the agent stared at the spattered blood and pieces of flesh on Bill’s shirt, he finally let go and ran to the car. Checking for a pulse, he turned toward Bill. “Bill, she’s dead,” he whispered, as Bill pushed him aside and grabbed Susan in his arms. Touching her, he remembered that hopeless feeling, and then he realized that everything important had now been taken away. “How could I have been so stupid to feel that my family wouldn’t get hurt,” he remembered shouting at the top of his lungs. “I risked my family’s lives to save a hospital, when life and death means nothing to these money grabbing bastards. They’d sell their soul for a buck,” he’d sobbed, pulling Susan tightly into his arms.
Bill also remembered how it took several days before he was again aware of his surroundings after Susan’s murder, and how his life had become a maze of confusing thoughts - mostly revenge. Over and over he’d thought of how he’d like to get his fingers around Lanin’s throat and choke the life right out of that bastard. In fact, that same intense uncontrollable hatred had automatically taken over almost every time he thought about Susan or Kate. And now - even after more than a year - he still couldn’t sleep.
Damn this cruel world, he muttered to himself.
But Susan wasn’t a damning person, and his bitterness would usually fade after he thought about the positive influence she’d been. Bill had accepted a few consulting jobs since he’d rescued the Sister Hospital from a hostile takeover, but his real hope was to still try and expose this greed that was now plaguing his entire healthcare profession - a human service that was almost completely shattered by this endless grabbling for more money. And although he’d probably fail in his promise to Sister Gerome, to expose these outrageous crimes, his recent writings had at least given him the opportunity to vent some of his anger over what had happened to both him and his family.
All their damned money making schemes are destroying this whole country, he cursed.
As he backed away from the window, the phone suddenly jolted him back to reality. Setting his coffee on the table, he apprehensively said, “hello,” since it was still early in the morning.
“Hi Bill, how are you?” A familiar voice shouted.
Bill paused, wondering who’d be calling him at such an hour in the morning.
“Dave Nelson?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Dave replied rather uneasily - “how are you?”
“Oh shit,” Bill snarled. “The last time I talked to you it cost me way too much - you’re no friend of mine!”
“Oh yes I am,” Dave quickly retorted, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Bill, there’s no way I can ever make up for what happened to your family - and you know that.”
“Bull shit!” Bill growled, showing his revulsion at what his family had been subjected to - then after a short silence he finally whispered, “Oh to hell with it all - maybe I am still trying to find a scapegoat for all the guilt I carry.”
Bill hadn’t heard from Dave since he’d persuaded him to move to North Dakota to help get that Sister hospital back on track - but that damned experience hadn’t been without an enormous cost to his career, let alone the damage to him and his family.
“I understand, “Dave whispered. Then after chitchatting for several more minutes, he finally had the courage to once again ask, “Well - are you okay?”
“It’s not been a bed of roses, but I still get up each day and try to understand this whole damn mess.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dave said. “I understand the FBI is still looking for that bunch of crooks. But I hear they just suddenly disappeared from the planet - and the FBI isn’t making much headway.”
“I guess so - but I’ll tell you this - I’m all done worrying about them.”
“I can understand that, but it sure makes you wonder what’s going on. I thought the FBI had them in their sights,” Dave scoffed. “By now, all those con-artists have probably high-tailed it back to their own countries. You know Bill; someday we’re all going to maybe realize this damned globalization isn’t everything it’s supposed to be.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Bill growled, casually pulling back a chair and sitting down.
“All right Dave - let’s have it - you haven’t called me just to chitchat. What’s on your mind this time?”
“Hey buddy, I’m concerned about you. I guess it’s just this damn business we’re in,” he mumbled, rethinking his approach to what was now clearly a very touchy subject. “All right, so I do need your help! You know there aren’t too many Bill Warner’s running around, and I’ve got a serious problem you could help me with.”
“I knew it,” Bill choked, reaching for his coffee. “Damn it Dave - what do you want this time?”
“Bill, I flew to Colorado Springs last night, and first thing this morning I had breakfast with the Administrator of your local pediatric hospital, a Mr. Bakencamp. Then after our meeting I called the Director of the State Health Department and he scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m not familiar with that Administrator,” Bill explained, taking a quick sip of his cold coffee. “I didn’t even know his name, until you just told me.”
“From what I can gather, Bakencamp’s done some real stupid things, and as a result he’s gotten his ass in a jam.”
Bill fidgeted uncomfortably, anticipating what might be next. “Well, at least you chose my home town,” he scoffed.
“Listen, I’m staying at the Broadmoor. Why don’t you meet me for lunch in the Tavern? I’ll get a reservation for twelve thirty, and we can visit.”
As Bill hung up the phone his mind flashed back to Doctor Lanin, screaming for his life.
Damn it, I should have told Dave I’m not interested. I just can’t go back to that type of salvage work again - but I need to tell him that face to face. Hell - I don’t need any more skeletons in my closet - I can’t sleep now.
* * * * *
The Tavern resembled an English pub, and it took Bill a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. After he pushed through the crowd, he dodged several waiters dressed in starched white shirts with black bow ties, scurrying from table to table. And as he greeted Dave it was obvious his suit needed a good pressing, which of course was the result of living out of a suitcase.
“I suppose you’ve heard James Baker, our former President retired,” Dave said.
“Dave, you know I’d never work for that bastard again - after what he did to me.”
“Bill, it’s a whole different organization without him.” Wrinkling his forehead, he stared squarely into Bill’s eyes. “In fact, I’m beginning to enjoy my job again,” he smiled, swiveling his chair a bit so he could face Bill directly. “I had no idea he was dealing from the bottom of the deck. I guess he wanted to retire so bad he’d do anything.”
Dave had already ordered a cold draft beer, and as he tilted his head back he took a deep swallow from the freshly iced mug. Bill just stared at him until he set the mug back on the table.
“I
