Out of the Shadows (16 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

B
EN
WAS
BLEEDING
to death. Leslie’s initial assessment revealed his breathing was rapid but not labored. She found one wound in his upper chest and one in his abdomen. The most urgent problem, however, was the damage to his right thigh. Evidently a bullet had entered anteriorly, then exited, leaving a gaping hole in the back of his leg. Fortunately it had missed his femur, but he was bleeding heavily
.
The cot below him was wet with blood, and an alarming amount had soaked through the canvas fabric and dripped onto the floor.

With Naomi’s assistance, she cut away his pant leg. Acting quickly, she ripped the packaging off two large dressing pads and pressed them firmly over the wounds. “Hold these here—
tight,
” she directed Naomi. She opened two more pads and hurriedly rolled a bandage around his thigh to keep the cotton dressing securely in place, putting pressure on the wounds.

She tore at the buttons holding his shirt, completely exposing his chest. The wound was high on his left side and was bleeding very little externally, which gave her a small measure of relief. With her stethoscope, she determined the breath sounds over his left side were diminished but present. Although this was reassuring, she knew there could be significant internal bleeding, and the lack of an exit wound meant the bullet was lodged in his chest. She hardly noticed that her hands and the front of her blouse were covered in blood, eerily reminiscent of the incident in Nairobi. She hurriedly placed a sterile dressing over the wound and directed Naomi to tape it into place.

She next moved to examine the abdominal wound. There appeared to be minimal internal bleeding. The bowel, however, was sure to be involved, and if he did not have surgery to repair any nicks or holes, peritonitis would occur within a few hours. She had to get him to Nairobi.

Titus stood by the door, unwilling to leave but not wanting to come closer. Anxiety covered his expressive face. Leslie shouted to him, “Go watch for Simon and Paul! Let me know when you see them!”

She turned to Naomi and said, “Take his blood pressure.” As Naomi complied, Leslie grabbed infusion tubing and a liter bag of fluid from her supplies to start an intravenous line.

“Eighty-four over forty-four.” Concern was clear in Naomi’s voice.

“Damn...damn...” Leslie muttered as she turned the IV to run wide open, knowing that he needed fluid to avoid circulatory collapse. His pulse was rapid, and he was simultaneously sweating and shivering—all signs of hemorrhagic shock. The IV saline would help, but he needed blood. She lamented that she didn’t have a store of whole blood or plasma. If his transfer was delayed, she would have to devise a way to give him a person-to-person transfusion. She rummaged in her bag to locate her precious store of injectable antibiotics and added medication into the IV bag to try to forestall infection.

Leslie looked around the room for something to raise Ben’s legs. She dragged a crate over, and she and Naomi were able to lift the foot of the cot to rest on it. Ben moaned in response to the movement of the small bed; it was the first sound she had heard him make.

Leslie paused to wash the blood from her hands and dampen a towel, and then she cleaned Ben’s face, which was spotted with dirt. His eyes were still closed, and there were no other signs he was regaining consciousness.

“Ben...Ben...” She managed to keep her voice calm. “Ben, can you hear me?” She talked to him quietly as they worked. “We’re here with you. You’re going to be okay.”

He remained motionless. Frustrated and desperate to overcome her own sense of panic, Leslie was hugely relieved when Titus called her to the door and she saw a cloud of dust on the road. “Thank God,” she said out loud. She motioned for Naomi to join her. “Stay here and wait with Titus,” she insisted. “See if you can help them.”

She returned to Ben. His normally sun-darkened face was ashen. She took his blood pressure again and was relieved it had not dropped. She checked the IV bag; half of the liter had been infused. She gave a small sigh—at least the volume of fluid circulating through his veins was better.

She knelt beside him again and gently touched his brow and cheek. “Ben...Ben, can you hear me?”

This time, he blinked and then opened his eyes. He frowned, and for a second he didn’t seem to recognize her. Then he blinked again. “Les? Leslie, what?...” His voice was low and hoarse. He licked his lips and tried to swallow.

Weakly, he reached out for her, and she clasped his hand tightly with both of hers. Her voice cracked. “S-Simon told us that someone, uh...ambushed you this morning at the airfield. He, uh...he said that you killed the attackers. He brought you here and came to get me.” She struggled to blink back tears. “I sent Simon to get Paul. They’re nearly here.” She squeezed his hand. “We’re going to come up with a way to get you to Nairobi.”

He nodded slightly and then tried to swallow again. The green eyes did not leave her face. He whispered, “I’m thirsty. Can I have something to drink?”

“Okay, but just a couple of swallows. You have an abdominal wound, and you need surgery. Drinking a lot could make it worse.” She poured a small amount of sterile water into a clean cup and held it to his lips. She stroked his hair while he sipped. “That’ll help a little.”

He nodded his head and she removed the cup. “How do you feel?”

“It hurts,” he answered. Pain etched his face.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I have some morphine. I’ll get my bag.”

He stopped her as she started to move away. “No, not yet. I need to talk to Paul.” He closed his eyes tightly and winced as a wave of pain speared through him. She clasped his hand, holding it until the spasm passed. A moment later he looked back at her. “I need to be able to think... I have to stay awake....”

Leslie shook her head, hating to see him in pain. “I can give you a little. Just enough to take the edge off.”

He swallowed again. “Not now...later. I need to talk to Paul.”

She nodded in acquiescence. “Okay...but let me know when you want anything.” She watched him closely, still holding his hand, desperately wishing there was more she could do.

Despite his pain, he pulled their clasped hands forward and kissed her fingers. Although his eyes were clear and steady as they held hers, his words were barely audible. “I love you.”

Tears streamed down her face, but she managed a weak smile. She leaned forward and gently touched his lips with hers. “I know,” she whispered. “I love you, too.” She kissed his forehead before she sat back.

His eyes caught hers again. “Leslie, I need to tell you—” His words were cut off by another wave of pain arising from his abdomen. He clenched his teeth and grimaced. The spasm left him breathless.

She held his hand until it passed. In a tone that was meant to convince them both, she said, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. Right now, just rest.”

From her spot at the door, Naomi motioned to her, indicating that the men were near.

“Thank God!” she whispered as she heard the sound of gravel flying and a door slam.

Only seconds later Paul entered. He was alarmed when he saw Ben, but he managed to disguise it. “How’re you doing, Ben?” His voice was almost casual as he knelt beside the cot, much as Leslie had done.

Ben tried to smile, but it became a grimace. He gripped the preacher’s hand. “I’m glad to see you!”

Paul’s eyes sought out Leslie. He asked, “How does it look?”

“I think the wound in his chest will be all right, but he needs surgery on his abdomen—soon! The leg wound will give us problems if it keeps bleeding. We’ve got to get him to Nairobi
now!
”

As Paul was nodding in response, Ben interrupted. His words were choppy and weak, and he was panting heavily. “Paul...there’s a phone...” He motioned toward the kitchen and cringed again; the waves of pain seemed to be increasing in both frequency and intensity. “Under the fridge...”

Paul gestured to Titus and Simon, who were standing near the door, and instructed them in rapid Swahili to move the refrigerator. Leslie remained beside the cot and watched as the three men examined the floor. The aged linoleum had been cut in a semicircle. Titus pulled it back, and they discovered a two-foot-square piece of plywood. Paul moved the plywood, revealing a fairly deep hole out of which he removed a cell phone with some type of sophisticated antenna, a laptop, Ben’s passport and a medium-size canvas bag, all wrapped in heavy, clear plastic.

Ben had managed to partially turn on his side and watch from the cot. “The phone.” His words seemed a little more strained. “I need...”

Paul covered the distance from the kitchen in three steps and handed the phone to the injured man. With shaking fingers, Ben flipped two switches, then tried to press a button but didn’t have the coordination. Paul pushed it for him, and they were rewarded by faint static. Ben struggled to depress several buttons and finally hit Send.

Taking a deep breath, Ben said, “Charlie, Foxtrot, Quebec...” but was gripped by another stab of pain. Paul looked at Leslie in alarm, but she simply shook her head. Over his shoulder, she glanced at the IV fluid and noted that it was more than three-quarters empty. She would need to hang another bag soon and hoped that Ben would let her give him some pain medication then.

He tried the sequence again, this time with more success. “Yes, Center, this is Falcon Station. Fifty twenty-seven, thirty-thirty. Do you copy?”

Ben closed his eyes and gave a small sigh of relief. Only Ben could hear the reply, but each of the others in the room was reassured when they realized his call had been answered.

Ben tried to lick his lips before continuing but was unable. Leslie poured a little water into the cup and held it to his mouth. He wet his lips before he said, “Center, I have been shot. Repeat, I have been shot. I was ambushed this morning. It’s critical.” He paused for a few seconds, evidently listening, then replied, “There were five—three were Bantu and two South Asians...probably Pashto...Rasheesh’s men.”

Leslie felt her stomach clench when she heard Ben mention the name of the man from Mombasa. There was another pause, and Ben frowned before he replied, “Dead. Charles Endebbi was killed, too.”

Paul and Leslie looked at each other upon hearing about the death of the man who took care of the airfield. Paul shook his head, and they returned their attention to Ben. They saw him nod, apparently responding to something. He closed his eyes and listened for a few more seconds. With his eyes still closed, he said, “Yes, Center. Rendezvous, Site Two. Sixty minutes. Stand by, and I’ll check the timing.” He opened his eyes and zeroed in on Paul. “Can you get me to Ngulia Lake within the hour?”

Paul answered, “That’s only forty or fifty miles...but the condition of the road is abominable, where it exists at all.” Paul’s fear for his friend was evident. “Yeah, Ben. I think the truck can make it. But I’m worried...”

Paul turned to Leslie, and she gave him a dubious look while shrugging slightly. Turning her attention to Ben, she said, “Ben, we need to take you to Nairobi.” Looking toward Paul again, she pleaded, “Nairobi is by far the best place to take him. He needs surgery!” She looked confused. “Isn’t Ngulia Lake the other direction?”

Ben ignored the exchange. Into the phone he said, “We’ll be in a white Land Rover.” His breath caught, and he clutched his abdomen. Precious seconds passed before he was able to continue. “Roger, we’ll make Site Two at eight forty-five.” He listened again for a span and said with considerably less strength, “Roger that, Center, Falcon Station out.” He switched off the phone and lay back on the cot in exhaustion.

The small group looked at one another. Finally, resigned to the decision that had evidently been made, Leslie said, “Ben, who is going to meet us at Ngulia Lake?”

Without opening his eyes, he answered tiredly, “The people I work for.”

She was stunned. She had known Ben for six months, and he’d never given any indication that he worked for anyone other than himself. Not comprehending, Leslie asked, “Will they take you to Nairobi?”

Ben looked up at her and said, “I don’t know.”

He seemed to regain a measure of strength, and before she could protest, he motioned to Simon, “Get the Land Rover ready for the trip, then come back for me.” He turned to Leslie and Paul and said, “Look in the large coffee cans...also bring the laptop and drives.” He closed his eyes, and Leslie jumped to look in the coffee cans, finding rolls of American bills as well as substantial amounts of Kenyan and Tanzanian currency; these she stuffed into her medical bag. In the meantime Paul picked up Ben’s backpack and shoved the laptop, money, passport and satellite phone into a compartment, while Simon and Titus returned for the injured pilot and carried him, cot and all, to the Land Rover.

Simon opened the rear of the vehicle, and, with Leslie directing, the trio carefully used the bloody sheet to lift Ben. As he rushed into the driver’s seat, Paul instructed Titus to take Naomi back to the clinic, and then he started the vehicle.

Simon rode in the front with Paul, while Leslie crawled into the back to be with Ben. He was awake but glassy-eyed and obviously in pain as they departed. She held his hand and gave a faint smile. “We’ll be there before you know it.” She tried to sound encouraging. “They’ll get you to the hospital and take care of your injuries. In a few days, you’ll get a shower in clean water, and before you know it you’ll be good as new.”

He responded with a weak smile and then closed his eyes. Shortly thereafter, they hit the first pothole. Ben grimaced, gritting his teeth. Less than a minute later, there was another jolt. Ben groaned and gripped Leslie’s hand.

Leslie let go of his hand and hastily dug through her bag. Finding the vial and a syringe, she drew up the pain medication. She leaned over him and saw that he was even more ashen than before. “Ben...Ben, I’m going to give you morphine now. We’re on our way, and there’s nothing more you can do. You need to rest.”

His nod was almost imperceptible, and she slowly injected the medication into the IV line. As she put the syringe back into her bag, she saw the money. Quickly, she slipped the rolls of bills into the canvas bag that held Ben’s phone. As she did so, she noticed that it also contained three smallish devices—made of black plastic. Each device was a little larger than a deck of cards and had a short cable that obviously connected it to a computer. She closed the bag with a puzzled frown before returning her attention to Ben.