Fires of Kiev Read online

  “They were so impressed with you. They called you ‘Meri, Kostya’s doctor friend’ for years after we met.”

  “We called you ‘the Mysterious Ukrainian’,” Will added.

  Meredith took a deep breath and stood, committed, between Kostya and Will. “Okay, guys, I will do this. But, you better have a plan that will get us in and out safely.”

  “Have I ever let you down, sis?” Will grinned.

  “Have you ever had a chance to?” she asked.

  “If you haven’t noticed, I must be doing a fantastic job.” Will smiled proudly and turned back to his game on the television.

  Meredith sat down next to Kostya brushing her hand against his. He wrapped his hand around hers, thinking about the adventure to come.

  Chapter 20

  Meredith arrived to her night shift in plenty of time to stop at the Starbucks cart and grab a caramel latte. When she got to the Emergency Department, her assignment for this shift, she could see it was going to be a long night. People in the waiting room had been there for hours, and it seemed like the ambulances arrived without end. The ER was a place for life and death emergencies, but more and more uninsured people were forced to use it as a Primary Care because the ER was not allowed to turn patients away if they couldn’t pay. This meant her night could be spent treating sniffles or gunshot wounds—it just depended on the fates and the stars.

  As she made her way into the patient area, she heard moaning, crying, and yelling, all within a few partitions. One of the nurses was rushing with a mop and bucket to the other side of the room, and she could smell the fresh antiseptic spray they used on the hard surfaces here. She could tell it had been a madhouse this evening, which usually meant the night shift would be worse. No matter. She took a sip of her liquid energy and stepped up to the triage nurse. “What have you got for me, Julie?”

  “Nothing good. It’s a full moon with diarrhea tonight. We’ve got sickies, stoners, and shitheads. What’s your pleasure?”

  They chatted as Meredith selected one of the charts. Ready to go, she went to the curtained partition assigned to her patient, a four-year old boy with a fever, chills, and congestion. Apparently, some of the crying that had been filling the department was coming from him. Meredith opened up the curtains and was immediately met with an upset little boy and his frazzled mother, who had tears sliding down her cheek, too.

  Meredith quickly went to work soothing the boy, handing him one of the little stuffed animals the hospital kept for occasions like this. Once he was calm, she quietly spoke to the child’s mother, assessing her well being in addition to her son’s. By the time the boy was treated and he and his mother left, the mother was smiling and the little boy was soothed.

  Back to triage, she finished her notes and handed the finished chart to Julie. “What’s next, pretty lady?”

  “We’re playing requests tonight, Dr. St. Claire,” Julie said. “This guy refuses to be seen by anyone but you.”

  “Hmm.” Meredith flipped through the pages in his chart. “I’m not sure I know him. He’s not a frequent flyer. Did he say why he wanted me?”

  “Not to me.” Julie smiled. “He’s kinda cute. Maybe he’s an admirer.”

  Meredith playfully scoffed and headed toward the partition. She went through the chart again, but nothing stood out to her. It was a typical one-time-visit to the ER chart for someone who probably would be better off waiting until morning and going to their primary care doctor. His complaints were typical of the season: fever, congestion, and headache. She got a dab of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser, rubbed it in thoroughly, and opened the curtain to her patient.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. St. Claire. I understand you’re not feeling well.” She closed the curtain behind her and looked at her patient. He was average height, but held himself confidently. His hair was blond and cut fairly short. He was attractive in a way, but something seemed off with him. Maybe wearing black from head to toe was too goth. Or maybe the fact that he still had his military-style coat and gloves on after waiting a few hours was odd. She couldn’t place her discomfort, but she knew it was there.

  “Dr. St. Claire,” the man repeated. “You are the senator’s daughter?” He had a slight accent, which Meredith placed as Eastern European, but his English was precise enough to make identification of his speech difficult.

  Meredith hated being associated with her father at work. It was always a distraction from her abilities as a doctor. “Yes, I am,” she said, pulling the digital thermometer off the cart. “It says you’ve had a fever. Let’s start by taking your temperature.” She put the thermometer in a plastic sleeve and held it to his lips.

  The man knocked it away with his hand. “I have a message for you.” Meredith tried to back away, but the man held her by her shoulder with one hand and pressed a pistol to her stomach with the other hand. The muscles in her abdomen involuntarily clenched, and for a moment, Meredith thought she might get sick. Her head pounded with blood that had rushed through her system in panic. This place is full of people, separated only by curtains and false walls. She had to keep it together. She must be brave.

  “All I have to do is scream and security will come running,” Meredith forced out through clenched teeth, squirming under his hold.

  “And all I have to do is pull the trigger,” he sneered. “You think the rent-a-cops sleeping by the doors are going to be here in time to help you? You have a better chance if you hear me out.”

  Meredith glanced between him and his gun, and tried to position herself closer to the examination table and the panic button hidden underneath. “What do you want?”

  “That’s easy. I want Kostya Dychenko. I want the chip he smuggled out of the Ukraine. I want you to tell me where he is.”

  “What makes you think I know? He’s a grown man. He does what he wants.” Her heart sped up as she lied to protect Kostya but took one tiny step closer to the table.

  “As his sponsor you have made certain promises,” he smirked. “I don’t see you breaking those promises.”

  “Promises to the government are easily broken,” she said as she tried to nonchalantly reach for and trip the panic button. Her fingertips brushed against the hidden button and she pushed it.

  The man laughed out loud. “And you, a senator’s daughter. No wonder America is falling apart.” He lifted the gun to her head. “And now, I am making a promise. Tell me where Kostya is, or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

  Meredith felt the rhythm of her breathing accelerating, so she forced deep breaths through her nose to try to slow her panic.

  “What has he done?” she asked the blond man.

  “That is none of your concern. The only thing you need to be worried about is telling me where I can find him.” The man’s voice became harsher and more insistent.

  Meredith heard scuffling on the linoleum tiles a few partitions over. She needed to stall a few more seconds for security to mobilize.

  “I’d feel better if you would put the gun away. There are a lot of people separated only by curtains.” She tried to pronounce “gun” clearly so security would know what they had to deal with.

  At that moment, a surge of footsteps and activity outside alerted the man that help was coming.

  “You bitch!” the man yelled. With one hand wrapping around her abdomen, he pulled her against the back wall of the partition, and with his free hand, fiddled with the oxygen valve found on the wall causing the gas to escape in a constant stream. Then, he picked up a can of antiseptic spray from a supply shelf and wrapped his arm around her.

  “Take a deep breath, Meredith. Things are about to get interesting,” he hissed into her ear. Turning the pistol, he held the gun against her temple. “This would have been so easy. All you had to do was tell me where Kostya is.” He cocked the pistol against her as the curtains around them were pulled wide open.

  “Put the gun down,” the head security officer ordered. Meredith knew him to be a good guy, an ex-cop supplementing retir
ement with this safe gig at the hospital. “I said, put the gun down, now.” Although his voice was authoritative, the guards, armed with Tasers and pepper spray, hardly wielded the same force as the man carrying the pistol.

  “Meredith and I were just talking, weren’t we?” The man smiled. He pressed the gun against her ear and held on to Meredith while he inched her forward toward the guards. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  “Then let’s talk and work it out,” the security guard said. “Place the gun on the floor and put your hands up, off Dr. St. Claire.”

  Meredith allowed the man to push her forward another step, his gun pushed harder against her skull. “Please, put the gun down,” she pleaded.

  “Listen, how polite she is.” He sassed her, “‘Please, put the gun down.’ Oh, Meredith. Can’t you see this was all unnecessary?” Suddenly, she felt the pressure against her head release, and the blond man shoved her—hard—toward the guards. As she tripped trying to avoid a collision with them, the man’s arm arced out of his pocket and he flicked out his lighter, a silver Zippo, and swung the aerosol can and the flame toward the oxygen valve on the back wall. Pushing the button to spray into the stream of oxygen, he tossed the lighter into the flow of the gas, igniting a stream of fire.

  “Get down!” Meredith yelled and hit the floor.

  The fire, surprisingly powerful, shot forward into the crowd of security guards. Curses and screams erupted as they scrambled to fight themselves free of the flames. Immediately lighting the curtains separating the partitions that were full of patients, the fabric fed the fire from one area to the next, quickly engulfing the entire Emergency Department into flames. Nurses, doctors, and security workers scrambled to evacuate patients into other areas of the hospital or outside into the cold.

  Just a few seconds into the chaos, Meredith spun around searching for the blond man. She checked outside and in the hallway where some people were congregating, but she soon realized it was futile. She saw the head security guard and ran to catch up with him.

  “Where did the gunman go? Did you see him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. He shook his head. “Everything just got crazy and he disappeared. He caused one hell of a distraction.”

  Disappeared, and he’s still after Kostya.

  She had to find Kostya and warn him.

  Chapter 21

  Pacing between emergency vehicles and patients, Meredith was on sensory overload. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air, making breathing more difficult. Sirens of approaching emergency vehicles screamed in the distance while doctors who were treating patients called back and forth to each other. Police and fire personnel rushed across the common area to deal with the mess inside.

  She couldn’t stop shaking, no doubt reacting to being held at gunpoint, but afraid that she wouldn’t be able to warn Kostya in time. She kept dialing Will’s cell on her phone, but the call dropped over and over—more than likely due to cell towers overwhelmed with call traffic. She needed to get to a landline to warn Kostya, but as a doctor, she had to attend to the patients and get them to safety first.

  Determined not to allow panic to rule her actions, she grabbed a stack of blankets and a medical kit as police ushered her out into the parking lot while they secured the scene. She distributed the blankets to several patients who were being herded back into the hospital through the cafeteria’s patio doors, away from the Emergency Department. Inside they would be warm, and they would be able to access medicines and equipment needed to treat the patients. It seemed like patient care was hectic but under control. Entering the cafeteria, she ducked behind the line into the closed kitchen area. The night-prep workers recognized her and showed her to a small office in back where there was a desk phone.

  Meredith dialed Will’s number quickly. After three rings it went straight to his voicemail. Sighing with frustration, she left a message for him to call her as soon as possible.

  Next, she called her home number hoping to find Kostya at home. Scott answered.

  “Scott, oh thank God,” she said.

  “Mer, it’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

  “There’s been some excitement here at the hospital.”

  She could hear him flipping on the television. “What the… A hostage situation? Mer…”

  “Listen, I need to speak to Kostya. Do you know if he’s in his room?”

  “Kostya? I don’t know.” Scott sounded annoyed. He paused, watching something on the television. “There was a fire in the ER? Aren’t you down there this week?”

  “Scott, don’t get upset. I’m fine, but I need to speak to Kostya and cell service is down. Can you go check his room?”

  “What the hell, Meredith? Your picture is on the damn news.” Meredith heard the squeak of the mattress as he sat up. She could imagine him putting his feet in the slippers that were always right by the side of his bed on the floor and standing up. “You were the hostage? Meredith. This is a publicity nightmare. I have to call the Senator.”

  “Scott,” Meredith said firmly. “I need to find Kostya. Is he in the house?” Oh, and by the way, I’m fine, dear.

  She heard him open the door to their room and then knock on the guest door, then push that door open. “He’s not here. Did he have anything to do with what happened over there?”

  “If he comes back, tell him I need to talk to him.” She avoided the question.

  “If I’m here,” he said. “I’ll be heading down to the office to deal with the media circus. This will look great since we’ve just gone on record saying crime rates are better in the District and people are safer than ever,” he said sarcastically and forced a laugh. “Everyone’s safer, except your family.”

  “I’m sorry, Scott,” Meredith said without really understanding why she should be apologizing. She felt like she had been doing a lot of apologizing lately, and she didn’t like it.

  “Whatever,” he said, and he hung up the phone. Meredith hung onto the phone for an extra second without hanging it up as a thought ran across her mind.

  She never felt sorry with Kostya.

  Not that she wouldn’t apologize if she had really offended him or stepped on his toe or something. But she never had to apologize for being who she was, for living her life, for making her choices.

  She hung up the phone, put her head in her hands, and for the first time since he arrived, allowed herself to imagine what life would be like with Kostya. How would he react to what had happened tonight?

  “Dr. St. Claire?” a timid voice said behind her.

  “Yes?” She turned in the desk chair and saw one of the night bakers at the door.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s some men here asking for you. I think one of them is your brother, but I don’t recognize the other.”

  “Where are they?” Meredith shot out of the chair. The girl pointed toward the front. “Thank you so much.” She hurried toward the main doors.

  In the main cafeteria, she found Kostya pacing and Will sitting with his head down. When she emerged, Kostya’s eyes locked on her, his face showing relief.

  “Meri,” he called as he strode toward her. She threw herself into his arms, burying her head into his neck. He held her close and whispered in her ear. “I’ve been so worried. We couldn’t reach you.” He pulled back, bracing her shoulders with his hands. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you, dushen’ka?”

  “No.” She rubbed her hands over his arms. “I’m ok, just shaken up. But—listen, Kostya, he was looking for you.”

  “We know. TRUST pulled the camera footage.” He pulled her close again. “I won’t let you out of my sight until this is over.”

  “That might make rounds interesting.” She laughed. Said as a joke, Meredith imagined his glowering figure behind her as she diagnosed and treated patients. But when she pulled her head back and looked at him, he was very serious. His eyes, darkened with concern, wrenched her insides. She drew him close again. “Thank you for
coming for me.”

  “I would have died if he had hurt you.” Kostya fingered the hair by her cheek and pushed it behind her ear.

  “Mer, the police are going to need a statement, and there’s a ton of press out there.” Will came next to them. “I can escort you, but Kostya needs to stay out of the public eye for a while. It’s probably okay for him to be in the crowd here at the hospital, but it wouldn’t be good to have him hugging you or you giving a press conference holding his hand on CNN.” He nodded toward the two of them and lifted his eyebrows.

  “Oh. Of course.” Meredith stepped back awkwardly from Kostya, but continued to hold him with her eyes. “Maybe we can say something to appease Daddy’s people. Scott seemed to think this was going to be a disaster for them.”

  “That’s what he was worried about?” Will asked incredulously. “He didn’t wonder how you were, or run down here as fast as he could?” Meredith shook her head. She heard Will say something under his breath as he turned away, but she didn’t ask him to repeat it.

  For the next several minutes, Meredith and Will navigated the press corps and the police’s questions, while Kostya stood watchfully off to the side. Meredith even made a beautiful statement about the safety of working in downtown D.C. at night, and assured everyone the attack was the product of a mentally ill patient, and it could have happened anywhere.

  “The work of lawmakers like my father have made it possible for people like doctors, nurses, and emergency personnel to feel safe moving around the District at night. Although crime exists, as always, fear does not rule us as it did just a few years ago.”

  There. That should make Scott happy.

  She didn’t want to admit how little she cared.

  Chapter 22

  After the questioning by both the police and the press corps, Meredith was exhausted, but there was one more stop for Will and Meredith to make. They had been summoned to their father’s office on Capitol Hill to assure him that everything was all right.