Free Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) by Randall Wood Page A

he’s improving also. There’re only five Afghans on the ward right now. Not a lot to choose from.”
    “There’re about a dozen Americans.”
    “No way. Don’t even think it. Every troop that leaves here dead gets an autopsy as soon as he hits the ground at Dover. Afghans are our only choice. I want to be able to enjoy my money when I get back to the world.”
    “Yeah . . . I guess. Just hate the waiting.”
    “Look at it this way. It’s a war, you shouldn’t have to wait long.”
    The mortician thought about it while he contemplated the notebook lying on the desk.
    “Maybe we can speed up the process another way.”
    •      •      •
    The senator and his wife waited in the surgical waiting room with all the other worried people. Most were there for surgeries that had been planned for some time. They read magazines and watched the TV mounted on the wall. A corner table held a large puzzle, and a father and his son worked the pieces together while they waited for news of the boy’s mother. There was little conversation, and the elderly volunteer sitting in the corner quietly fielded call after call from family members looking for updates on the progress of their loved ones. He was an expert at telling them nothing, as the new privacy laws prevented him from easing their tension and worry over the phone, but he managed to do it in a way that was both polite and respectful.
    Rita Lamar contemplated the carpeted floor while she waited and managed to form the opinion that it was the most dreadful pattern she had ever seen, before her thoughts returned to her daughter lying in the room down the hall. She had gotten the call from the paramedics who had found the number in her daughter’s recovered cell phone. Thankfully she had been out shopping with a friend who drove her straight to the hospital. There she had not even seen her daughter as Tessa had already been rolled away for emergency surgery. Rita had clung to her friend until her husband’s arrival, and despite who he was, they were unable to get any more information. The nurse had simply replied with what she could read off the chart—chest and head trauma. Just what did that mean? The hours crept by agonizingly slow, and their cell phones never stopped ringing until they both finally just turned them off.
    The phone in the corner rang again, and after a short and quiet conversation, the volunteer hung up and approached them.
    “Senator Lamar?”
    “Yes?”
    “Your daughter is out of surgery. The doctor will be here shortly to talk with you. If you would just follow me, please?”
    They rose silently and were led away. The others waiting all watched with stoic faces, as if they were being led to their own deaths. The fear gripping their hearts tightened as they were placed in a small private room by the volunteer. It was a room where one received bad news and Rita gripped her husband’s arm as they sat on the cheap couch.
    A polite knock preceded the arrival of the doctor. Rita’s first thought was that he was too young, barely thirty years old, until she saw his eyes. They revealed an age beyond his physical years. He looked tired, both mentally and physically. The scrubs were sweat stained, and the booties he wore on his feet over the tennis shoes revealed blood stains. He crossed the room and offered a hand and a smile. Her heart leaped at that. Her mind screamed for information, while her heart dreaded what news this man was about to bring.
    “Mr. and Mrs. Lamar? I’m David Balzano. My team and I have been working on your daughter.”
    She’s alive! She felt the fear that gripped her lessen slightly. She forced herself to wait while the man fell into the chair across from them.
    “Your daughter is alive, but her injuries are quite extensive. She was brought into our trauma unit by helicopter and we quickly moved her to emergency surgery due to her injuries. She was unconscious at the scene, and we’ve determined that to be from