Dr. Hilsinger was ready to leave his office for the day when the telephone call came in. His nurse had already gone home, so he picked up the phone. The voice at the other end of the phone was slurred.
“Dr. Hilsinger?”
“Yes.”
“This is Robert Bellamy…Need your help. I’ve been badly hurt. Will you help me?”
“Of course. Where are you?”
“Never mind that. I’ll meet you at the American Hospital in half an hour.”
“I’ll be there. Go right to the emergency room.”
“Doctor—don’t mention this call to anyone.”
“You have my word.” The line went dead.
Dr. Hilsinger dialed a number. “I just heard from Commander Bellamy. I’m meeting him at the American Hospital in half an hour…”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Dr. Hilsinger replaced the receiver. He heard the reception door open and looked up. Robert Bellamy was standing there with a gun in his hand.
“On second thought,” Robert said, “it might be better if you treated me here.”
The doctor tried to conceal his surprise. “You—you should be in a hospital.”
“Too close to the morgue. Patch me up and make it fast.” It was difficult to talk.
He started to protest, then thought better of it. “Yes. Whatever you say. I’d better give you an anesthetic. It will—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Robert said. “No tricks.” He was holding the gun in his left hand. “If I don’t get out of here alive, neither do you. Any questions?” He felt faint.
Dr. Hilsinger swallowed. “No.”
“Then get to work…”
Dr. Hilsinger led Robert into the next room, an examining room filled with medical equipment. Slowly and carefully, Robert slipped out of his jacket. Holding the gun in his hand, he sat down on the table. Dr. Hilsinger had a scalpel in his hand. Robert’s fingers tightened on the trigger.
“Relax,” Dr. Hilsinger said nervously. “I’m just going to cut your shirt.”
The wound was raw and red and seeping blood. “The bullet is still in there,” Dr. Hilsinger said. “You won’t be able to stand the pain unless I give you—”
“No!” He was not going to let himself be drugged. “Just take it out.”
“Whatever you say.”
Robert watched the doctor walk over to a sterilizing unit and put in a pair of forceps. Robert sat on the edge of the table, fighting off the dizziness that threatened to engulf him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Dr. Hilsinger was standing in front of him, the forceps in his hand.
“Here we go.” He pushed the forceps into the raw wound, and Robert screamed aloud with the pain. Bright lights flashed in front of his eyes. He started to lose consciousness.
“It’s out,” Dr. Hilsinger said.
Robert sat there for a moment trembling, taking deep breaths, fighting to regain control of himself.
Dr. Hilsinger was watching him closely. “Are you all right?”
It took Robert a moment to find his voice. “Yes…Patch it up.”
The doctor poured peroxide into the wound, and Robert started to pass out again. He gritted his teeth. Hang on. We’re almost there. And finally, blessedly, the worst was over. The doctor was strapping a heavy bandage across Robert’s shoulder.
“Give me my jacket,” Robert said.
Dr. Hilsinger stared at him. “You can’t go out now. You can’t even walk.”
“Bring me my jacket.” His voice was so weak he could hardly talk. He watched the doctor walk across the room to get his jacket, and there seemed to be two of him.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Hilsinger cautioned. “It would be dangerous for you to leave.”
And more dangerous for me to stay, Robert thought. Carefully, he slipped his jacket on and tried to stand. His legs began to buckle. He grabbed the side of the table.
“You’ll never make it,” Dr. Hilsinger warned.
Robert looked up at the blurry figure in front of him. “I’ll make it.”
But he knew that the moment he left, Dr. Hilsinger would be on the phone again. Robert’s eyes fell on the spool of heavy surgical tape Dr. Hilsinger had used.
“Sit in the chair.” His words were slurred.
“Why? What are you—?”
Robert raised the gun. “Sit down.”