Free Last Surgeon by Michael Palmer Page B

it.
A lot
of hours. People told me he saved my hand. I was flown to the hospital at Landstuhl in Germany for a revision of his work. They told me there was no revision needed, and sent me back. Didn’t even change the antibiotics he put me on. It still aches a little when I do a double shift or stormy weather comes in, but I sort of welcome the reminder of how lucky I was to have that man on duty when I got hurt. Now you see why I wanted to meet you face-to-face.”
    “I do. So where is he? And why do you think my sister would be interested in him?”
    Roach shook his head.
    “No idea. I don’t stay in touch with the old crew much. You see, something bad, real bad, happened on FOB Savannah where we were stationed.”
    Jillian saw the pain in Roach’s eyes intensify. He set his fork down. Instinctively, she reached across and set her hand on his.
    “Can you talk about it?”
    “One of the locals turned out to be a terrorist-a suicide bomber. The guy’s cover was running a health clinic for the people just outside the wire. Fury was always helping him out with supplies, volunteering his off-hours to treat Afghan patients and such. Some thank-you he got.”
    “What happened? Did the terrorist kill Fury?”
    “Well in a way, maybe.”
    “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
    “This bastard drives his truck onto the base. Checkpoint has no problem letting him in. He’s a regular. But once inside, he plows his rig right through the front doors of the hospital. Blows himself and the truck to kingdom come. Garrity was there, right on the running board of the truck from what we heard, trying to break the window and get at the guy. He survived, by some miracle. I heard that one of the guys he worked with saved him somehow. The hospital was leveled. Most of the others didn’t make it, including his fiancée.”
    “Oh, my God.”
    Jillian wasn’t certain she could continue the conversation. She sipped some water and stared at the wall behind Roach, suddenly spent. Images of Belle at her vibrant best flashed through her thoughts. She wondered what Nick Garrity’s fiancée looked like.
    “You okay?” Roach asked.
    “No.”
    “Oh, I understand.”
    “I think you do. Any idea where Garrity is now?”
    “Like I said, don’t keep in touch with the old crew. But I wanted to give you this. Thought it might help you to track him down. It’s been in my bureau drawer since he sent it to me.”
    Roach fished into his pocket, withdrew a folded newspaper clipping, and passed it across. It was an article from
The Washington Post
about the Helping Hands Mobile Medical Unit and its director, Dr. Nick Garrity. There was a byline, but no date.
    “Nick mailed this article to me a few years back,” Roach said. “He was trying to raise money to keep this RV on the streets. It’s like a roving clinic, helping down-and-out folks get decent medical care. That’s Nick.”
    “I’ve heard about this program-even thought about volunteering at one point.”
    “I sent him what I could. A hundred if I recall right. I would have sent more if times weren’t so hard.”
    “I’m sure he appreciated any amount you could manage. Is the RV still in operation? Do you think Garrity is still in Washington?”
    “It’s possible. Like I said, haven’t been in touch with him since.”
    “I wonder what the connection between Garrity and Belle could be. She left D.C. right after she graduated. I can see her volunteering on something like Helping Hands, but she wasn’t licensed yet when she left for-”
    Jillian stopped mid-sentence when her cell phone began ringing.
    “Excuse me,” she said, retrieving her flip phone from her purse. Her brow furrowed when she didn’t recognize the number.
    “Hello?”
    The reception was weak and between the bad connection and the din of the diner it was hard for her to hear.
    “This is Scott Emberg.”
    “Who?”
    “Emberg. Scott Emberg,” he said louder. “I’m the president of our Oak Grove