Day 19 – Tuesday afternoon
Mater Dolorosa Roman Catholic Church
Jim’s heart was beating as fast as if he had run up three flights of stairs. He cursed himself for a fool and peered out from behind the reredos, watching the scene unfold.
The sacred space in which he hid was fronted by a magnificent example of the sculptor’s art. The massive gold cross drew the eye upward and served as a focal point for the rapture of the marble angels that surrounded it.
Jim did not share the angels’ sentiments.
It had been the hostage negotiator’s idea to put Ginny and Luis in that corner. It had solid walls on two sides and was tucked up under the loft staircase, which shielded them from casual view, and anyone approaching them would be seen, so they would have plenty of warning. But it also meant they had no easy escape route. To be free to run, they would have to slide to the end of the row and out into the main aisle, or crawl under the pews and wiggle out that way.
When the three humans on the other side of the altar turned to face the rear of the church, Jim felt goose-flesh rise on the back of his neck.
“I’m going with them,” he whispered, but found his grandfather’s hand on his arm.
“Ye’ll stay put ’til told ye may move.”
Jim turned to look at his grandfather. Even in the dim light he could see the determination in the Laird’s eye. He tried to explain. “We have no idea what’s going on. She may need help.”
“There’s a score o’ special forces round th’ kirk. Let them do their job.”
“But—”
“Haud yer wheesht, lad! I’ll no hazard th’ both o’ ye.”
Jim subsided, turning his eyes back to the trio headed toward the far corner. Ginny had apparently come to the same conclusion he had. She’d scooted all the way over to the aisle and was climbing to her feet, blocking access to Luis.
Jim watched Father Ignacio speak to Ginny, and her wary attention. She looked from one man to the other, then was handed the same papers Father Ignacio had examined. Even from here Jim could see her frown, then a half shake of her head, then puzzlement and a question. She was answered, but not to her satisfaction.
Jim felt a growing unease as he watched. He knew that look. He could tell from her expression and the way she held her head she wasn’t going to cooperate. Father Ignacio waved the strangers off and spoke to Ginny in private for a moment, then drew her aside, allowing the man in the jacket to start down the pew toward Luis.
“What’s this?” Himself asked.
The man had settled down in the pew facing Luis, speaking to him. The boy had backed up against the wall, almost disappearing from Jim’s view as he tried to hide from the stranger.
“What’s going on?” DeSoto had come up quietly behind them and was peering around their shoulders.
“No idea,” Jim answered him. “Any news on Maria?”
“Nothing so far.”
“Who’s the man?”
“According to the police, that is Luis’ father.”
“Auch! Is’t true?”
DeSoto shrugged. “He told the policeman he came to take his son home and showed him a birth certificate. I assume those papers he’s been waving around give him the legal right to claim his abandoned child.”
Jim frowned. By dropping her son off at Hillcrest and disappearing, Maria had given the State of Texas both the right and the responsibility to take the child and care for him as it saw fit. Unfortunately, this happened often enough that there were well-established guidelines for custody disputes across the Texas-Mexico border.
“Ginny is not going to like that.”
“Apparently, neither does th’ bairn.” Angus nodded at the corner where the small drama was playing out.
The man who claimed to be Luis’ father had taken the child’s arm and started to pull him toward the aisle. Up to this point, the voices had been too low to be more than a murmur. Now Jim could hear the boy whining. He watched as Luis tried to pull free. Ginny, too, could be heard, arguing with Father Ignacio, the pitch rising as well as the volume. The third man had retired to the back of the church and pulled out his cell phone.
Señor Perez had made it to the aisle, pulling Luis behind him. The boy was screaming now, crying, in Spanish, but the meaning was clear to everyone watching. They were headed for the door when Luis started shrieking, “Mama! Mama!”
Jim caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Maria Perez running along the aisle, dodging pews and stone columns. She was calling to Luis, “Ven, Luis. Ven a mamá.” She gestured for Luis to come to her.
Luis was struggling in the man’s grip. As Jim watched, Ginny turned from Father Ignacio and lunged at the interloper. There was a collision. Maria flung herself toward her son and, in the same moment, Jim saw Perez straighten up and raise his right hand. The bullet hit Maria in the abdomen and she jerked backwards. Jim was out of hiding and running toward her before she hit the ground.
* * *
Ginny saw Maria pelting down the aisle toward Luis and responded without thinking. Law or no law, the desperate mother of that terrified child should have the right to hold her son. Ginny lunged, slamming into Señor Perez and knocking him into the pew. It threw him enough off balance that he loosened his grip on Luis.
“Let go of that boy.” Her voice came out calmer than she had expected.
“I’ll do as I please with my son.”
“If he’s yours, let him go to his mother.”
“She, too, is mine, to do with as I please.” He was on his feet again, the struggling Luis in one hand, the other drawing a weapon out of his pocket. He aimed the gun at Maria, and pulled the trigger.
“No!” Father Ignacio started toward Perez.
Perez turned the gun on the priest. “I don’t wish to kill you, Padre, but I will if I have to.”
“Put the weapon down, my son. This is a house of God. It is sacrilege to threaten a priest.”
The corner of Perez’ mouth turned up in a sneer. “A man of God? Is that what you call yourself?” He pulled the trigger.
The exchange gave Ginny the chance she needed. She dropped her shoulder and rammed Perez, who staggered, losing his grip on the boy.
“Luis! Run!”
There was more gunfire erupting, the sounds echoing eerily in the vault above her head. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Jim kneeling over Maria and Angus scooping up Luis and heading for cover. Men were appearing from the woodwork, but she didn’t have time to sort them out. Perez was turning his weapon on her.
She was too close. There was no way he could miss at this range. She stepped in, grabbed the front of Perez’s jacket and brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs, then grabbed his gun hand and twisted the weapon against his thumb, forcing him to let go. She heard the pistol clatter to the floor. He howled, then swore, wrenching his hand loose and reaching for something she couldn’t see.
She let go and turned, intending to run, but he grabbed her hair, forcing her head back, a knife coming around from behind her and settling under her left ear. She knew enough to fall backward, against him, so that he landed on his tailbone on the edge of the pew, the knife sliding across the front of her neck as he did so. She felt blood running warm down her front, but ducked under his arm, and attacked again, intent on forcing him to drop the knife. The agents were closing in. All she had to do was keep the man occupied until they got here.
Perez regained his feet and came at her, swearing in Spanish. She caught his knife arm in both hands, deflecting the blow, but knowing he was stronger and she wouldn’t be able to control him for long.
They were in the main aisle, with Ginny’s back to the pews. Perez hauled his arm free and raised it, aiming the knife at her chest. She braced her hands on the wood behind her and kicked out at his leg, then lunged sideways, seeing his right knee buckle. He fell forward, hands scrambling to break his fall and landed, neck first, on the heavy wooden edge of the pew. Narrow, solid, impassive. There was an odd, choking sound, then he slid to the floor.
“Down! Get down!”
Ginny couldn’t tell who was shouting, but the sound of a bullet smacking into the pew behind her made her turn. There was a man with a gun standing in the transept, pointing his weapon at her. As she watched, he fell to the floor, but there was another behind him. She dropped and rolled under the pew.
She lay on the floor, eye to eye with Señor Perez. He appeared to be having trouble breathing. He had his hands up, trying to pull his collar open, his eyes bulging.
Ginny swore to herself. She’d seen that look before. She rolled out from under the pew and knelt beside her attacker. A quick assessment told her he’d hit his Adam’s apple when he fell. His airway was swelling and, without an emergency tracheotomy, he wouldn’t last ten minutes.
Ten minutes. It didn’t take her nearly that long to consider rolling back under the pew and slipping out the other side, leaving him to his fate. But there were those stained-glass saints watching. If she didn’t even try to save this wretched man’s life, which side of the battle would that put her on?
Perez had dropped the knife in his fight to breathe. Ginny slithered over and picked it up. She knew the theory of an emergency tracheotomy—make a hole so air can get in—but she’d never done one. This was Jim’s department. She looked around, but couldn’t see him. She handled artificial airways at work though, and knew where to look for an undamaged portion of the trachea.
She brought the knife up and saw her patient’s eyes grow huge. He caught her wrist and tried to fight, but hypoxia was robbing him of his strength. She pushed the knife down, then through the flesh, then between the cartilage rings. There was an unpleasant spurt of blood accompanied by gurgling sounds and red froth, which meant she’d accomplished her goal, however inexpertly, but what was she going to use to hold that artificial airway open? In a fit of (probably) divine inspiration, she pulled the clip out of her hair and stuck it in the hole she had made. It was an ornamental twist of plastic with decorative pierce work. Perfect for letting oxygen molecules slip through.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Ginny looked up to find Jim dropping down beside her. “He fractured his larynx when he fell. He needed a trach.” She sat back and watched as Jim assessed the situation. He looked up and their eyes met.
“Not bad, but I think you should let me take responsibility for this.”
“No one is going to believe you could make such a mess of an emergency tracheotomy.”
He shrugged. “No tools, just a killer’s knife and a quick-thinking nurse with a handy hair clip.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that his blood or yours?”
“A little of both, I should think.” Her hands were covered in gore and there was blood on her clothing.
Jim moved over and took a look at where the blade had left its mark on her neck. “He did this?” He was frowning.
Ginny nodded. “How’s Maria?”
“She took a bullet in her gut. We’ll know more when they get her into surgery.”
“And Luis?”
“He’s fine, just upset.”
“Poor thing.”
“Father Ignacio is being looked after by the DEA. I don’t think he appreciated being shot in the chest, even with a bulletproof vest on. The lawyer fellow is being detained by the FBI.” Jim’s mouth twitched. “DeSoto is going to have fun sorting this out.”
Ginny was suddenly aware that Perez was making unhealthy noises. She frowned, not wanting to have anything further to do with the man, but her training got the better of her.
“Help me roll him on his side and watch his hands.”
She was still making sure her patient was breathing when she became aware of an army boot that stopped beside her. She looked up into the face of the gallóglaigh. He went down on one knee, leaning on his weapon, his eyes on hers.
“I could see you from the gallery, but there was no clear shot. You were moving too fast.” He gestured toward the man on the floor. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
The corner of Ginny’s mouth curved up. “I have a brother.”
“And he’s still alive?”
Ginny laughed. “Yes.”
“I don’t see many people with that kind of courage,” he said. “If you ever need a wing man, I’m at your service.” He touched his cap. “Ma’am.”
Ginny reached out a hand to stop him. “Wait! You haven’t told me who you are, yet.”
He smiled. “I was named for my maternal grandfather, Gavan Uisdean.”
“Why ‘Fergus’ then?”
“My initials were G-U-S. The lads tried to call me Gus, but after I knocked them down a few times, we settled on Fergus, because of Fergus mac Ross.”
Ginny smiled up at him. She knew the legend. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Stay here until I get back.”
By this time, the EMTs had arrived. Jim raided the trauma box, then put a hand behind her neck and applied gauze to the knife wound on her throat.
“I think you may need a stitch or two,” he said.
She nodded, then watched his mouth curve into a smile.
“You and Alex? Really?”
“They were mock battles, just pretend.”
“But this was the real thing.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Ginny looked from Jim to the man who had tried to slit her throat, now being loaded onto a stretcher for transport to the hospital, and shook her head. “Neither did I.”
* * *