wounded patient in awe.

Jackson's name had not yet been released to the press. But
they were already calling him a real American hero.

It was rumored that the President of the United States was
going to nominate him for the Presidential Medal of Freedom in a press briefing
later this morning.

The television finally cut away from the aerial shots of the
shipping and receiving facility.

A financial analyst now covered a closely related story. The
fact that the chemicals used in constructing the terrorists' weapons had been
stolen from a Carmike Industries facility and that the twelve men had chosen a
second Carmike Industries facility as their staging area had not escaped the
notice of the press.

When the press had descended upon the home of Carmike Industries'
defacto
spokesman, Steve Yaeger, however, it was
revealed that he had been discovered dead on his sofa in an apparent suicide.

And so the analysts were left to wonder aloud whether
Carmike Industries' highly profitable chemical storage and distribution
business would survive and whether the company would be able to explain their
enormous security lapses to a likely congressional inquiry.

With the CFO dead, and the CEO at a conference in Aruba, the
analyst doubted that the stock would rebound from the massive hit it was sure
to take on Monday morning.

Dr. Sanders turned to face Jackson's nurse.
"Amazing.
Has he said anything else?"

Marie took a deep sharp breath. "Not since he woke up
and spoke to the investigators this morning."

They both shook their heads, eyeing their patient.

The television cast a flickering light across the dimly lit
hospital room, the newscaster's voice breaking the quiet monotony of the
medical equipment that monitored Jackson's pulse, blood oxygen levels and blood
pressure.

The young blonde news anchor's voice increased in pace, the
tone heightened and keyed in. Sanders and the nurse turned to face the
flickering black television on the opposite wall.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said to her guest.
"We'll be right back with you, but I'm getting word that the White House
Press Secretary would like to make a statement."

The camera shifted to a young brown haired press secretary,
replete in his pinstripe suit, standing behind a podium in the White House
briefing room.

He paused, nodding. Behind the young White House spokesman
stood the familiar presidential seal and the American flag.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, unfortunately, the President was
unavailable for comment. He is currently en route to Europe on Air Force One to
meet with the German Chancellor regarding our most recent trade agreement.
Unfortunately the video link from the onboard command center has malfunctioned.
You will no doubt be hearing from the President upon his landing in Berlin. In
the mean time, I have the great pleasure of introducing the Vice President of
the United States, Vice President Colgan."

The men and women of the press corps, stood simultaneously
out of respect for the Vice President as the tall, thin politician stepped into
the room, his gray hair bobbing as he nodded and approached the dark wood
podium of the White House briefing room.

"Thank you," he said, "please be
seated."

"Good morning. The President has asked me to address
the press, the nation and the world this morning." Colgan paused while he
cleared his throat.

Jackson's heart rate monitor began to beep with a new
insistence, his blood pressure skyrocketing as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Sanders turned, his gaze fixated now on Jackson's heart rate
monitor. "Marie, please administer additional
propofol
.
The patient is clearly in some distress, and we'll need to keep him
relaxed." He shook his head.

Marie walked to the patient's intravenous drip and
administered an injection of
propofol
into the small
clear plastic bag. Jackson moaned weakly, shaking his head in vain as the
medication began to pump through his bloodstream. His moaning ceased as the
medication flowed, his heart rate and blood pressure normalizing rapidly.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Marie
asked the Doctor, turning back towards the television.

"I have no idea. Maybe he overheard some of the story
on TV. After the Vice President's speech, we'll shut it off. I'd hate for that
to happen again."

The Vice President's deep and hollow baritone echoed through
the almost empty hospital room and the world as he read the President's
remarks.

"Last night, the largest terrorist plot since the
attacks of September 11
^th
, 2001 was foiled. Twelve suspected
terrorists were killed, and twelve improvised weapons of mass destruction were
rendered inert. Information is still flowing in from multiple sources. What we
do know is that this plot was foiled by the strength, bravery and sacrifice of
an American hero."

The Doctor and Marie glanced at one another as the Vice
President paused. "We have determined it best to keep the identity of this
hero a secret until the investigation into this attempted attack is
complete."

Colgan took a deep breath. "Initial reports have
suggested that this mission may have been sanctioned or ordered by Tehran and
the Iranian government. We can neither confirm nor deny those allegations at
this time. But rest assured
,
we will bring to justice
those who have attempted this grievous crime against our nation. That, I
promise you."

"This concludes the President's remarks. As more
information on this attempted attack is revealed, you can expect to hear from
this administration. Are there any questions?"

The room was silent for a moment. Then, every hand shot up
simultaneously, the din of the crowd of reporters was deafening in the small
briefing room.

The Vice President pointed at the closest reporter.
"Mr. Vice President," he panted breathlessly as he stood, "It's
been leaked that the terrorists stole the chemicals planned to be used in the
attacks from a Carmike Industries facility. They were discovered holed up in
another Carmike Industries property. Is this a coincidence?"

The Vice President paused, his normally pale face turning a
shade of red, his deep voice quickening. "That these men would choose to
victimize an American corporation is no surprise. As to why the men chose
Carmike Industries, as the former CEO, I can only assume it is because of the
key role Carmike Industries has played in defense contracting and weapons
manufacture over the last century."

Vice President Colgan paused, smoothing out the non-existent
wrinkles in his pin striped suit.

"The press secretary will answer any follow on
questions," he said as he shifted uncomfortably behind the dark wood of
the Presidential podium before stepping from the stage and through the wide
door on the left side of the room.