Kiss the Hare's Foot Page 6

  “We would only be co-operating to save our own skins.” Mel protested fervently. “I’m not suggesting we attempt to do anything dramatic. We just go through the motions of some basic nursing care, a drip, perhaps if we can get the equipment. Make out we are keen to save his life and make preparations for whatever he needs. We must let them think that we believe our good behaviour will get us free. They might relax enough for us to make a run for it. If we bodge some half-brained scheme to charge at them in the doorway, and fail, we’ll never get another opportunity. They’ll see to that, I bet.”

  Silas glared at Mel, folded his arms and sighed heavily. “Well, perhaps you’ve got a better idea,” said Mel. For a while no-one spoke.

  “Actually, it wouldn’t do any harm to pretend, would it?” Clive said at last, warming to the idea. “Like Mel says, it might buy us some time and at least get us out of this hole. We’ve been imprisoned in this basement quite a few hours already. It’s probably dark outside by now.”

  Silas pondered these thoughts. His vexation at least temporarily suspended, he pulled from his neck his already loosened bow tie and released his top shirt button. Mel noticed for the first time the long slender fingers of the man, more used to wielding the fine instruments of surgery than brandishing lumps of wood as weaponry. She watched as, despairing of the lack of fight and resolve in his fellow-hostages, he rose from the table and after examining the final jumper in the second box, also exchanged his suit jacket for the more comfortable and practical garment.

  The atmosphere remained strained and with no other useful occupation to take up their time, it was Mel who tried to fill the void of silence and create a distraction from their miserable predicament.

  “Tell us about your family, Clive,” she gently prompted the anaesthetist.

  The request took the doctor by surprise and it was several moments before he could transpose his thoughts to quite another milieu. At last, leaning back in his chair, he re-entered a world that comprised a busy family life. He spoke fondly and at length of his wife, a part-time general practitioner, coping with a third, rather difficult pregnancy of some six months. His two existing young children, a Labrador and two pet rabbits completed his household. Humorous tales of family holidays, for a while at least, temporarily entertained his companions about an existence far removed from this present nightmare experience. They let him talk without interruption. Feeling that there was little else they could do but wait and hope that as time passed, somewhere outside their whereabouts were being traced and perhaps at this moment in time a rescue was being organised on their behalf. Somehow, though, Mel didn’t have much faith in that thought.

  Silas sat quietly and listened, fidgeting with his fingers. His black eyebrows were drawn together, a mat of frown lines lying on his brow like the ridges on a sandy beach. He found it impossible to relax. Tension refused to leave him and he crossed first one leg over the other and then, a few minutes later, reversed the action. Though trying to be attentive to Clive’s distraction, his eyes, Mel noticed, darted constantly towards the door.

  Time dragged. Several times Mel resisted the temptation to ask Clive what he thought the time might be. What was the point? It wasn’t as though they were going anywhere. Just as Mel was beginning to believe that there would be no further contact with the members of the gang, the door was eventually opened and the same trio returned to once again take their places at the top of the steps.

  “One at a time you can go up to the bathroom upstairs,” the man in the sheepskin spoke. “You, Doctor Roberts,” he pointed to Clive, “you’re coming with me, first. You others had better make up some beds ‘cos you’re all stayin’ here tonight.”

  “Will you leave the light on tonight? Please,” Mel pleaded as the thought of this god-forsaken place in pitch blackness filled her with panic. But without answering, he ushered Clive out of the room and they were left with the dismal prospect of a cold and uncomfortable night.

  “I hope you’re satisfied,” Silas reprimanded as the door was once more slammed shut and glared at Mel with dark piercing eyes. “We should have had a go at them when they came in, while we were all together. Now we’ll be stuck down here in this cold, damp pit all night!”

  Mel didn’t answer. Instead she walked over to the pile of mattresses and blankets. Looking around her, the floor was filthy. Over by the workbench in the far corner she spied the remnants of a broken broom-head with a few worn bristles remaining. It would have to suffice in order to clean an area of floor sufficient for the three mattresses laid side by side. With long, slow strokes, she began sweeping rhythmically, clearing an area close to the left side of the steps, trying desperately not to create more dust than necessary.

  Despite this, years of untouched filth rose in thick clouds, touching her face as she crouched to sweep away the worst of the dirt. With one hand held over her mouth, the taste of the dirt and the thick air made her cough uncontrollably as her airways resisted the onslaught. Not daring to look over towards the obviously disapproving Silas, she waited a few minutes for the dust to settle again before tugging at the pile of mattresses to drag them onto the prepared floor space.

  “Here, let me help.” Silas at last volunteered begrudgingly as the sight of Mel struggling became too much to bear. Reluctantly he took hold of the side handles of one of the mattresses, and together they placed it on the ground. With all three eventually lined along the floor, the six blankets were equally distributed between the beds. There were no pillows. Seeing the fawn camel coat hanging over the back of the chair, Mel laid it open on one of the mattresses and proceeded to roll it like a sausage, positioning the coat at the head of the central mattress so that it overlapped onto the outer beds. Better than nothing, she thought. That done, she returned to her seat at the table where together they awaited Clive’s return.

  “How did they know Clive’s name?” the question suddenly occurred to Mel, like a bolt out of the blue. “That man called him by name - Doctor Roberts. When I was taken, the man asked me if I was a nurse, so they can’t know who I am. They do know you’re a surgeon, though. I remember the fat man mentioning it when I was upstairs.” She tried to ignore Silas’s animosity by engaging him in more thoughtful discussion.

  “I don’t think this whole set-up is as random as we think,” he said. “It looks increasingly as though some detailed planning has gone into this. Three abductions from different hospitals in different counties, the police won’t stand a chance at either connecting the three of us or finding us here. It’s been contrived to cause confusion and leave no clues. I’m quite sure we’re going to have to manage our own escape, because I don’t believe anyone will ever find us here.”

  He was right, of course. Realistically there was little chance of being rescued from this hell.

  Reflecting upon the earlier events of the day, Mel’s mind again absconded to the holiday she had so been looking forward to. Now it seemed a distant dream. How differently the morning had started. It had begun like any other routine day with no hint of the trauma about to unfold. Now, imprisoned in this derelict and isolated building, within the space of just a few hours, not only her holiday, but more precious than that, her very life, suddenly looked uncertain. She had planned to spend this evening packing her suitcase that night. New evening and beachwear hung in her wardrobe, the passport and tickets ready in her bedside drawer. Her parents would be beside themselves by now and she visualised her mother repeatedly watching from the lounge window as she became increasingly concerned by her daughter’s lateness. Not for the first time that day, Mel fought back the tears that stung the back of her eyes.

  7

  Clive was eventually returned to the basement. He looked tired, his shoulders drooping as though laden with a heavy burden that he could not cast off. Attempting a thin smile, he extended his right arm displaying with some satisfaction, the return of his watch. It was 8:30 pm. It felt as though it ough
t to be midnight by the manner in which the hours had dragged by since Mel’s abduction from the hospital. That was nearly twelve hours ago. As Clive wearily returned to the table, Silas was simultaneously summoned by the guard to be escorted to the bathroom upstairs.

  “Are you okay?” Mel ventured anxiously. Clive looked like a man who had aged five years during the short time he had been taken from them. And was that a reddened area on his left cheekbone? His attitude was that of a prisoner whose last chance of reprieve from the death sentence had just been lost. The man, who had earlier related humorous tales of family chaos, was hardly the same figure who sat slumped in front of her now. Mel wanted desperately to interrogate him immediately, but controlled her impatience and instead reached for the second of the flasks, from which she poured him a much-needed mug of tea. It would be better, she thought, to wait until they were all reunited and left alone. Rising from the table, she paused to place a comforting hand on her comrade’s shoulder before gathering together her towel and toothbrush. She waited at the foot of the steps for her turn for the meagre bathroom facilities.

  Mel’s second visit to the bathroom was no more impressive than the first. With just a jug of cold water, no soap or toothpaste, she was never going to eliminate the feeling of filth and grime that now clung to every part of her. Their standard of hospitality would certainly not earn them any stars, she thought grimly, as once more she tried to examine in the cracked mirror the red line scored into her neck from the identity badge chain earlier. The feint thin line, now hardly visible, was at least appreciatively soothed by the application of the cold water, which she gently patted dry.

  As the metal bolt of the cellar door slid noisily home for the last time, they joined to finish the tea and the remainder of the biscuits. Silas seemed more subdued than earlier. His fiery short temper appeared to have been replaced by a more calculating and sober frame of mind. Mel wondered whether he too had noticed the mark on Clive’s face and felt concern for his colleague. Together, they now looked to Clive for his résumé of events upstairs.

  After some hesitation, he drew in a long deep breath. Glancing up briefly to establish that he had their full attention, Clive corroborated Mel’s earlier account. His report was professionally delivered. “The sick man upstairs, whom we are to refer to as ‘Charlie,’ is a forty six year old, with pain and slight distension to the left side of his abdomen. As Mel said earlier, he looks like he’s been used as a punch bag. Bruises all over. No head injury. He’s drowsy but responds to questions. Memory and comprehension seem okay. It would seem that some hours after he was involved in a fight, he suddenly collapsed. He doesn’t admit to any other medical history. From palpation, I would guess it’s possible he may have ruptured his spleen or possibly his kidney, but I don’t think he has passed any blood in his urine. He certainly has all the symptoms of shock and low blood pressure but doesn’t appear toxic, to suggest peritonitis. Without a stethoscope I was not able to examine his chest properly and, like Mel, can only estimate his blood pressure and pulse. He is significantly dehydrated. His pelvis appears stable. No fractures or skeletal pain. He certainly appears to be bleeding from somewhere.” He hesitated before adding, “It would appear that he is a member of this criminal gang and I would hazard a guess, that by the importance they are placing on his survival, he must be pretty significant within their organisation.” He paused again and his voice dropped to barely more than a coarse whisper, before he said with slow deliberation, “I don’t believe they are fooling when they say they will kill us if he fails to recover. They know how seriously ill he is and that without medical help he is likely to die.” His mouth twitched slightly with distaste as he recalled the earlier conversation. “I did stress to them that he must have an urgent operation and that it is impossible for us to give him any sort of care in this filthy environment, without drugs and equipment.”

  Clive seemed oblivious to his habitual mannerism of grinding one fist in circular movements inside his other hand and continued, “They are expecting us to provide them with a list of everything we need and they will transport us all to a place where an operation can take place. That apparently is the purpose of the writing pads and pens in the bottom of one of the boxes. I flatly refused.” Instinctively he tenderly touched his left cheekbone as he recalled the ferocity of the slap rendered by the giant of a man who called himself ‘boss.’ The now unmistakable smooth reddened area below his left eye was maturing rapidly into a darkening bruise.

  “Bastards!” Silas could contain himself no longer. Rising from the table, his temper erupted once more and he paced purposefully backwards and forwards with fists tightly clenched by his sides. Reddened cheeks reflected the fury in his sharp dark eyes and prominent veins pulsated on the sides of his neck. “I’m not prepared to help them, under any circumstances. It is morally and ethically wrong, for a start. The man is clearly going to die and I am not going to be responsible for it. Why can’t they take him to a hospital, like any other human being?” The old fire was back in his belly and he was in no mood for compromise.

  Mel felt indignant. “I don’t see how it is morally and ethically wrong to try and treat the man. We don’t really have any choice in the matter, do we? No authority is likely to hold us responsible if he dies,” Mel argued in defence of their own safety. “We can’t just give up. It is our own survival too, don’t forget.”

  “I’m hardly likely to forget that. But the three of us can’t do such a major operation, even with all the right equipment,” he protested with condescending rancour. “You know how many people it takes to run an operating theatre, five at the very least and that’s for minor stuff. What we have here is a major procedure, requiring a myriad of equipment and facilities.” He pointed his finger at Mel as though striking his point home.

  Clive leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Well they will have to go on believing that it only takes three. I think they knew he was bleeding internally, that’s obviously why they abducted a surgeon, anaesthetist and theatre nurse. We don’t want anyone else caught up in this mess, for goodness sake. We all know how easy it was to take us.” He looked despairingly at Silas.

  “Well, just suppose we did go along with it,” Silas retorted bitterly, “we’d need a whole damned operating department. The guy will be dead before we can even get him onto a table.”

  “Actually,” began Mel awkwardly, “there’s something else you ought to know.” She hesitated, reluctant to reveal at last a fact which would further jeopardise their likelihood of success as well as adding to Silas’s argument against co-operating with the gang. “I’m a post-operative recovery nurse, not a theatre scrub nurse!”

  The two doctors stared at her, aghast. Mel felt as though she might just as well have told them she was a car park attendant. A stony silence followed while this information sank in, before Silas, the first to recover, said decisively, “Well that settles it!”

  Mel felt powerless to retrieve the situation. The stony silence that followed seemed to envelope the three into even greater despondency.

  “Have you ever scrubbed?” Clive asked.

  “Yes, a long time ago I scrubbed up for some general surgery when I was a student. I’m a bit rusty, I know, but I’m sure I could cope, though, if you talked me through it.” She tried to recover something from the situation. “I know enough of theatre etiquette to get by.”

  “Yes, I bet you do too,” Clive smiled reassuringly and laughing, added, “well at least it will save us needing a recovery nurse!”

  “Any chance of escaping from up there where they’re keeping the man?” Silas returned to the subject of freedom, directing his question deliberately towards Clive as though Mel’s opinion was no longer worthy of consideration.

  “The room where Charlie is being kept is near the centre of the building, down a short passageway behind the main staircase. Everywhere I’ve seen so far seems to be well and truly board
ed up. Its pitch dark away from the few electric lights and the place is something of a maze. I think there is a generator somewhere out the back. You can hear it more clearly as you approach the room where they’re keeping Charlie and I would guess it is just outside the back of the building. However, if we don’t know our way out of here, we’re likely to be caught before we can get outside. Also, we don’t know exactly how many gang members there are in this building. There could be others we haven’t yet seen. In any case, I reckon there are at least nine.”

  Silas rose from his chair and wandered over to the row of mattresses laid on the floor. His abhorrence of his environment seemed to trouble him more than the risk of attempting an escape. Mel watched the agitation in his stance and noticed the thin film of dust now completely masking the shine of his leather shoes. There had to be a solution to their plight. She fervently believed that the only way they were going to get out alive was to work as a team with a well-planned strategy. But there seemed little hope of that with Silas’s intransigent behaviour towards their captors.

  “You said they were planning to take us all to a place where Charlie can be operated on,” Mel directed her suggestion towards Clive. “Then that surely would be the best opportunity we’re likely to have to get away. They’ve got to take us all outside together. They must know that without the proper equipment and instruments we can’t operate on him so I guess they’ll have to steal them from a hospital somewhere. They won’t know what they’re looking for. Chances are they may get caught trying to get the stuff. While they’re out of the way, that’s got to be our best chance.” The words rushed forth as her idea unfolded and, animated by its possibilities, rambled on for several minutes in a torrent of energy, while the others allowed her to speculate unrestrained. Her ideas exhausted, she waited for the expected sarcastic response from Silas at her outburst and was relieved when it didn’t come. Instead he now stood squared up to the table, an expression of fascination captivated in his dark eyes.