Spoilers: Continuation of “A Tangled Webb”
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: Who would claim it?
Summary: Webb is in a hospital in Uruguay
Author’s Note: Just something I decided not to throw away
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May 24, 2003
ICU of MUSA Medical Center
Port City of Montevideo, Uruguay
Four days had passed since the patient in number 5 had been brought in. Alone, with no identification, he remained a mystery to the hospital staff.
Delia Monfuego had supervised Number 5’s transfer from surgery three days ago. She had long since hardened her heart to the traumas she processed through her ward. The internal care unit of Uruguay’s government-operated teaching hospital was not a place for emotional weakness or professional slip-ups. Peoples lives were on the line and quite often she became their first line of defense.
Despite these professional dictates, Delia couldn’t help a wave of sympathy for Number 5. She recorded the hourly vitals on his chart and noted the long list of injuries outlined by the attending: spleen ruptured, right eardrum imploded, four ribs shattered, right lung perforated, esophagus lining burned, nose broken, large intestine bleeding out, right kidney punctured…evidently the internal injuries and bleeding had been tremendous. Based on the burn patterns, outer bruising, and weakened muscles, Dr. Morayati had speculated that Number 5 had probably been electrocuted and beaten. Definitely tortured. They’d treated these cases before and would more than likely do so again.
The three surgeries number 5 had endured would have killed a lesser man, and even now, the doctors were not optimistic about his survival. Patients in the ICU had an informal survival coding assigned by the staff of most hospitals: 0-2 tubes usually meant good survival; 3 or 4 tubes generally equated a difficult-but-hopeful survival rating; 5 or more tubes meant “hopeless” or “Gomer” status. The staff was always thankful when a Gomer surprised them and pulled through. They worked hard for all of their patients regardless of their survival status. Number 5 currently had six tubes.
As she replaced his chart on the wall outside of his inner room, an unlikely trio approached her. Delia scrutinized their soiled clothing and battered appearance with trepidation. Security at the hospital was for the safety of the patients: sudden outbursts and infectious organisms could seriously undermine the progress of those in her ICU.
“The Emergency Room is on the ground floor and in the north wing,” she intoned.
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Victor looked over at Mac and Harm. They did look a bit worse for wear. Mustering his Portuguese language skills, he tried to explain their appearance.
“We are not seeking the ER. We are…”
Catching the slight American accent and stilted inflection, Delia interrupted the weary spokesman.
“English is fine. What is it you seek?”
Victor was relieved. He was too tired from trying to rescue everyone to form his thoughts in a foreign language. He gifted the attractive nurse with an appreciative smile and briefed her on their rag-tag appearance in her ICU.
“Thank you. I am Victor Galindez and we are looking for our friend. The Paraguayan military transport dropped him off four days ago: multiple injuries, burns, bruising. He was in pretty bad shape. I had to trust the PA to get him here because they refused to let me accompany him.” Gunny was out of breath from this piece-meal explanation, but the desperation of the last week was starting to catch up with him and this nurse looked decidedly suspicious.
“Describe your *friend* please,” requested Delia, not unkindly. These people were evidently the link to her Gomer in Number 5. However, that poor man in Number 5 had been tortured to within an inch of his life. What if she mistakenly put his life in further danger?
“I can understand your reticence. And actually appreciate it. Colonel, could you…?” Mac could tell that the Gunny was on his last leg and gladly took over. She gestured for he and Harm to sit down on the chairs in the adjoining waiting room.
“Colonel? You are military?” questioned the sharp nurse.
Deciding to cut to the chase, Mac mixed up the truth a little. “I’m actually a military lawyer with the JAG corps. My husband and I were captured by terrorists in Paraguay about seven days ago. Those animals tortured my husband and I could do nothing to stop them. For two solid days they---well, during the rescue we were separated as Victor said. The Paraguayan Army transported Clay here and we’ve been tying to catch up to him for four days.”
Delia saw many holes in this scattered explanation, but considered herself an excellent judge of character. Dealing with bereaved family members and traumatized patients had honed these skills over the years. This woman was hiding lots of things from her, but one thing was obvious: she cared deeply for Number 5 and felt that she had failed him in some way. “What is your husband’s name?”
“Clay. Clayton Williams. And I’m Sarah.” The answers were quickly given.
“Physical description, please. I need this for confirmation,” Delia had already decided to let the woman see Number 5, but any extra information for his medical background would be advantageous.
Mac smiled slightly as she gave a brief rundown of Clay’s appearance: “Clay is 5’10, about 170 pounds, hazel eyes, thick brown hair, and just celebrated his 42nd birthday in December…” Mac’s voiced drifted off as she caught the nurse’s eye.
“Any identifying marks, Mrs. Williams?” Delia asked gently. If she didn’t know better, this strong woman looked like she was about to collapse.
This time there was a full-fledged grin on Mac’s face. “Yes, there is. A half-moon birthmark is on the back of his left shoulder--- (Mac held up her thumb and forefinger) about an inch in diameter.” As she finished this statement, Mac noticed that she had just gotten Harm and Gunny’s attention. Wiping the grin off her face and allowing her hand to drop, she ignored them and waited for the nurse’s decision.
“Mrs. Williams, I’m Delia Monfuego, the nurse supervisor of our ICU. If you’d care to step this way, I need you to wash up and put on these scrubs and gown. When you finish, I’ll take you to Mr. Williams. It’s very important to keep him in a sanitized environment right now so that infection does not set in.” The nurse’s voice drifted off as she led Mac through the outer door of the ICU.
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Back in the waiting room, Harm looked over at Gunny and raised his eyebrows. This had been a hell of a mission and it wasn’t over yet. Harrison Kershaw, the deputy DCI, had ordered him to retrieve Webb ASAP. Frankly, at this point, he didn’t care what anyone ordered. He was tired, dead tired.
Rescuing Mac and Webb had been easy enough. Taking out the stingers was more complicated, but he and Mac had done their best. Their plane going down was just bad luck. He had controlled the crash as best he could, but the trees did not cooperate. By the time he had regained consciousness (and thanked God for his surprisingly hard head), Mac had retrieved his cell and gotten through to Gunny.
Mac was relatively scratch-free due to that overstuffed body suit Webb had suckered her into wearing. He could tell that his head wound had scared her a little, but she had coped. However, when Gunny had told her that the PA had transported Webb to Uruguay, she had gone silent. She’d handed over the cell and searched for the GPS in the knapsack they carried.
Working in covert collaboration with the CIA, the PA had picked them up in the jungle, had a medic check them over, and heloed them to Gunny who was being held at a military outpost along the Rio de la Plata.
On the transport from the “Rio,” Gunny had told them both about how Webb had intervened at the highway checkpoint. When they had been stopped on the road by the PA, Webb was fading quickly but rallied when he realized that Gunny might be in trouble. He had weakly called over the PA Captain and requested him to contact a General Hacida. Webb, considering himself dead anyway, had revealed his true identity over the handset and requested backup and safe transport for “his team” back to the States. According to Gunny, Webb had been patched through to Deputy Director Kershaw and, with his last breath, relayed the stinger information and Faad’s last position, then ordered him to make certain all “his team” were retrieved, dead or alive. Gunny had taken the handset from Webb’s hand when it went limp and concluded the conversation with Kershaw. Before he could return the handset to the Captain, helos had landed on the road and Webb had been extracted. Another helo had transported the Gunny to the “Rio” and yet another had retrieved Mac and Harm.
It had finally taken a call from Harm to Kershaw to discover Webb’s location. Harm was under orders to retrieve Webb, but Gunny and Mac had insisted on accompanying him.
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Mac was overwhelmed when she finally walked through the sliding-glass door to Number 5. The ultra-modern room was filled with an impressive assortment of machines that clicked, beeped, and flashed glowing numbers. By the time Nurse Monfuego had maneuvered her around all the various life-saving gizmos, Mac was consumed with apprehension. She closed her eyes and allowed the nurse to guide her into position on the right side of the bed. She felt the nurse depart, but kept her eyes closed for a few more seconds.
Taking a deep breath, Mac opened her eyes and focused on Clay’s face. Tears welled as she noted the tube exiting his mouth and leading to what she recognized as a respirator. Another, smaller, tube was taped to a bandage covering his right ear. It looked to be actually draining off blood from his ear. Other tubes were visible, but Mac forced herself to ignore them.
His eyes were closed and Mac had never before realized how truly thick and long his lashes were. The tips were actually a lighter color and curled naturally. The blood had been washed away, but stitches were obvious along the bridge of his nose and bisecting his left eyebrow and forehead. Heavy stubble and surgical tape covered most of the lower half of his battered face. Clay’s hair had obviously been washed since their ordeal and now lay in a disheveled mess over his forehead and pillow.
Almost involuntarily, Mac’s hand reached up to smooth his hair back into place. The thick locks felt cold to the touch and clung to her hand. As she continued to stroke his hair back, Clay emitted a soft moan. Startled, Mac stepped back and called for the nurse.
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Delia rushed back to Number 5 and stopped short. Pushing his wife to one side, she paged Dr. Morayati and checked her patient’s vital signs.
Dr. Morayati arrived within moments of being paged. Harm and Gunny half-stood as they watched the grizzled doctor nearly sprint to the ICU. Fearing the worst, they lowered their eyes and stared at the loop pattern of the waiting room carpet.
Back in Number 5, Dr. Morayati re-checked Clay’s stats then pulled back his bedding and gown. Mac watched in growing horror and could not hold back her cry of pain as she saw the mass of taped tubes and incisions across Clay’s chest and abdomen. Delia started to order her out, but Mac drew on her reserves and gestured that she had herself under control. Delia ushered her out anyway so that the doctor could complete his exam without the impediment of a loved one scrutinizing his work.
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Harm and Gunny had no idea how to comfort Mac as she stumbled out of the ICU and practically fell into one of the waiting room chairs. Harm walked over to her chair, squatted down, and awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Is he gone, Mac?” he gently asked.
“Don’t know---he started moaning. In so much pain. All those tubes, Harm. He’s on a respirator. The he moaned and the machines went crazy. Oh, Harm, even his hair was cold!” was Mac’s incoherent response. The men looked at each other in confusion as silent tears ran down Mac’s face.
Harm sat down and tried to pull Mac into his arms, but she didn’t want to be comforted. Sensing her inner turmoil, Gunny watched her walk to the window and tried to reassure her.
“He’s tough, ma’am. If he’s made it this far, I’m certain he’ll pull through.”
Picking up on Gunny’s verbal sally, Harm tried his best. “You know how Clay feels about quid-pro-quo, Mac. Now that he’s pulled our sixes out of the fire, he’ll expect some favors. He won’t die until he’s extracts his pound of flesh and you know it.”
Mac pulled herself together at their poor attempts to reassure her, but it all had just become too much. She was about to let it all out when they heard a sharp tap at the waiting room door.
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All three heads turned towards the waiting room door. Now that Delia had their attention, she shared the latest news of their friend.