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“You ready?”

She looked up at me, smiled and laid her head against my chest.

“Not yet.”

We stood there embracing in the parking lot of Target for several more minutes. I didn’t know what to do or think. She seemed content to just be there against me so I waited. I was impatient to get on the road, impatient to get to work on the doctor and impatient to get on to fixing my brain. But, in the midst of all that, she found peace in my arms. I wished I could find the same thing.

“Okay, now I’m ready.”

Anka stepped away and brushed the remnants of tears from her eyes. She touched my chest and laughed. I looked down to see a large wet spot on my shirt where she’d been crying.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She smiled at me and touched my face before turning to get into the Suburban. I walked around the other side and got in.

“How you feeling doc?” I asked.

“Other than that whole gunshot wound thing, I’m doing pretty good. Did you get me any Funions?”

“How about some Tim’s Cascade jalapeno chips?”

“That’ll do. Hand ‘em back.”

I complied as Anka pulled us out of the Target. We got back on the freeway and headed across the bridge into Washington.

“Where will we stop so I can take the bullet out and get the doctor patched up?”

“There’s a rest area coming up. No one will wonder at us parking there for several hours. That should work fine.”

It took us about ten minutes to get to the rest stop. Anka parked the SUV and told us to wait. She got out, went into the bathroom and then walked around for a few minutes. When she came back she opened my door.

“Go to the bathroom, wash your hands—thoroughly—and then come back. I’ll get your surgery area set up and open the back door for you. Don’t touch anything until you get back here.”

“Okay, I got it. I watched plenty of the surgery videos. I think I’ll be fine.”

“You think?” Grosskopf groaned from the back.

“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

I hopped out and headed over to the bathroom. I took care of business before washing my hands. I waited for the water to get hot and then used lots of soap and washed for about two minutes. I did the cool surgeon move and walked with my wet hands toward the door. I kicked it open and headed back to the Suburban where Anka let me in.

“Stop hamming it up Dr. Quinn.”

“Ha! Nice reference.” I smiled at her and she smiled back.

Inside she’d transformed the back of the Suburban into a miniature surgery ward. The bench seat was laid down, Grosskopf was lying flat with his shirt off and the bullet wound exposed. The first aid kit was arranged on a sheet on the floor next to the knife, tweezers and alcohol.

“Wow, this looks great. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, just glove up and take care of Grosskopf.”

“Wait, do we have any anesthetic?”

“Yeah,” Grosskopf asked, “Do we?”

“Nothing but some ibuprofen in the first aid kit.”

“Damn. You’ll just have to take it doc. I’ll go as fast as I can. Just don’t struggle.”

“Um…okay. You sure you can do this?”

“Hey, you’re the one who zapped my brain to give me this power. You should be more sure than I am.”

“I should be…”

“Just lay back and let me work.”

I reached over and pulled the latex gloves from the box. After pulling them on I grabbed the knife and alcohol. I quickly cut a slit across the bullet hole and then poured a bit of alcohol on it. Grosskopf writhed and screamed in pain. I switched to the tweezers and some gauze. I dabbed away the blood with the gauze and then probed into the wound with the tweezers. After a few moments of screaming and me not finding anything I stopped. It was hard to see with the blood and the dim light filtering through the windows.

“Can you get me a flashlight or something? I can’t see what I’m doing in here.”

“Yeah,” Anka jumped into action.

She turned on the interior lights, which helped a bit. I dabbed and probed again. The videos didn’t help me know how to feel the bullet on the end of the tweezers. I wasn’t sure if I was poking bone or metal. I kept dabbing and probing while the doctor moaned and whimpered. Eventually Anka located a flashlight from the back and came over to shine the light into the now gaping wound.

I dabbed several times to clear away as much blood as possible, but it kept welling back up as fast as I could soak it away. Maybe that glint was lead and not glossy blood. I stuck the tweezers where I’d seen the flash and the doctor rewarded me with a muffled scream. I considered that a good sign. I gave a probing squeeze and I felt hard resistance. With a pull I extracted the slug from his shoulder. Grosskopf gasped in shock. I dabbed again and then dropped the tweezers and gauze. I pulled out the alcohol again and doused the wound. This time the scream wasn’t muffled at all.

Anka looked out the windows to see if anyone was looking. At this time there were only a couple of trucks on the far side of the rest stop. She came back and handed me the needle and thread from the first aid kit. I checked the knot in the end of the thread and gripped the curved needle to begin stitching up the doctor.

I started on the side closest to Grosskopf’s sternum and quickly plunged the needle through one side of the incision and out on the other. A gentle tug pulled the skin together. As I approached the ragged tear where the bullet ripped into him, I had to tug a bit harder to get the skin together. Poor Grosskopf just kept whining like a whipped puppy. Finally I had the wound closed and I dressed it with fresh gauze and taped everything in place.

“Here, Doc, drink some of this to replenish your fluids.”

Anka handed him some Gatorade while I stepped back and pulled off the gloves. I collected the gloves, gauze and remnants of the tie-sock bandage to throw them away. As I started to step out of the SUV, Anka stopped me.

“You can’t throw that away here. Not with all that blood on it—and on you. No, hold on to it for now and we’ll dispose of it later.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“As soon as we get all this put away we need to get back on the road. You’ve only got five days to live and we still don’t have a plan for breaking into the NSA headquarters.”

Respite, Respite

We made it just over an hour up the road before hunger, weariness and lack of fuel demanded that we stop. In Centralia we found a motel by a lake and near to a gas station. We got in to the hotel, using Dr. Grosskopf’s card since it was required. We left the doctor to rest and then Anka and I went out for gas and food.

A short drive from the motel we found the main strip of Centralia, not that it’s much of a town, but it offered better options for food than the gas station sandwich shop. I spotted the Olympic Club and directed Anka to stop. I figured that she should have a taste of McMenamins’ food before we got too far away from the Portland area.

We got in, got a table and ordered our food. I made sure we had Cajun tots coming, just to complete the experience. Anka still seemed a bit shaky from everything, but she was working hard to hold it together. I didn’t know if a beer would be good for her or a terrible idea. I ordered one for myself and she just asked for water.

I’m not known for being smooth around women. Something usually ties up my tongue so I don’t know what to say. Maybe that’s why I use so many movie quotes. I don’t know. But as I sat there thinking about what possible conversation topic I could bring up, I realized that I’d never had to deal with issues like this. She’s just killed someone, I’m about to die, we’re both on the run and there’s a wounded man back at the motel we’re staying at who will either save me or get us both killed.

“So, have you ever had Cajun tots before?” Idiot.

“No, what makes them Cajun?”

“Well, they put this spice mixture on them. It’s really good. You get ranch dressing to dip them in.”

“Yum. That does sound good.”

“Yeah.”

I’m the worst conversationalist ever.

“Hey, Corey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Um…for what?”

“For everything.”

She reached out and grabbed my hand.

“Um…sure. My pleasure.”

We didn’t say anything else until the waiter brought our drinks over and we had to move our hands to make space.

“So, um…what do we do now?”

“I really don’t know,” Anka said. “We need to get back into the NSA facility, but that’s impossible. If we don’t you die. If we get in, we both die. There’s really not much to discuss at this point.”

“If it’s a death-trap then why are we heading up there? It doesn’t make any sense for both of us to die. You just take the doctor and get away somewhere. I’ll die. We can’t stop that. You don’t have to die too.”

Tears came to her eyes and she reached across the table to grab my hand again. The dimples came out for a moment.

“There’s no way I could do that. Not now. Corey I…”

“You think I’m going to let you risk your life for me?” I felt my eyes start to well.

With perfect waiter timing, our server dropped off napkins and silverware. We quickly dashed the tears from our eyes and awkwardly cleared our throats. If I wasn’t living it I’d think it was funny.

“Look—” I started to say.

“No. I’m going with you to Seattle. We’re going to figure out how to keep you alive. That’s it. We can do this and no one is going to die.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” the thick Hispanic accent sounded familiar, but the face wasn’t. Not at first.

The man sat down at the table with us. He was bald and had no eyebrows. I wondered if he had alopecia, but there were also red, splotchy stripes on his face. He wore a red bandanna around his neck and had a striped, orange shirt on. It took a moment for me to place everything, but when I did, I burst out laughing. Not just a quick chortle, but a full-on belly-laugh guffaw. Anka and our guest just stared at me while I tried to catch my breath. It took several minutes before I was able.

“Hey Tony,” I said, “glad you made it.”

Anka looked from me to our guest and back to me.

“No,” she said.

“Yes, it is I, Antonio Gutierrez. You thought you had killed me, but you were wrong.”

“Sorry about that,” I said, “we weren’t really trying to kill you, just to get away. How are the burly twins?”

“Who?”

“Your henchmen that you sent after us?”

“Ah, they have passed on from this life. They were able to open the emergency exit and get me out just before the second missile hit. How were you able to launch missiles against me?”

“We didn’t. They came from the NSA drone that was trying to kill us. All we did was to let the NSA know where we were.” Anka explained.

“Wait, the NSA blew up my plane?”

“Yeah. I guess the director wants us dead or something.”

It was surreal to be having this conversation while waiting for my burger to arrive.

“But the NSA paid me to capture you…alive. Why would they change their minds and want you dead? Why would they pay me and then try to kill me?”

“I don’t know,” Anka said, “but we’re on our way up to Seattle to find out.”

“Yes, I will help you.”

“Oh, good,” I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Tony’s sudden change of heart.

“No one double-crosses
El Tigre
!”

“Yeah, yeah. We get it. We’re also in a restaurant. Hold that stuff down, will you?” I tried to calm him as the waiter approached with our food.

“Oh, I see you have another. Do you need a menu?”

“Yes,” it sounded like ‘Jess’ with his accent, “I will eat.”

“Do you want some Cajun tots for now?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

Smoking Cubans

We ate our meal and Antonio explained to us how he’d found us. After his plane exploded he was taken to the hospital by the fire department. There, while being treated for burns, he accessed the NSA network. Apparently the IT department takes a while to lock people out, especially when they think that person has been exploded. He was able to find the mission and GPS transponder signals for Agents Jones and Smith. He tracked the Prius to the Burgerville and then followed the agents to the mall. There he saw a part of our scuffle at the loading dock and watched us drive away. He was actually the one who called the police to report the violence and tie up the NSA.

From there he followed us on the freeway and waited for an opportune time to meet up with us. He’d been in contact with his government to see if any official information had come through about the NSA or if China had given him up. There was nothing to report from the home office, so that left the NSA betraying him. Not being a forgiving type, he decided that we’d offer a great opportunity to get revenge on the NSA for his plane and his burns.

“Well. I guess we’re happy to have you.” I wasn’t sure how to deal with a rogue special policeman from Cuba who looked like a cartoon tiger.