Free The Catch: A Novel by Taylor Stevens Page B

greeted her in fair English and with an air of forced patience.
    Within his words of introduction Munroe heard the accent and for her own benefit answered in Italian, utilizing language, that special form of magic that increased in potency the farther the spell was cast from where it was expected. The doctor’s expression shifted into a cautious smile, and in micro increments his posture relaxed with relief, almost as if he’d been holding his breath.
    Munroe mirrored his response, shook his hand. “
Ho bisogno del vostro aiuto
,” she said. “I have an unconscious man in a boat, can I show you?”
    On the shore Munroe climbed into the boat and the doctor followed. While Mohamed waited on the sand, she shone the flashlight down onto the captain, who might already be dead, and then handed the light to the doctor.
    He knelt and, as Munroe had done earlier, shone the beam in the captain’s eyes. Then he pinched at his skin, then picked up his wrist, and listened through the stethoscope. He turned toward Munroe. “He’s still alive. No sweating. Rapid heartbeat, probably low blood pressure,” he said. “How long has he been like this?”
    “I found him drifting,” she said. “I’ve had him for about twenty hours.”
    “He needs fluid urgently,” the doctor said. “Needs to have the head wound stitched, but fluid is an emergency.”
    “I’m on my way to Mombasa,” she said.
    “In Mombasa they have better equipment, but you can’t take him like this.”
    “How long would you keep him?”
    “At a minimum, twenty-four hours for the dehydration. But even after that he’s not in any condition to travel.”
    “I can’t stay in Lamu,” she said. “If you want, I will leave him.”
    “Better not,” he said.
    “I can wait for twenty-four hours, but not more than that. I’m traveling by sea—how long to Mombasa by car?”
    The doctor pursed his lips and blew a long exhale. “These roads?” He shook his head. “It depends on the day. Twelve hours? Eighteen? Could be three days if there are issues.”
    She felt his exhaustion, the Third World weariness. “There are always issues,” she said, and he nodded, wiped his forehead.
    “All right then,” she said. “I’ll cover the expenses for his stay for as long as I’m here.”
    “You know how it works with medical?”
    “Yes,” she said, and knew all too well. Different part of the continent, but the same concept everywhere: Except for the rare clinic that catered exclusively to foreigners and to the rich, hospitals in Africa worked on a payment-first basis, and it wasn’t unusual for the injured and dying to pass away unadmitted because they didn’t have the money to put up front to get in the door.
    “I’ll get you a list,” he said. “I’m already off for the night, butwhen you have the supplies, ask for help at reception and they will come get me.”
    “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked. “Perhaps a donation to a worthy cause?”
    “Just ask for me when you’re ready,” he said. “I’ll leave the list at reception,” and the doctor stood and helped himself off the boat.
    Munroe watched him walk up the beach, silhouetted by the small amounts of light that reached out from the hospital, until finally he disappeared entirely.
    To Mohamed she said, “Where is Sami?” and although as far as she knew the man didn’t understand English, he understood the intent of her question and pointed to the boat to her left that hadn’t been there when they’d arrived.
    T HE CURRENCY EXCHANGE took place behind the hospital, haggling kept short while Munroe chugged down the entire bottle of water that Sami brought, and then she traded three hundred dollars for far fewer shillings than they had to be worth; enough to get the captain into the hospital and her through till morning, when she could find Lamu Town and figure out the next step. Tonight she just wanted the captain off her hands and a bed where she could collapse, and