Chapter Seven

 

 

 

Olly huddled in a corner of the ward, arms wrapped around his knees, wondering why his life had to be so complicated all the time. He was squashed between a wall and a steel drawer unit on wheels, which contained medical supplies. When he’d scuttled into the space it had seemed like a good idea but now his ass ached from the cold, hard floor and he really wanted to stretch. He debated whether moving would be a good idea.

From his vantage point, Olly could see the double ward doors. Well, he could see the bits that weren’t currently concealed by a barricade of furniture. Visitors’ chairs, bedside cabinets and equipment trolleys were piled up against it like a bad imitation of a scene from Les Misérables.

Perhaps I should start singing show tunes… That would cheer everyone up, though maybe not songs from Les Mis because most of them are pretty depressing and lots of people die in the end.

He shivered and decided to keep his mouth shut.

Olly silently cursed his decision to visit the ward. He had entered the hospital by the legitimate route because, as he wasn’t working, he needed to sign the visitors’ book as part of fire safety procedures. He snorted softly at the irony of it all. Aiden had remained in the car park humming away to rock tracks on the radio. Olly had gone straight to the staff room. He’d found his phone at the back of his locker where he’d thrown it after calling Joe, pocketed it, then wandered back along the corridor to reception. He had to go right past the door to the ward housing his soldier patients and thought it would be a nice thing to do if he dropped in to say hello—just to show Rocky there were no hard feelings and that he was okay.

He’d pushed through the swing doors to find all three men tucked up in their beds. There was no evidence remaining of the fracas the day before. The scattered instruments had all been cleared away and everything was neat and orderly. He’d smiled at Rocky then headed to his bedside. Just as he’d been about to sit down the fire alarm had gone off. It wailed like an air-raid siren, the volume loud enough for Olly to cover his ears. Dr. Sharma had come barreling into the ward, an expression of sheer panic on his face. Olly shot to the window to see if he could spot any smoke, but there was no sign of fire. Then he’d realized that the doctor’s panic had nothing to do with the possibility of them getting roasted, but with Rocky.

The big soldier was out of bed, reversing toward the doors in bare feet, stripy pajama bottoms and one of the green T-shirts Olly had purloined from the clothing store. Rocky’s face was frozen into a determined mask, his eyes cold. Worst of all, he held a gun and he was aiming it straight at the doctor.

“They’re coming for us. Nowhere is safe. We need to make our position defensible.” Rocky was rambling, his eyes wild. He wasn’t directing his comments to anyone in particular—it was more as if he were talking to invisible compatriots.

“Do exactly as he says, Doc,” Nick called from his bed. “He believes this is real and he’s been trained to shoot first, then ask questions while the bodies are disposed of.”

Dr. Sharma gave a brief nod. “What do you want me to do, Rocky?”

“Block the doors. Shift anything you can to make a barrier. We can’t let them in.”

So the doctor had done exactly that. He’d heaved all the moveable furniture in front of the doors, making no attempt to escape even though he could probably have made a run for it. Olly had dived for cover and ended up where he was now, a terrified spectator to the drama unfolding before him.

“Can’t let them in, can’t let them in…”

Rocky repeated the phrase over and over. He stood near the doors, peering over the barrier. Olly wished he could see who was out there. The cavalry would be really welcome right then. He couldn’t help but feel for Rocky. The man didn’t know what he was doing and it was hard to witness a war hero so psychologically scarred.

Olly glanced around the ward. Dr. Sharma had retreated to the window and was perched on the sill. The bright sunshine turned him into a shadowy silhouette. Olly wondered how it could be such a beautiful day when all this drama was unfolding.

It should be raining. A small thunderstorm at least. Something more atmospheric.

He giggled nervously. His mind was running round in circles—it was hard to concentrate.

He checked out the two other patients. Razor resembled a slightly rusty, coiled spring. The intent was there but his body just wasn’t up to it. There was no way he was capable of leaping from his bed to tackle his buddy. Nick was a better prospect. He, at least, was already out of bed. His visitor’s chair had been commandeered so he sat on the edge of his mattress. He was attached to a mobile drip and his skin was an interesting shade of green-tinged gray. He was still a stone cold killer in Olly’s eyes. His cannula could be ripped out in seconds. Olly hoped he was biding his time and had a plan.

Keeping half an eye on Rocky, Olly crawled out of his space. He stood up then quietly crossed the room. Rocky spun around, brandishing his gun.

“Freeze!”

Olly made like a block of ice.

“Stand down, Sergeant Drayson. He’s a friendly,” Nick said firmly.

Rocky didn’t seem convinced. He waved Olly across to Nick’s bed with the gun barrel. Olly ran.

“Enemies are everywhere. They’re coming. Can’t let them in.” Rocky went back to pacing and rambling.

“Thanks for saving my butt,” Olly whispered, sitting on the bed next to Nick. “I couldn’t stay on the floor any longer, I have pins and needles in my ass cheeks.”

“Glad to be of service.” Nick kept his voice low. “Rocky’s really strung out this time. I think he must have hidden his meds this morning, because last night the doc gave him something that knocked him out cold. Well, that’s what it seemed like. I suppose he could have hidden them as well.”

“Probably some kind of serotonergic antidepressant,” Olly muttered.

“If you say so.”

“Prozac to you and me.”

“Well why didn’t you say so?”

“I… Why are we having this argument when we could be dead any minute? He definitely hasn’t had any of the good stuff this morning,” Olly complained.

Rocky swung toward them, the gun steady in his hand. Olly clamped his mouth shut.

“Stop your yapping. I can’t concentrate with all the noise. They’re coming. Have to focus. Make a plan.”

Olly caught the sound of distant sirens indicating that the police were on their way. He gulped, the sound audible. The wailing was not going to help Rocky’s state of mind. He wondered if anyone would have the sense to tell them to shut the hell up. Nick slung a heavily bandaged arm around Olly’s shoulders and squeezed. Olly leaned into Nick’s solid frame and wished he were Joe.

Rocky ran to the window, getting increasingly agitated. He fired a couple of shots, shattering the glass. Olly screamed and dived beneath Nick’s bed, covering his head with his arms. The sirens went silent.

“Where the fuck did he get a gun from anyway?” Olly yelled.

“Must have smuggled it in,” Nick responded calmly. “From here it looks like a Glock 17, standard Army issue.”

Olly couldn’t have cared less what make the gun was. He’d never seen one up close and personal before and he’d be quite content if he never saw one again. It was a stubby, evil black beast with the gleam of death in its single eye. He stayed on his belly under the bed and took several deep breaths. If Nick could stay calm, then so could he. He thought about Joe and what he would do.

He’d be checking for anything that could help resolve the situation. I can do that.

Olly scanned the ward carefully. He couldn’t see anything that might be useful as a weapon. There were no equipment trolleys out, which would have contained scissors and sterilized hypodermics. All he could see were some plastic water jugs, a couple of paperbacks and a potted begonia. There was a discarded newspaper. He’d read somewhere that a rolled up paper could be effective if you jabbed it into someone’s groin. He winced and resisted the urge to cover his dick. There were plenty of pillows that could be used for suffocation, but Olly didn’t think he could manage that, or when it came to it, any other form of violence. He was a nurse. He was supposed to help people, not damage them.

Fighting the urge to curl up in the fetal position and cry, Olly tuned in to Rocky’s diatribe. He had a few stock phrases he was repeating over and over. The more Olly listened, the more concerned he became—and not because Rocky was expecting an invasion. Olly crawled out from beneath the bed then resumed his place next to Nick.

“Welcome back. Was it getting uncomfortable down there?” Though Nick spoke to Olly he didn’t take his eyes off Rocky, who was pacing in front of the window. “If this was the States, a sniper would have taken him out by now.”

“You’d think his paranoia would keep him out of sight, wouldn’t you? Even if he is safe from an extending baton,” Olly whispered.

“What are you saying?”

“Is Rocky into amateur dramatics?”

“The SAS doesn’t tend to go in for that kind of thing. Not that I’m saying we’re in the regiment.”

Olly rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I assumed you were all in the catering corps. Obviously. No, what I’m saying is I’m not convinced your ice-cream-loving friend over there is really suffering from PTSD.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling, nothing concrete.”

“Well, keep watching. If what you’re thinking is true, that makes him even more dangerous.”

“Great. Just great.” Olly hoped he was wrong.

 

* * * *

 

The narrow road across the moors had originally been designed for horses and carts, not cars. The addition of tarmac had not improved it that much, in Joe’s opinion. Heath still managed to drive at speed, scaring the wool off some sheep that dared to graze too close to the roadside.

“I swear those two will be the death of us,” Joe said. “When this is over, I’m selling all Olly’s clothes and keeping him chained up in my bed.”

“He’d only escape and parade around naked.” Heath swerved to avoid a suicidal pheasant. “Aiden is going to get an armed escort between the basement and the bedroom…and one of those shock collars you see in futuristic prison movies, but mini-sized. For his dick.”

“Good idea.” Joe hissed his frustration as they got stuck behind a tractor. “I want to ring Olly’s mobile but I daren’t in case he’s hidden it. He might be able to use it to get a message to us.”

“Ring Becket. He should know about this. I realize it’s not his jurisdiction, but Aiden’s involved.”

Dave Becket was Aiden’s boss. A senior field agent with the Secret Service, he was also a Dom. He’d met his sub, Christian, at The Underground. The two of them had spent time at The Edge when Dave had been recovering from injuries he’d received in a bomb blast, and Joe considered him a close friend.

“Will do.” Joe looked up the number while Heath performed an overtaking maneuver worthy of Formula One. “When we get to Bourton, use the back entrance to the staff car park. The police are bound to be blocking the main entrance.” He pressed the phone to his ear and waited for Becket to respond.

“Becket.”

Joe smiled at Becket’s usual abrupt tone. “Dave, it’s Joe.” He put the phone on speaker so Heath could hear the conversation.

“What’s he done?”

“Who?”

“Aiden. It’s working hours, so this isn’t a social call. The only reason you’d be calling me is if the brat has got himself into mischief.”

Joe glanced at Heath, who sighed heavily.

“I’m here with Heath. Do you refer to all your staff as brats?”

“Nope, just the one. Now, what’s he done?”

“Heath’s driving so I’ll fill you in. There’s a hostage situation at Bourton. We don’t know all the details yet other than it involves a patient with PTSD. Olly is one of the hostages.” Joe’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “And we haven’t heard from Aiden. They went to the hospital together.”

“Fuck a duck.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Joe leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut. He had the beginnings of a headache.

“I need to make some calls. As soon as you learn anything more, call me.” Becket rang off before Joe could thank him.

“Dave’s full of his usual social graces,” Heath commented.

Joe managed a grunt. “He has the right connections.”

“He has shady connections.” Heath pulled into the lane leading to Bourton’s staff entrance.

“Exactly. Could be just what we need.”

There was a single policewoman covering the car park barrier. Heath rolled down his window. It took him all of thirty seconds to charm his way in.

“I am not a military negotiator,” Joe said as Heath cruised the car park searching for an available spot.

“But you could be. You’re qualified. It was only a small fib.”

“She didn’t even ask you for ID.”

“That’s because she was too busy admiring my…eyes. Hey, there’s the car Aiden must have driven over.”

Heath pulled in to an empty space. He hadn’t even turned the ignition off before Joe was out of the vehicle. The Edge’s four-wheel drives all had tinted windows. Joe couldn’t see inside but he could hear loud rock music from several feet away. The car was practically vibrating. He rapped on the driver’s side window.

“Holy crap!”

Joe heard Aiden’s yell through the closed window. It then descended in a smooth glide.

“Joe, what are you doing here? What’s going on? You nearly scared the pants off me.”

“Olly’s in trouble.”

Aiden scrambled from the car to be enveloped in Heath’s firm hug.

“Sir? I don’t understand. We just came to get Olly’s phone. He said he might be a while because you know how he is, chatting with anything that moves, even some inanimate objects. I settled in for a long wait.”

“All we know is Olly’s being held hostage. We assume the same guy who flipped out and cut him yesterday has had another episode. He’s holed up in a ward with Olly and a few other people,” Heath explained.

“Oh, God.” For a moment Aiden buried his head beneath Heath’s chin. Then he straightened. His eyes gleamed. “We have to help him. Have you rung Becket?”

“Of course. We’re going to go and talk to the local police to see if we can get any more information.” Heath tousled Aiden’s hair as he spoke. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t we always get out of these situations?”

“Why do we keep getting into them, isn’t that more the point?”

Joe started to walk toward the front of the building. Heath and Aiden would catch up. He couldn’t wait while they shot the breeze—he needed to know what was going on. He rounded the corner to be confronted by a scene from an action movie. Rolls of stripy police tape had been used to form barricades. Crowds of people, many of them in medical uniforms, hovered around. There was a subdued hum of conversation. In the distance several police vehicles were gathered, blue lights flashing. Joe spotted a fire engine and a couple of ambulances. There was also a van with the local TV station’s logo on the side. Apparently the situation was too fresh for the nationals to have shown up yet.

He approached the nearest uniform, a young constable with a close-cropped red beard, who held up his hand.

“Sorry, sir, you can’t go any farther. There’s a situation going on.”

“I know,” Joe said. “My name is Joe Dexter, my partner Oliver Glenn is one of the hostages. Your commanding officer called me.”

The constable’s eyes widened. He gestured to a nearby colleague. “Can you hold the fort here while I escort Mr. Dexter to the command area?” His co-worker nodded. “Come with me, sir. We’ve been told to look out for you.”

Joe glanced behind him. Heath and Aiden arrived at his side.

“These two are with me, Officer.”

They were all nodded through. Joe raised an eyebrow at Heath. He hadn’t expected that to be quite so easy.

“Becket,” Heath mouthed the word silently.

Joe gave a brief nod. It wouldn’t surprise him one iota if Becket had already used his significant influence to pull a few strings. The constable led them to an area where a trestle table had been set up beneath a dark blue marquee. There were several men in plain clothes as well as two in uniform. Laptops were set up on the table and a van parked close behind them bristled with antennae.

“D.I. Ottaway, sir? This is Joe Dexter,” the constable introduced Joe to a stern, silver-haired man with a face creased by worry lines. His grey eyes were clear and he gave Joe an appraising once-over.

“Mr. Dexter. Or should I say, Doctor?”

“Joe will do.” Joe shook the D.I.’s hand. “These are my colleagues, Heath and Aiden Anders.”

“Well, gentlemen. You have some influential friends. I have been firmly advised to share what I know with you.” He didn’t sound happy.

Joe didn’t care. “So what’s the situation?”

“Your partner works here so you already know that the patients are drawn from non-civilian lines of work. We have three Special Forces soldiers in a ward on the ground floor of the modern block behind the old part of the building. One of them is suffering from PTSD.”

“There was an incident yesterday,” Joe said. “Are you aware of that?”

“Yes. The hospital’s chief of staff advised us. Low-flying aircraft triggered yesterday’s episode. Today, it seems the fire alarm went off and that was enough to push Sergeant Drayson over the edge. He’s holed up in the ward with the two other injured soldiers, a Dr. Sharma and Nurse Glenn. He’s barricaded the doors.”

Joe gave him a sharp look. “What else? There’s something you’re not telling us.”

“Shots have been fired. We don’t know how, but it appears he got his hands on a gun. He fired out through the windows when we arrived, probably because of the sirens.”

“You’re sure no one inside was hurt?” Joe asked, pushing down his rising panic.

“As far as we can be. We haven’t heard any more shots, but that’s not to say other injuries might have been inflicted. We’ve evacuated the surrounding wards and closed off that section of the ground floor. We’re waiting for an armed response unit to arrive. Until then I’ve got two men watching the corridor, but for safety reasons I can’t let them get any closer.”

“Is there any CCTV in that part of the building, any computers in the ward?” Aiden asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I could hack into the systems and try to take a look.” Aiden shrugged.

Heath put a possessive arm around his shoulders.

The D.I. shook his head. “I was advised that you have some…unique talents and I wish I could use them, but as far as I know there’s nothing in there that could be of use.”

“Okay, what do you know about Sergeant Drayson?” Joe asked.

“Other than he’s Special Forces, not much. The files on these guys are sealed and way above my pay grade. Getting clearance to examine them takes longer than we have.” The D.I. sighed. “I’m sorry, but we’re pretty impotent until reinforcements arrive.”

Aiden whispered something in Heath’s ear. Heath nodded and pulled Joe to one side.

“We need to get back to base.” Heath kept his voice low. “Aiden will be able to access those files in seconds and the information could be valuable. He can also look into a way of getting a silent message to Olly’s phone.”

“He should try to get the blueprints of the building as well,” Joe suggested. “The ward is on the ground floor and there may be access from underneath. You two go. I’ll stay here, but call me if you find anything.”

Heath squeezed his shoulder. “We’re going to get Olly back, then you can spank him until he screams for getting himself into trouble yet again.”

Joe managed a partial smile. He appreciated Heath’s attempt to reassure him but his belly still felt as if his intestines were doing a tango. Heath and Aiden melted away.

The D.I. gave Joe a curious stare. “I trust you’ll share anything you learn from them?”

“Of course.” Mentally Joe kept his fingers crossed. He had no intention of making any promises he might not be able to keep.

“Good, because we need all the fucking help we can get. Armed sieges in North Yorkshire aren’t the norm. We’re more used to dealing with rogue seagulls nicking people’s chips on Whitby harbor.” The D.I. scowled and turned back to his colleagues.

Strangely, his self-deprecating manner gave Joe some reassurance. The man had a realistic view of his team’s capabilities. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid that might risk Olly’s life even further.