Good As Gone (30 page)

“They’re born with holes in their hearts,” I said.

“That’s right. In most cases, correcting it is a fairly simple procedure. But it’s costly as well. We use Gor-Tex to patch the holes. Each patch costs over three hundred dollars U.S. That’s more than most doctors earn here in Minsk in a month.”

I turned my head to look back up the endless corridor, hoping to see activity outside Ana’s operating room, but there was none. Not yet.

“I’d like to help,” I said. “Is the doctor around for a quick chat?”

The nurse shook her head. “Not today I’m afraid. He’s at another clinic, near the National Library.” She sighed. “A strange twist of fate, really.”

“What is?”

“Several years ago the doctor fell in love with one of the nurses on staff at one of his clinics. They eventually got married. He knew the risks, of course; they both did. But Tatsiana wanted a child so badly. The doctor finally gave in. We had seen some healthy babies born here in Minsk, far more than in the Gomel region. So they were hopeful. About seven years ago they had a girl, named her Mila. Adorable girl.”

“She was born with birth defects?” I said.

The nurse slowly bowed her head. “A rare condition called hypoplastic left-heart syndrome. Mila’s undergone multiple open-heart surgeries, most recently a failed heart-valve procedure. Following that she was immediately put on a list to receive a heart transplant, but there are thousands of children in Belarus on that list. And Mila has a rare blood type, which in her case actually worked in her favor.”

“Really?” I said. “How so?”

Tears instantly sprang to the nurse’s eyes even as her lips turned up in a smile.

“A heart came in this morning,” she said. “That’s where the doctor is now. Replacing his own daughter’s heart at his own clinic. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“More than amazing,” I said, genuinely moved by the story. “It’s wonderful.”

“I hope you get the chance to meet him. How long will you be in Minsk?”

I thought about it. “I don’t know,” I said.

“Well, today, of course, he’s going to be busy, but if all goes well with his daughter’s transplant, I suspect he will be back to work by the end of the week.”

“Terrific,” I said.

The nurse smiled, then turned and started back down the corridor.

“By the way, who should I ask for?” I said. “What’s the doctor’s name?”

She stopped, smacked herself lightly on the forehead for forgetting to mention it.

“His name is Stephen,” she said. “Dr. Stephen Richter.”

Richter.

The name hit me like a brick to the head.

“Richter,”
Vince Sorkin had said the day I met him.
“Keith Richter in San Jose.”

As tired as I was, I couldn’t get my mind around who Keith Richter was or why he was important.

Wait,
I thought.

Davignon had repeated the name just recently. Back when I was in Odessa.

“We haven’t been able to get in touch with Keith Richter,”
he’d said.

“Keith Richter?”

I hadn’t been able to recall who he was then, either.

But then Davignon had reminded me.

“Lindsay’s pediatrician back in the States.”

Chapter 53

I had no choice but to take a taxi. I gave the driver the location and told him to drive as fast as possible. I didn’t think he understood my words, but he sure as hell understood my body language. He recognized that this ride was urgent.

As the driver peeled away from one clinic and headed for another, I pulled out my BlackBerry and called Davignon. He didn’t answer after four rings and I was certain the call was going straight to voice mail. Then I heard his voice.

Davignon spoke in a whisper.

“I am in Lori’s hospital room, Simon, and she’s sleeping, so I cannot talk right—”

“Wake her up,” I shouted, trying futilely to control the pitch of my voice.

“Why, Simon? Is something—”

“Just do it,” I said.

As Davignon nudged Lori out of her sleep, I watched the eerily still city of Minsk blow by me.

“Ask her about Lindsay’s pediatrician,” I said. “Does Lori have the doctor’s phone number in the room with her?”

I waited for a moment as he inquired.

“It is in her phone,” he said. “Hold on, Simon, I will get it for her.”

“Ask Lori what she knows about him,” I shouted, hoping he hadn’t set his own phone down. “Ask her if he has a son or a brother or a cousin or an uncle, anyone in his family named Stephen.”

“I am putting her on with you, Simon. Hold on.”

When Lori finally spoke I could barely hear her.

“Why are you asking about Dr. Richter?” she asked, frantic. “Has something happened? Is Lindsay injured?”

“No, Lori,” I said. “Nothing like that. I’m simply trying to get a bead on her, and her pediatrician may be the key.”

“Keith Richter?” she said. “How could
he
be the key?”

Gently I said, “Answer my question first, Lori. Do you know anyone in his family named Stephen?”

“Stephen,” she said, clearly considering it. “Keith’s wife’s name is Jenny—Vince and I spotted them at a restaurant a few months ago, and they asked us to join them.”

“How old is Keith?”

“In his early to midforties, I’d say.”

“Think, Lori. This may be important. Did he ever mention a brother? Or maybe a cousin who is also a doctor.”

“Yes, yes,” she said suddenly. “A brother, I think. But I don’t remember his name. I just remember him saying his brother doesn’t live in California.”

“Did he say
where
his brother lives? Which country or continent?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know, Simon. But I think he mentioned some organization he’s affiliated with—maybe Doctors Without Borders, or something?”

“But the brother definitely lives overseas?” I said.

“I think so. It was date night and I’d been drinking white wine, and—”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “You’ve given me enough to go on. Please put Lieutenant Davignon back on the phone.”

While I waited I saw a sign for the National Library—we were close.

“What’s going on, Simon?” Davignon said, confused.

“Have you found Vince, Lieutenant?”

“My men are still looking. Evidently, he withdrew a large sum of cash. I thought perhaps he received a ransom demand, but I do not see how. His phones here and back home, his e-mail addresses, they are all being closely monitored.”

“All right,” I said. “If you locate him, get him to Lori’s hospital as soon as you can. It’s vital that I speak to him.”

“Yes, of course, Simon. But please, give me an idea—what is going on? Do you know where Lindsay is?”

“Are you out of Lori’s earshot?”

“I am, yes.”

I tore off my tie and stuffed it in my pocket.

“I think I know where Lindsay is, Lieutenant. I’m almost there now.”

Chapter 54

I had the taxi drive past the clinic so that I could quickly scan the exterior, then I had the driver drop me a block away. The building appeared windowless, and, just as I’d feared, it was guarded by a large man stationed at the front door.

I surveyed the structure for another entrance but found none. Like the clinic they’d taken Ana to, there was no opening to receive ambulances. No fire exits. Clearly, Minsk didn’t enforce the strict building codes of a U.S. city such as New York or D.C. If I was going to get in, it would have to be by powering past the big guy at the front door.

I watched him from behind a wide tree roughly ten yards away, as my eyes burned from the heavy winds. He was heavily inked. Had to be six foot four if he were an inch. He wasn’t dressed in a uniform, but he was clearly in place to ensure that the wrong persons didn’t enter the clinic. He smoked a cigarette as he paced, and I realized there was a good chance I was staring at Jov Sergeyev or Sacha Orlov. Dmitry Podrova had described the Russians as his best men—both former KGB.

I had to assume this man knew what I looked like and that he’d be waiting for either me or the Syrian. As far as tools went, all I had was my Glock, and I couldn’t risk making such a commotion. I needed to be clever but I didn’t have time to be clever. I’d have to rely on my instincts and improvise as I went along.

I began to move out in front of the tree, then I stopped and gazed up into its branches. My eyes followed the branches from the trunk all the way to the roof of the clinic.

There was my answer.

Damn, do I hate heights,
I thought.

Still, I began the climb. It felt a lot like climbing the outer wall of the hostel in Odessa. My hands took the brunt of the cuts and scrapes, and my shoes didn’t want to cooperate. My left forearm was introduced to a whole new level of pain. But my adrenaline kept me moving skyward.

Finally, I reached a branch strong enough to hold my weight. The leaves shook and I worried that the sound would carry over the hard wind. I stopped and watched the man’s face; his eyes remained level, so I continued.

I found a branch that reached all the way to the roof of the clinic and tested it. The branch seemed sturdy enough. It thinned a bit just before the roof but it would be only a foot or two for me to leap. After Ostermann’s building in Berlin, I felt confident I could handle that.

As I navigated the branch I felt a lump form in my throat. I glanced down; it wouldn’t be a terrible fall, but if I dropped awkwardly I could do some serious damage. And if Lindsay was still alive in that clinic, I’d have failed her.

It wasn’t until I was just a few feet from the roof that I realized a jump of any kind would prove impossible; there was no way to gain the necessary leverage.

I looked down and saw that the large man was roughly twenty feet below me. If I could—

The branch snapped under my weight.

The sound was like the cock of a hammer in my ear.

I saw the large man look up.

Neither of us had much time to react. All I could do was attempt to control my fall and hope that his seeing me was enough of a shock to freeze him where he stood for a few moments.

With my right leg I pushed off just enough to reach him.

At the last moment he turned his body, but with my arms extended I was able to bring him down, his back cushioning my fall.

He grunted as his face hit the concrete. When he rolled over, I saw blood dripping from his forehead, and his eyes were wide with hell.

I remained on top of him, pinning his left arm. With his right he came up with a knife.

I moved to block the blow just in time and the blade drove deep into my left forearm, deeper than in Poland. The pain instantly seared all the way up to my shoulders.

With my right I punched the man flush in the face. Blood spewed from both sides of his nose. I pushed up hard under his chin so that the blood would stream into his eyes, blinding him.

He shouted something in Russian as he blindly reached for the knife still lodged in my left forearm.

I howled in pain as the blade began to come loose.

With my right I gripped his left ear and jammed my thumb into his eye as deep as it would go. His right hand released the knife and both hands went straight for his eye socket.

I dislodged the knife from my arm and made sure I had a secure grip.

I drew a deep breath, prepared to plunge the blade into his chest.

Only there had been enough killing.

Instead, I tossed the knife into the grass. With my right hand I grabbed the Russian’s right lapel, positioning my bare knuckles against the carotid artery on the right side of his neck. With my left, I reached under my right and grabbed the Russian’s left lapel, forming an X with my wrists. Then, with every bit of strength I had left in me, I applied pressure on the carotid. Took about twelve seconds, but by the time I finally released him, the Russian was out cold.

Breathing heavily, I glanced at the doorway. Apparently, no one had witnessed the fight.

I stood, looked down at the Russian.

His one good eye was half open, filled with blood yet staring absently at the sky.

I reached for his neck and felt for a pulse.

He was alive.

I grabbed his knife from where I’d thrown it in the grass, then quickly made my way to the entrance.

Chapter 55

I stood in front of the automatic doors and waited for them to open, but they didn’t. My left forearm was useless. I gripped one side of the doors and tugged with all my might but it didn’t budge.

The place was locked down.

I pulled out my Glock and stood back.

So much for not making a racket.

The shot shattered the city’s disquieting silence, but also the glass on the right side of the door.

I stepped through, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my left arm. I’d used the tie in my pocket as a temporary tourniquet. But the wound was deep and I continued to lose blood.

In the distance, a gruff voice bellowed something in Russian, the sound echoing off the corridor walls. The only word I understood was
Sacha,
which meant that the Russian running to the entrance was most likely Jov.

I pressed against the wall, then turned my body into the hallway, ready to fire.

No one appeared.

Then a gun materialized from the doorway and immediately fired in my direction.

I dodged back behind the wall just in time.

The shot ripped into the wooden reception desk just across from me.

My mind was growing cloudy from blood loss. I willed myself to remain on my feet. I couldn’t faint. Not now, after I’d come so far.

I heard his footfalls in the hallway as he attempted to advance. I turned and fired just after he’d reached new cover.

I ducked back behind the wall and drew a deep breath.

There’s no time for this. Lindsay may be under the knife as I stand here waiting for an opening.

If the Russian cut me down, this was all over. But if his bullets struck me anywhere but the heart or head, I knew I’d still make it into the operating room to find Lindsay. It was a chance I had to take.