Pandemic Page 74

She slid her hospital gown down over her shoulder. As she’d suspected, not that bad of a wound at all. Eight st.i.tches. Could have been so much worse.

Could have been and probably was: she’d been exposed. She might test positive in a day or two, possibly even less considering she didn’t know how long she’d been asleep.

Margaret flipped the blanket from her leg, looked at her thigh. It had been neatly dressed. Black ink on the white bandage … was that writing? She slowly lifted her leg for a closer look.

For a good time, call Tim.

Margaret laughed, and even that hurt.

The trailer door opened. A man stepped in. He wore fatigues printed with a pixilated digital pattern of gray, black and blue. Nice-looking man: pale, pink skin, a heavy jaw and a chin that would have got him work in Hollywood were it not for his beady eyes, which seemed to be just a bit too close together. His right eye had a bruise under it.

The man shut the door. He took off his camo hat and held it behind himself with both hands. He stood between the beds, mostly because there wasn’t enough s.p.a.ce to really stand anywhere else. He stared at her, as if he expected her to know who he was.

“h.e.l.lo,” Margaret said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

He smiled. “Don’t recognize me without my makeup?”

The voice brought it home — it was the SEAL who had yanked her out of the water, covered her body with his own as bullets rained down around them.

“Klimas, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Commander Paulius Klimas. How are you feeling?”

“Sore.”

He nodded. “I can imagine. You went through quite an ordeal. I have a message for you from Director Longworth. He sends his best and said that Doctor Cheng is making excellent progress cultivating the yeast. He also said you’re to rest, and that he’ll video conference with you tomorrow. Which you can do right from the Coronado, by the way.”

Ah, that’s where she was.

“I don’t remember coming aboard.”

“You pa.s.sed out,” he said. “Right after you and Doctor Feely” — Klimas nodded to the unconscious man in the hospital bed — “stabilized Levinson here.”

Pa.s.sed out? Blood loss, fatigue, concussive damage, shock, stress … probably a combination of all of it.

“How is Doctor Feely?”

“Fine,” Klimas said. “He treated your leg. He was rather insistent about it, actually. He’s been sleeping ever since. Agent Otto is awake though, and he asked about you. Would you like me to bring him in?”

Why, so he can whisper more lies about how he loves me?

“Tell him I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t want to see him. How long have I been out?”

“About sixteen hours, ma’am.”

That word, ma’am: it made her instantly feel old.

“Call me Margaret, please. Do I look like a ma’am to you?”

He shrugged. “Except for the people under my command, every woman is a ma’am and every man is a sir. It’s not my fault I was raised right. And please, call me Paulius.”

She nodded once. “Very well. Paulius, I want to thank you and your men for rescuing us. It might not mean much, but I owe you. If I can repay your bravery, I will.”

He laughed lightly.

“That’s odd,” he said. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.” He nodded toward the unconscious Levinson. “He’d be dead if it wasn’t for the bravery of you and Doctor Feely.”

Margaret felt suddenly uncomfortable, embarra.s.sed. “Our bravery? You came in like something out of a movie. I’d have drowned without you. Or been shot. Or blown up. Or burned. Take your pick.”

Klimas shook his head. “When the bullets fly, most people hide behind us. Trust me, I’ve done this before. Margaret, you took a bullet, then — under enemy fire — you and Doctor Feely saved my man’s life. That’s behavior I would have expected from a trained SEAL, not a civilian.”

She knew a man like Klimas wouldn’t make light of comparing someone to a SEAL. His words seemed to make her more aware of the ache in her thigh.

“I didn’t get shot,” she said. “Well, I did, but … are you a Monty Python fan?”

Klimas smiled. “ ’Tis just a flesh wound?”

She nodded.

“You got shot,” he said. “End of story.”

He grew serious, leaned forward just a bit. His eyes carried a certain coldness. Commander Paulius Klimas was polite, sure, but he was still trained to take life whenever ordered.

“You saved one of ours,” he said. “If you need us, we’ll be there.”

His intensity frightened her. These weren’t just words — she knew that if she was in trouble, this man would kill for her.

Klimas stood straight, smiled. The moment of gravitas was over.

“Besides,” he said, “I know you’re a fighter.” He pointed to the bruise under his right eye.

She remembered lashing out, her elbow hitting something. Her face flushed red. “I did that?”

“First shiner I’ve had in years.”

“Oh my G.o.d, I’m so sorry!”

He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”

She was hungry. “A sandwich would be good.”

“I’ll get food in here for you right away. Anything else?”