Blood Brothers (42 page)

“That’s great!” said Anne. “Can I get you a Baileys and coffee or something else to drink?”

“Baileys and coffee would be delightful,” replied Henrik. “The weather outside makes me nostalgic for the summers I spent as a boy at my family’s cabin in the Lofoten Islands.”

Gunnar laughed. “Yes, the Norwegian weather isn’t always as beautiful as the scenery, is it? Every now and then, I used to think about semi-retiring and taking some low-responsibility role at Bjornsen Norge, so I could spend most of my time fishing someplace along the western coast. But then I’d remember that it’s rainy and overcast about three hundred and fifty days a year.”

“I suppose all positions at Bjornsen Norge will become low-responsibility soon,” replied Henrik, his face growing serious. “I will be fine, however.”

“Good,” said Gunnar. “How about the rest of the employees?”

“I think they will be fine too. Most of them have good credentials, and the Norwegian economy is strong.”

Gunnar nodded. “I’m relieved. Taking care of our American staff is one of my bigger worries.”

“What about you?” asked Henrik.

“Oh, we’re all right. Our son Tom is a stockbroker, and he made sure our money wasn’t all tied up in Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals, though we’re worth a lot less today than we were two weeks ago. Still, we’ll be comfortable.”

“I’m not just talking about money,” said Henrik. “I also meant, how do you feel now that the company is gone?”

“How do I feel?” repeated Gunnar, gazing into the fire. The light played on the strong features of his face, hiding his bruises and giving him a ruddy glow. He looked younger than his sixty years. “Free. I suppose that’s the best word for it. I . . . The company was my world for over thirty years, and now it’s in ruins. I don’t feel depressed or angry, though, just . . . free, or . . . or relieved. Like I’ve been carrying around a boulder for a long time and I finally put it down.”

“I’ve always wondered whether you and Karl owned the company or it owned you,” said Anne.

Gunnar chuckled softly. “When we were boys in Norway, our mother always took us to church, and I remember the minister preaching about how hard it was for rich people to get into heaven because their money was like an anchor dragging them down. That struck me as one of the stupidest things I’d ever heard.”

Henrik laughed. “I can understand why that might not ring true to a young man with big plans.”

“Especially when the minister always seemed to bring those passages up when he was trying to raise money for some church project.” Gunnar shook his head and smiled at the memory. “But that image of the anchor . . . you know, it really did feel like I was chained to the company. I just didn’t know it until the chain broke.”

“Wherever your treasure is, that’s where your heart is,” commented Henrik. “Better to store it where the thief can’t steal and the moth and rust can’t eat away.”

“And the idiot brother can’t burn,” added Gunnar with a sigh.

Elena switched off her computer, grabbed her purse, and walked out through the heavy, locked doors that guarded the bullpen. She was about to push the “Down” button on the elevator when a familiar voice said, “Hi, Elena.”

She froze for a second and then turned slowly. “Hello, Sergei.”

“I thought I’d stop by, since your phone seems to be broken,” he said with an amused look in his eyes. “It just rings and rings and then goes straight into your voice mail. I’ve got my car a block away, and I’d like to take you someplace.”

She turned back and pressed the “Down” button. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What are you afraid of? You can bring your gun.”

She smiled, but shook her head. “Thanks, but no.”

“Come on. If you don’t like the look of the place, I’ll take you straight home. We don’t even have to go inside. I promise.”

The elevator came and she stepped inside, but she turned and held the door open. “Only if we can go Dutch.”

He laughed. “Sure, if you insist.”

To Elena’s surprise, Sergei did not drive toward any of their favorite restaurants. Instead, he got onto the Kennedy Expressway and headed out of the city. After they had been driving for about twenty minutes, she asked, “Is this place in the burbs?”

He nodded. “It’s kind of a drive, but it’s a special place. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

A few minutes later, he turned off into a dilapidated light-industrial district directly under the western approaches to O’Hare. “I’m glad I brought my gun,” she commented as they drove along the dark, empty streets.

“Okay, here we are,” said Sergei as he parked his car in front of a run-down building with a faded sign that read “Advanced Gear.” He turned to her. “Do you know where we are?”

She knew. “What . . . Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

“Well, our conversations in restaurants haven’t turned out that well recently, so I decided to try a change of scenery.” He took a deep breath and pointed toward the darkened shape of the building. “A year ago, I almost died in there. If you hadn’t broken a half dozen Bureau rules and risked your own life, I would have been dead on the concrete floor of that basement. On that day, I fell in love with the bravest, most selfless woman I’ve ever met. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s a knockout in an evening gown.”

Elena sat perfectly still as he went on. “The last time we talked, I said I wanted to ‘get back together,’ but the more I thought about it, the more I knew that wasn’t true. It’s too late to date. It’s too late to come over to each other’s apartments for dinner and a movie. It’s all or nothing now.

“So that’s the choice I’m offering you: all or nothing.” He fished a small black box out of his coat pocket. He opened it, and a diamond he probably couldn’t really afford sparkled in the dim light. “Will you marry me, Elena? Say
yes
, and I’m yours forever. Say
no
, and I’ll never call you or ambush you by the elevators again.”

She leaned across the seat and hugged him tightly, laughing and crying at the same time.

He hugged her back and kissed her. “So, is that a yes?”

Karl came out of his coma gradually. He opened his eyes on the third day after the fire and appeared to recognize faces. By the seventh day, he could sit up and eat with assistance. After two weeks had passed, he could take a few steps with a walker and respond to questions by nodding and shaking his head.

But three weeks after he was admitted, the hospital staff had done all they could for him. His lead neurologist’s nurse called Gunnar and Gwen to arrange a time to discuss Karl’s discharge and the care he would need after he left the hospital. Two days later, the meeting convened in a hospital conference room decorated with posters depicting the human nervous system and various maladies of the gastrointestinal tract. A long window gave a view of a parking lot and the street and strip mall beyond it. Several folding tables with imitation-wood tops had been pushed together to form a makeshift conference table ringed by about twenty utilitarian chairs.

The neurologist sat at one end of the table, with therapists and long-term-care specialists on either side of him. Gunnar and Anne sat together at the other end, with Gunnar’s crutch leaning against an empty chair. Gwen picked a chair in a corner by the door, looking resolutely at a bottle of springwater on the table in front of her.

“Thank you all for coming in for this meeting,” said the neurologist. “Before we make any decisions, we will, of course, involve Karl, but I generally try to meet with the families of brain-injured patients first, because of the significant commitment they may be asked to make to the patient’s care.

“I’d like to start by giving a quick description of Karl’s current condition so that we can use that as a baseline for our talk today.” He opened a manila folder and flipped back several sheets of medical notes. “He has minor lung damage from smoke inhalation, and he has fractured bones in both hands, with significantly worse damage to the right hand. All of these injuries should heal fully, though he may experience arthritis in the joints of his right hand.

“He has also suffered significant neurological damage. The precise cause is unclear, but it appears to be a combination of oxygen deprivation during the fire and the presence in his body of certain compounds related to the experimental drug known as Neurostim. The presentation of this brain injury is unique, but it can be best analogized to simultaneous strokes in different regions of the brain. The frontal and temporal lobes appear to have been particularly affected.

“Karl has substantial deficits in fine-motor control and cannot speak. He has some short-term memory loss, but he does not appear to be measurably cognitively impaired. He does not hallucinate and has not exhibited any abnormal behavior since he was admitted. He reportedly engaged in suicidal and violently sociopathic conduct shortly before admission, but this episode appears to have been related to Neurostim use.”

The neurologist turned a page and continued, “Karl’s prognosis is unclear, but it appears probable that he has suffered substantial permanent damage. However, the extent of recovery from brain injuries varies from individual to individual. Further, the operation of the Neurostim compounds in the neurological system is largely unknown, which adds additional uncertainty.” He closed his notes and turned to a gray-haired, white-coated woman seated to his right. “That’s all I’ve got for now. Barbara, would you like to outline care options for Karl?”

“Sure,” she said with a nod to the neurologist. “I’ve evaluated Karl and concluded that he is a good candidate for either an assisted-living facility or in-home care. My preference is generally for in-home care in cases like Karl’s, but I know that it isn’t always feasible for families.” She looked inquiringly at Gwen.

“I don’t think in-home care will be feasible,” said Gwen. She then returned her attention to the water bottle.

“If you work, I could recommend having a nursing service on call, in case Karl needs something during the day,” offered the long-term-care specialist. “They could also help him with meals.”

“Thank you, but in-home care isn’t an option,” repeated Gwen with a gracious but firm smile. “You had mentioned there were some nursing-home possibilities?”

The specialist looked surprised, but she didn’t press the point further. “Well, yes. There is a range of options in terms of both care levels and, ah, expense.”

“Karl’s going to need something that fits within his income from disability insurance, Social Security, and so on,” said Gwen. “I’m not sure how much that will be.”

“I’ve seen his financial-responsibility forms,” replied the doctor. “There are some competent, no-frills facilities that might work. For instance—”

“Gwen, what are you talking about?” interrupted Gunnar. “If you go back to work, your health insurance will cover Karl. If you don’t, you can stay home with him.”

Gwen put on a smile and looked at the long-term-care specialist. “Please go on.”

“No,” said Gunnar firmly. “Answer my question first.”

Several seconds of awkward silence passed. The neurologist cleared his throat. “I think this would be a good time for a short break.” He got up, as did everyone in the room except Gunnar. Anne walked over to Gwen and laid a hand on her arm. “Could we talk for a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

Anne walked back to Gunnar, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Gwen followed. “What’s going on?” demanded Gunnar.

“I’m leaving him,” said Gwen flatly. “I’m surprised you hadn’t figured that out.”

“You’re going to just stick him in some nursing-home warehouse and go?” he asked incredulously.

She bristled. “He’s lucky I’m even here today. I should be in New York or Paris looking for a job right now. Do you know there’s no money left? The government seized everything two days ago. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” admitted Gunnar. “If it’s . . . if it’s a question of money, we might be able to help.”

She stared at him for several seconds. “You’d do that? After what he did to you, you’d pay his bills?”

Gunnar nodded. “If you can’t.”

She shook her head incredulously. “Well, I can’t—and I wouldn’t if I could. And another thing: This isn’t just about money. He lied to me. And then he ruined me. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life dressing him and pushing him around in a wheelchair.”