The Emissary (30 page)

“Poor boy—you know he hates the rain and he’s up there—all alone? Ten minutes … work your miracles, Doc.”

“Alberto, get me a whole pot of tea for Jamie and make sure there’s plenty of coffee. Keep it coming. See what you can do about feeding Jimbo. Phil, Brady … let’s get her on the examining table,” Doc commanded. They carried her to sickbay, still in her wet hospital gown, and laid her down on the table. Doc didn’t have time to question why Jimbo had brought her back, but he knew it had to be a life-and-death situation.

He couldn’t believe Jimbo had had the foresight to bring her medical records. “Way to go, Jimmy,” he said, under his breath. Hopefully he would have enough to go on from the chart to know what medications were racing through her bloodstream, and what would be the best way to treat her.

Dom came with the towels and blankets. Doc dried her, put a clean gown on, and wrapped her in blankets from head to toe. He opened the metal folder of the chart, fearful of what he would find. First question: How did she end up in the Psychiatric Facility? He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: the woman was laid out on heavy sedatives. What in the hell? He felt for a pulse. She was there, but so weak. He took a bottle of saline solution from the cabinet and hooked her back up to a drip. “Come on, Jamie. Come out of it.”

He turned the thermostat up to ninety degrees, and then sat down next to her, reading her chart—astounded at what it contained. From the admitting report in ER, where she was reported unconscious, to cardiac arrest: three minutes of death before they
brought her back. Jamie had been a Code Red hospital emergency. Reading, skimming over the medical reports: “delirium, hallucination,” and then his worst fear: “possible hemorrhage, aneurism.” He flipped forward hurriedly, bewildered. Why would a patient coming out of coma be immediately sedated? That was completely counterproductive. He kept one eye always on her, waiting for her to wake up, but doing his best to stabilize her and raise her body temperature. He could see eye reflex beneath her lids—a sign she might be coming out of the sedation. As he watched her, he read on. There was a total breakdown in procedure, an unprecedented violation of protocol. From the time she was transferred to intensive care, to being signed into the care of one Dr. Emery Wells, at the separate Psychiatric Facility, a satellite of the hospital—nothing made sense.

He read Dr. Varja’s report—carefully chosen words—recommending she not be moved:

“As to the patient’s ‘psychotic’ episodes, the observations posed by Dr. Wells are not consonant; she exhibits severe anxiety, disorientation, and neurological dissonance which, considering the circumstances of her trauma, are not beyond the average range of neurological and emotional response.”

What could have happened to cause this intervention? Doc was completely mystified, but it was clear that he wasn’t the only one asking the question. Why was Jamie Hastings, a critical patient with possible brain damage, yanked out of the hospital and thrown into a psychiatric facility?

Jimbo came in, looking human again. “What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asked, fearful of the reply.

“I can’t even begin to guess what this poor girl has been through. She’s been injected with heavy sedatives—that’s crazy considering her head injury.”

“Can you give her something to bring her out of it?”

“I do have the antidote here—flumazenil—it’s used to bring people out of anesthesia, and it’s indicated for what they’ve given her in the hospital, but I’m not sure what they gave her in the facility. The chart just says ‘sedation.’ That’s strange,” Doc said, scratching his head. “For her to be out like this, they must have given her something powerful. With a head injury, if there’s intracranial pressure—flumazenil could cause convulsions. We can’t take that risk.”

“You have an idea how long it will take her to come out from under the meds naturally?”

“I’m reading she just had a last dose administered a few hours ago. She’s showing signs of activity. She sure doesn’t need to be on this ship right now—I can tell you that for certain.”

Jimbo sighed. “You’re wrong, old friend. This is exactly where Jamie needs to be.”

“You call it, Jimbo.”

“You’ve trusted me until now, haven’t you, Doc?” Jimbo replied.

“I trust you with my life, Jimbo, you know all about that.”

“I’m gonna take her back out. You ready to do that?”

Doc glanced over at Jamie, and then back at Jimbo. “If I’m going to die, I’d at least like to know why.”

“We’re going to outrun death, my friend. Tsunami’s coming.”

“I’ve got nobody waiting for me either way, Jimbo.”

Jimbo put his hand on the shoulder of the man who had been his friend for so long. They’d been through everything together—Doc was the closest thing to a brother Jimbo had ever known. “I’ll gather the crew, and see who’s willing.”

Doc nodded, and went back to his patient, still waiting for a story that had to be told, knowing Jimbo had the pieces put together. That was all he needed to know, at least for the time being.

Jimbo called everybody back to the lounge. Gone was the laid-back Captain Jimbo, the guy with a story and a beer. Here stood a man who surely knew he was making choices that would put them
all in harm’s way—life-threatening choices. He was solemn. There would be no humor this night: no storytelling, no running away to the captain’s stash.

Everyone gathered around the dining room table.

“Boys, you have surely heard about the quake in San Francisco: 9.3 on the Richter. I am heartbroken to report most of the city is leveled. I haven’t had time to hear how far the damage extends up and down the coast. They’re telling us the epicenter was five miles out in the ocean, and a tsunami is due to hit the entire West Coast—all the way up as far as Alaska. And as if that isn’t bad enough, we’re a sitting duck in this killer storm here, the worst I’ve ever seen in my years out on the Pacific Coast.”

Mike, the chief engineer, burst in from the mess hall, apologizing for being late. His hair was glued to his head from the sweat, and his cheeks were crimson red. He looked harrowed and exhausted, and none of his men had come back on board.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I’m afraid it’s going to be just me down there.”

Jimbo nodded. “You see what’s happening out there on the roads—the city is flooding fast. But if a tsunami hits, man, we’re talking catastrophe like you never even imagined. I have made my decision to get this ship out as far as we can move her, before this thing comes in. It’s going to be a rough ride out, but it’s the best bet for saving the ship. It won’t be smooth sailing, you know that—it’s sure to be rough for a while. But one thing I know how to do is navigate a ship—that’s what I grew up doing, and that’s what I do best. We’ll be without satellite tracking, no radar, no nothing—just Jimbo at the wheel.”

The men looked at each other, nothing less than astounded.

“I’ve got about five minutes to hear your decisions—you’re either staying back or sailing out. I can’t obligate you, and I wouldn’t try—I know the dangers involved. And this isn’t the Army. If you decide to stay, take your wives and your kids and get as far away
from the shore as you possibly can. If you decide to come with me, I can’t guarantee you’ll be back. It’s a coin toss, either way.”

“Captain, it’s a killer storm. What makes you think we can even make it out?” asked Bobby.

“I can get her out of port. I know this Lady.”

“What about Sam and Liz?” Bobby asked.

Jimbo simply said, “Looks like they’re not gonna make it.”

Mike was the first to say yes. “Count on me, Captain.”

Bobby was next. “In.”

“Alberto, Dom, I don’t need you—you’re welcome to go home,” Jimbo said.

Domenico looked around at everyone, feeling ashamed to be the first to bail out—but he had his priorities. “I’m sorry, Captain. My wife … any day now.”

Jimbo put his arm around him and patted him on the back. “You go, son. Get home to your wife—I would do the same. Go into the mountains up high. You hurry now,” he said, filled with compassion.

Domenico went out the crew exit, to gather his few things from his quarters and then leave the ship. With no buses running, and no cars on the roads, he didn’t know how he was going to get there, but he would get there … even if he had to wade through the flooded streets all the way home.

Alberto was committed to staying. “You are going to need me, Jim, you are wrong. I will stay.” He attempted lightheartedness. “I can’t even imagine any of you trying to cook in my galley!”

Brady, on the other hand, was diffident and averse to the whole idea. “I’m sorry—it’s crazy to even consider going back out there. You’ll run into trouble, and who will answer an SOS? Not even the Coast Guard would be crazy enough to go out in this. I’m sorry—I’m out of here, Captain. Godspeed.” He walked out of the room without saying goodbye, too afraid to give power to the words, covering a sense of his own cowardliness with indignation.

Jimbo watched him go. “Godspeed to you, too, boy.”

Philippe was the last to come forward. While the others were announcing their decisions, he had studied Jimbo, knowing there was more to his decision to take
The Deepwater
back out. It was as if the whole day had been some other sort of reality, where nothing was what it seemed, and this moment was no different. Jimbo had a strange look in his eyes, as if he saw something the others had missed—as if he could read more of the story. Nobody had mentioned the whales in all this—it was almost as if it had never happened, and yet it wasn’t that many hours earlier that they had gone through that utterly bizarre experience: the whales, the accident, Jamie. Philippe knew, instinctively, that Jamie was fighting for her life in there, on the ship—rather than in the hospital, where she needed to be—because of the whales.

As a man, he knew he was needed. And as a marine biologist, he was certain that the most profound experience of his life might very well be waiting out there, back at the Orca sanctuary, where he just knew—in his gut—that Jimbo was heading. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he said.

Jimbo, a man who always had a story, or a joke, or some words of wisdom to share, found himself struggling to find the words. He was deeply moved, knowing what they might be facing ahead. He took time, reflecting, before he spoke. “I have had cause to question people in my life,” he said. “People have come and gone—good people, bad people. People have pulled the wool over on me. People have let me down. Just like everybody else. I don’t hold nothin’ against nobody—people do what they gotta do. But you’re here. I don’t know quite what to say. In the old days, they called this kind of dedication ‘valor.’ I’m grateful to you. And I know you trust me. You have my word: I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t let you down.” He started to get choked up. As exhausted as he was, he felt like he could break down and cry, but that was not going to
happen, especially not in that moment. “Now let’s get this Lady out of this raging sea, and take her to the dawn.”

They thought he was talking about the ship herself, but it was Jamie he was delivering to the light.

The unmistakable sound of his master’s footsteps coming down the hall sent Fin into ecstasy. He thought he’d lost both of them: first Jamie disappeared, without goodbyes, and then Jimbo abandoned him. That is all he could understand. Alberto shut him out in the mess hall when Jamie lay waiting to be taken away, and then Bobby locked him up on the bridge when Jimbo left the ship without him. Since the time he was a pup and wandered aboard, that had never happened. Where Jimbo went, he went. Usually that was only as far as the Crow’s Nest, where he would wait, outside the bar, until Jimbo was ready to come home—back to the ship, or over to Lorna’s place, where he sometimes spent the night.

“Hey, boy, they locked you up all alone up here?” Jimbo roughed him up a bit, playfully, and they celebrated the bond between them, each in his own way, reconnecting. Fin wanted to climb all over him, he kept jumping up and licking Jimbo’s face, but the captain had a ship to sail, and the urgency to get out of harm’s way as fast as he could take her out. He got out of his chair and walked with Fin to his bed, where Jimbo stood over him, commanding him to lie down and be still. He knew when Jimbo meant “stay!” and he curled up, knowing this was one of those times, and stayed still—never taking his eyes off his master.

Jimbo went back to his chair, making preparations to start up the engines, running cross-checks with Bobby and with Mike, down in the engine room. “This is the last time we’ll be listening to the news, for a while, Bobby—let’s see what we can find out.”

Bobby tuned in the radio. By now, every station was talking about the weather and the great California quake: the long-dreaded “big one” that had finally toppled San Francisco. They got the local weather-channel report just as it was providing an up-to-the-minute situation report.

The announcer’s voice was grave, as he read the staggering news.

Jimbo told Bobby to turn off the radio. “We’re moving out.”