Chapter 119

ATLANTA, GEORGIA, STILL EARLY FRIDAY MORNING

... Whatley stopped for a moment. "I want Hanes out of here."

Grigsby frowned. "Shit, Sir. He had two major surgeries less than forty-eight hours ago, plus major, and I do mean major, kidney surgery a couple of days prior to that. He's on IV medications, and the guy can barely hobble the five steps to the bathroom even with two people helping him..."

" ... And if this was only the first line attempt? What about Moore on the way to tell Stevens' wife that her husband is in the emergency room after almost being killed? How many more spouses are we going to have to tell that their partner was injured — or worse — before this is over? These people are wealthy, and they're ruthless. And ... we have made some inroads into their organization lately, and there will be more to come because of Hanes. I have a feeling they're not going to just sit back and lick their wounds. We're interfering with the income of some very powerful people. They're going to retaliate. I just fucking know it."

Whatley took a breath, then, "Unless I've totally lost it, those two nurses and Hanes have something special going on between them. I seriously doubt that nurse would throw her body in the way of a bullet for any patient she's ever had — and that's not even mentioning what her sister did. At least those are two people whose loyalty is not in question. Hell, it is imperative that we protect them as well. The people who run this organization aren't going to be pleased when they find out a nurse blew their hired killer away. Ten to one they had to pay him in advance. They just threw that money up a wild hog's ass and hollered sooey, or whatever the hell you say to a hog."

Whatley hesitated for a moment, then, "I want Hanes moved out of here, and I want it done immediately. The nurses have agreed to let us use their house, and the administrator said he would make things work for the nurses. If he reneges, I'll see to it that they're employed elsewhere when this is over. Fuck, maybe they might decide they want to be FBI agents, for that matter. Whatever; I'll take care of it. We have a doctor available through the agency, if it becomes necessary. We'll solve the rest of the problems as they present themselves — or you will. Get it done."

"Yes, Sir."

Just as Grigsby started to turn away, Whatley continued, "I guess this is a piss-poor time to say this, but you're the best ASAC I've ever had. I'm going to push for your promotion. Just keep these people, and yourself, alive."

Grigsby was at a loss for words. "Uh, thank you, Sir." After a moment of furious thought, "Sir, there's a freight elevator just down the hall, and the elevator comes out on a loading dock. I think Hanes would be okay in a wheelchair to get him out of here, and for the ride to the nurses' house — with the nurses' help, of course. We can put him in an SUV. I can have him out of here in minutes. There will be problems with medications and equipment though..."

"I'll handle that through the administrator," Whatley said, "or through our own doctor. Go tell the nurses. Have them get Hanes ready ASAP. No, fuck ASAP. Make that right now."

Grigsby took two steps toward the door, then suddenly turned back to look at his boss. "Sir, what if we had had two fatalities here? None of the hospital's people have been in the suite. We're the only ones who know what happened. All that the hospital personnel on the floor know, and the police know, as far as that is concerned, is there have been three shots fired and two of our agents have been hit with a powerful stun gun. What if we rolled Hanes out on a gurney, covered in a sheet, or maybe have him in a body bag? We could leave the suite with two bodies. Then we could leak to the news media that Agent Hanes had been killed. He doesn't have a family, or anyone waiting for him out there, so we don't have to worry about that..."

"Or," Whatley said, expanding on Grigsby's theme. "I could call a news conference and very sorrowfully say that the assassin had been killed just after he fatally shot Agent Hanes. There were two reporters trying to talk to me when I entered the hospital. You can bet they're out there somewhere trying to get back here past all the city police and our people."

Whatley thought for a moment. "Okay, in regard to the body bags. Do it. Make a production of rolling Hanes' 'body' out. I'll take care of letting the locals (city police) know that Hanes was killed. You can bet they'll all come to attention when we go out with Hanes on a gurney. That will lend more credibility to things. Hero dies at hands of assassin. News at six. At worst, it will confuse the issue and make it more difficult for this organization to figure out where he is."

Grigsby stepped into Hanes' room. A hard look at the agent in charge of the evidence team, a jerk of Grigsby's head and the agent followed Grigsby into the bedroom. Whatley was already outside with a long face to tell the bad news to the other agents and police. Grigsby turned to face the agent. "You have a gurney in your van don't you?"

"Sure."

"I'll get another one up here. I want the assassin's body in a body bag and away from this hospital. Hanes goes out in another body bag with a little more fanfare."

The agent was a far cry from being stupid. He blinked, figured out what was going on and said, "We can leave the zipper open a few inches so Hanes can breathe. Where do we go with him?"

"Down in the freight elevator just like you will with the assassin. The assassin will go in your vehicle, and Hanes will go in an SUV. The SAC is breaking the 'bad' news to everyone outside as we speak."

"Where do we get the second gurney?"

"I'll have the nurses call for one. Tell your people to pack up their equipment and go. Send someone after the body bags and your gurney. I want this done five minutes ago. Make damn sure your people know that. We're afraid we could get hit again."

"You're shitting me? With all those cops outside?"

"Most of them have gone back to their assignments, but Whatley tells me there are still two or three out there, plus our people. What would a grenade tossed down the hall do, huh? Better safe than sorry. Get it done."

"You've got it," the agent said as he hurried back into Hanes room.

Grigsby stuck his head in the living room and caught the nurses' eyes. "I need to see you two."

Bobby and Sandra looked at each other, then hurried after Grigsby.

"What's up?" Sandra asked when Grigsby had closed the door to the bedroom.

"We're getting Hanes out of here."

"But he's..." Bobby started.

"We're afraid of a second attempt on the heels of the first. It wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened. A delay now might mean Hanes' death, and maybe even yours as well. I need you to get a gurney up here right now. Hanes is going out in a body bag with the zipper partially open so he can breathe. That freight elevator isn't far away. We can open the bag more when he's on the elevator where no one can see him."

"Medications..." Sandra started.

" ... Will be taken care of. We need him out of here right now."

"I know where a gurney is," Bobby said.

Grigsby put a restraining hand on Bobby's arm as she started to hurry out. "One more thing. Can you two cry on demand?"

The two nurses looked at each other. "Some tears as you maneuver Agent Hanes' 'body' out might clinch this thing for us."

Sandra and Bobby looked at each other. "We can probably conjure up a tear or two." Bobby said.

"Good. Call the charge nurse and get her to send someone for that gurney. You stay with Hanes and get him ready ... Oh, and start conjuring."

Two of the evidence team had left with the assassin's body. Whatley had just announced that agent Hanes had been killed a couple of seconds before the assassin had been shot dead. Whatley had also announced that he would have a news conference at FBI headquarters in two hours. There were still half a dozen agents outside the suite, plus two city police officers as Sandra and Bobby helped to get Art Hanes into the body bag and it zipped up except for a couple of inches just above his head.

Waiting for the nurses to get Hanes ready, Whatley and Grigsby were stationed in the hallway about fifty feet from the door, well past the other agents and police. Grigsby looked down the hall and frowned. "I've never seen one of those guys in here before," he said, nodding to a man dressed in white coveralls emblazoned with the red lettering of a well-known extermination company. He was pulling a small cart bearing a squat cylinder also marked with the company's name and logo.

The two agents glanced at each other and started in the exterminator's direction. Just before they reached him, the charge nurse for the floor stepped out of a room almost in the exterminator's path. With what appeared to be a double take, she looked hard at the man.

The man smiled disarmingly and remarked. "We didn't get through last night, and I'm supposed to finish up the rooms we missed."

The charge nurse frowned. "Since when did we start using your company? No one has told me anything about it. We use our own personnel — have for the last twenty years to my personal knowledge. You can not just come in here..."

Grigsby and Whatley had reached the nurse and the exterminator. "FBI," Whatley said, but the rest of his sentence was cut off as Whatley realized that Grigsby was drawing his weapon and the exterminator was raising his spray wand. Grigsby's backup .40 caliber Glock went off three feet from the "exterminator's" face. A black hole appeared on the bridge of his nose and he collapsed onto his back.

Whatley grabbed for the spray wand as Grigsby fired, managing to get his hand under the lever that the exterminator was in the process of squeezing. The nurse grabbed her ears and screamed. Whatley went to his knees to hang onto the wand as the exterminator's right leg kicked hard twice, then his body was still, a gush of blood draining across his right eye and running down his cheek to puddle on the shiny tile floor. There was suddenly a strong smell of urine.

"What the fuck?" Whatley got out. I hope you..."

The city police officers and the FBI agents started toward Grigsby and Whatley, but Grigsby waved them back.

"Give me a roll of adhesive tape, please," Grigsby quietly said to the shaking woman standing beside them. Then to Whatley, "Don't move your hand, Boss, or we might not go home tonight. That's lethal poison gas, not insecticide."

"How did you know..."

"Have you ever seen an exterminator wearing a bullet proof vest?" Grigsby said, tapping a ridge on the exterminator's shirt just above his belt. When the nurse handed Grigsby a roll of adhesive tape, he pushed it under the lever so it could not be depressed. "Got another roll of tape?" he said to the charge nurse.

"Not with me, but I can have one in a minute," she said, as she turned to jog down the hall toward the nurses' station.

Shortly, she was back. Grigsby used the tape to secure the other roll of tape behind the spray wand's trigger. "You can let go now, Boss."

Grigsby moved to check out the small cart. "Look in his pouch on the handle there," he said, pointing. "That's a military issue gas mask." Grigsby reached over and pulled the pouch the rest of the way open. "Yep, the cylinder has nerve gas. These are atropine antidote injections for nerve gas. Ten to one pathology will find that he's already given himself a prophylactic injection because nerve gas is a contact as well as inhalant agent."

Then a moment later, "Look here," Grigsby said, opening the Velcro binding of another pouch hanging on the handle of the cart, exposing an ugly-looking machine pistol hidden there.

Whatley looked at his assistant. "How in the hell did you notice his vest? I can see the ridge the bottom of the vest causes under his shirt — now that I know to look for it, but..."

"His vest doesn't fit. I had one a while back that was a couple of inches too short. That one constantly rode up, looked weird and left a ridge of material just above my belt like his is doing. I learned to wear an extra tee shirt over it. I would pull my pants as high as I could, tighten my belt then push them down to stretch out the tee shirt and make the vest less noticeable. As soon as I saw that ridge, I recognized it. Also, the charge nurse wasn't buying his story. When he brought the wand up and pointed it toward you, I just pulled the trigger, hoping like hell that the bullet would go high if it exited his head. Luck, or the Good Lord was with me. The bullet stayed in his head. My backup has a slightly shorter barrel. Maybe the bullet wasn't traveling quite as fast, or maybe the bone in his forehead was stronger than the bone in the side of the assassins head."

Whatley chuckled, forcing himself not to overreact when he realized just how close he had come to death.

"He was going to kill us all," the charge nurse said, her hand clasped to her chest.

"Well, as many as he could, most probably," Whatley agreed.

Grigsby looked at his boss. "If it hadn't been for you, he would have succeeded."