Chapter 37: Healing

00:38, 6 September

As the five hundred or so expatriates lined up to begin giving their details, Jamie couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?" he called out loudly.

When he was happy that they had all stopped talking amongst themselves and were now waiting to hear what he had to say, he continued.

"I'm afraid you are all going to have to get used to huge demands being made of you from now on. There are not many of us and we have a country to rebuild. For now though I am sorry, but I'm going to have to cut this welcome short. I need to know if there are any qualified medical staff amongst you, particularly doctors. You might not be aware of it, but the last battle for Scotland's freedom was fought last night and there are many wounded who need professional care.

"If there are any medical people here could they make their way forward to me immediately please?" Jamie asked.

Four people made their way forward and introduced themselves to Jamie.

"Your Grace, I'm Fred MacAuley, honoured to meet you sir," said the first man, "I'm a cardio-thoracic consultant.

"Ashleigh Ferguson, Your Grace, theatre nurse," said a tall willowy blonde.

"Carter MacNeill, Sire. My specialty is in accident and emergency, anything to do with trauma and I'm your man," offered the third.

"Your Grace, it's a pleasure to be here, my name is Michelle MacGregor. I'm a trained physiotherapist," said the last of the four.

"I'm afraid you all need to come with me immediately. We've done what we could for the wounded from last night, but I'm afraid our medical expertise is very limited. The wounds that need treated go somewhat beyond what they taught us in the boy scouts to win our first aid badge," said Jamie.

He turned to one of the teenagers who had accompanied him and asked that he make sure he snagged the bags of all four of Scotland's new medical workforce. He explained that he was taking them on to the Western General Hospital where the wounded from the night before had been transferred.

Jamie led the way to the Lynx and he and the girls helped the two doctors, the nurse and the physiotherapist inside. Once everyone was strapped in he ran through his pre-flight checks and then took the helicopter up for the twenty-minute flight to the hospital. Like most hospitals, the Western General had a heli-pad and Jamie set the Lynx down gently on the large white 'H' that was painted inside a landing circle.

Even before Jamie could begin his shut down routine, the two surgeons were out of the door of the Lynx and heading towards the main hospital buildings. By the time he and the girls had everything secure and had followed along behind, the change in the medics was remarkable to see.

They had both come across as confident individuals from the first moment they had introduced themselves, but had been polite and deferential to him as the King. Now they were in their own domain and they were all business.

"Take that one through to theatre immediately. You and you, follow nurse Ferguson and do exactly what she tells you. What do you mean you don't know where theatre is? Just follow the signs and be quick about it, this boy needs surgery now!" ordered MacAuley.

"Who let these youngsters play with loaded weapons? You, hold his still leg for me, don't let it move no matter how loud he screams," said MacNeill as he began treating patients where they lay.

"Don't just stand around your Grace, help move that one over there. She needs immediate help too or she's unlikely to make it," MacAuley urged his monarch.

What followed was a blur of activity as the two medics sorted through the wounded, identifying the most urgent cases first and setting the order in which people would be treated. Jamie watched them in amazement as they took instant decisions about what needed to be done for each of the wounded.

Two of the casualties caused the thoracic surgeon to shake his head and move on and Jamie guessed that he had concluded there was nothing that could be done for them. He wondered how that felt, to make a split-second decision not to treat someone because you judged your efforts were going to be more productive elsewhere, but in doing so know that you had just written off a life?

Jamie decided his biggest contribution would be to take the helicopter to the other Glasgow airport to see whether there were any more trained medical staff amongst the passengers of the plane that had landed there. There had been sixty one wounded moved to the hospital and the two doctors would be hard pressed to treat them all.

The wounds ranged from bullets to the chest or other areas of the torso, severe trauma cases where bullets had hit and shattered bone and more straightforward 'through and through' wounds that needed cleaning, stitching and dressing. Without trained nursing staff, the medics were getting frustrated at how quickly they could treat each patient and their frustration was beginning to manifest itself as they shouted at people to do things quicker.

Jamie motioned to his sister and the girls and was surprised when they waved him off and indicated that they were going to stay on and help with the treatment of the wounded teenagers. He shrugged and left on his own to see whether he could find some more qualified help.

Shafiq swayed and her eyes fluttered shut once more. She flinched as she felt the bucket of icy water hit her front and her eyes snapped open. The infidels had kept her awake now for what seemed like weeks, but was in fact only just over thirty-six hours. The adrenaline and effects of shock from the violent raid on the apartment and her capture had undoubtedly drained her to the point where her body was completely exhausted.

"Which group are you working for? Who do you report to? Where were you trained? How do you make contact?"

The questions were fired at her for long periods, but she shut them out and refused to answer anything. Her interrogators had been eating, drinking and smoking in front of her and the sight and smell of the food was almost too much to bear. The smell of the cigarettes smoke reaching her nose was a difficult thing to ignore, but ignore it she did.

Then they would switch tactics and another of the infidels would talk to her quietly, his voice soothing, encouraging her to think of herself, to end the pain she was enduring.

"You have done enough now," came the voice, "you have proven your devotion to your cause and to the prophet, beyond doubt. Your words cannot harm anyone any longer, come, give yourself some respite. Tell them what they want to know and then you can rest."

The sweet voice had almost reached her, but from somewhere deep inside herself the memory of her training surfaced and with sudden clarity she knew what the soft, soothing words were trying to do. She closed herself off from the effect of the voice and the interrogator could see from the change in her facial expression that his attempt had failed.

"I was close!" he thought to himself, "very close. Perhaps a few more hours without sleep and she'll be ready for me."

She had been left alone then for a short period, but any attempt to rest, to lie down or even to close her eyes was met by screaming from the guards at her door and ear shattering noise from a speaker mounted high up in one corner of the room. Now the questions started all over again.

Deep inside herself, Shafiq began to feel her triumph build. They had now gone through this cycle four or five times. Although the order in which she faced the elements of the interrogation were changed slightly each time - she was sure she had been exposed to everything they could throw at her. Her belief that she had come through it all fuelled her ability to carry on resisting.

Despite the cold water soaking through her clothing, she felt her eyes closing again and she swayed once more. She vaguely heard the door behind her open and then her arms were seized. Shafiq was aware enough to feel something prick her sharply on the inside of her right forearm and she cursed herself inwardly.

"Fool! She screamed silently to herself, "you allowed yourself to become complacent! Now they are going to use drugs to try and loosen your tongue."

She felt as if she awakening from a dream, listening to a soft, sweet voice, a voice she vaguely remembered from somewhere in her past.

"Ah, Bird Song, I'm glad you're back with us, you had us all worried," said the voice.

Her mind felt as if it was weightless, floating around inside her head from thought to thought and she struggled to try and focus.

"Back from where? Why are they worried?" she thought weakly.

"The mission has been a great success and surely Allah and the Prophet are smiling down upon you," came the sweet voice again.

"The mission... the mission... yes, I succeeded in releasing the virus, I remember now," she thought.

"You have killed millions of the infidels, sent so many unbelievers straight to hell," came the voice, its message somewhat at odds with the musical quality to its tone.

"The voice, where have I heard the voice? Mission... I succeeded," her thoughts drifted.

"All of the training we did together was worth it, worth it to see our plan succeed. Do you remember the training Bird Song?"

Shafiq's drug fogged mind drifted back to the training camp in Pakistan.

"Is that where I remember the voice from? The training camp in Pakistan was hard, but our training paid off," she thought.

"We must report our success Bird Song, we need to contact base and let them know we have released the virus and it has taken the lives of the infidels. How do we contact base?" asked the voice.

"Not the camp... where have I heard the voice? Do I report to the voice? I need to report to the voice... need to report that we have succeeded. Phone... where is my phone... I need to report to the voice.

"Is the number programmed into the phone?" asked the voice sweetly.

"Sweet voice... I report to the sweet voice... sweet voice... where did I hear it... sweet voice... sweet-talking me... NO!"

The interrogator watched as Shafiq's face changed from its relaxed, drugged calm to being screwed up as if she was in pain. He knew that somehow she had managed to fight through the fog of the drugs to realise something wasn't right and now she was actively resisting his subtle suggestions.