Chapter Sixty Six
Nicholas POV
The entire process of getting Camilla loaded up for transport seems like a small undertaking. I stand back watching as her medical team moves her from the bed to a gurney, bringing portable monitors with her. Medical devices hang off the side of the gurney. An IV drips steadily from the pole attached to the gurney and a heart monitor beeps.
Someone mentioned that it was good she no longer had the drain in her head, because making sure her intercranial pressures adjusted properly for the flight would be difficult with the changes in altitude. All the things they talked about were foreign to me. I was thankful that Dr. Moreno was at least going to be riding along for the transport to the airport. From there, his fellow would take over for the flight to Italy. He then planned to stay a few days just to make sure Camilla didn't have any sudden changes in condition. A friend of Dr. Moreno would check on her a few days after arrival and in time for the fellow to fly back with the two nurses who were accompanying us.
It seemed like things were going smoothly —almost too smoothly. This didn't escape my notice, or Marco's, as he stood by speaking to me quietly. "I don't like it boss; it's all going way too easily." He was saying exactly what I was thinking.
"Who has eyes on the hotel?" I asked.
"Right now, a couple of the younger soldiers are over there. Grim and Michael's guy John are heading over to check things out. We don't think he's there, but he has to be somewhere," Marco adds.
Right. Still no sign of Cain after he gave us all the slip. His men are however, still holed up in that boutique hotel. "Why Grim?" I ask. He's such a dangerous man, and he emanates hostility. I can just see him scaring someone at the front desk of the place so badly that they end up alerting the police. I may have to make a call to my guy over at headquarters. "Do I need to call the Lieutenant?" I ask. Marco laughs.
"You worried he's going to piss off the wrong person?" he asks.
"More like worried he's going to scare them half to death," I reply.
Marco chuckles.
"Let's get this show on the road," I say, pushing off the wall. "Time to move." Marco nods and walks down the hall towards the elevator. I'm sure he's going to get the men ready and secure the perimeter so that we can safely get Camilla out to the ambulance bay.
"Ready?" Dr. Moreno asks walking towards me. I nod and he waves at me to follow him. We move towards the staff only elevator and wait while the gurney is pushed inside, then we follow. There are at least a dozen people crammed in this elevator, between the medical team, the paramedics on the ambulance, and us. I glance over at Camilla, her face peaceful as she sleeps with the help of the sedative flowing through her IV at the moment.
"Everything should move pretty quickly once we get her loaded," one of the medics tells no one in particular. "We are about thirty minutes out and the plane is on the tarmac already," he adds. There are a few murmured responses around us, but mostly everyone keeps the talking to a minimum. Dr. Moreno had already drilled into everyone about how Camilla was still having terrible migraines and quiet was of the essence. Of course she is out right now, thanks to the drugs, but it appears they are all practicing how to be quiet. I don't mind; I prefer it that way myself.
Once Camilla is loaded, I am directed to climb into the back with her and sit on the bench seat at the foot of the gurney. The door is shut firmly behind me. A side door opens and the second medic steps in and sits in a seat at the head of the gurney, while his partner writes down Camilla's vitals on a clip board.
Just as the medic had stated, we got to the airport in thirty minutes, and they drove right out onto the tarmac, pulling up next to a medical plane. It's started to get dark outside, and as we pull up, I feel an uncanny sense of foreboding. I reach under my jacket, feeling the shoulder harness and my pistol tucked in. I pull it out and quietly click off the safety. The medics aren't paying any attention to me, their focus is solely on their patient. I appreciate that. Camilla deserves to be well-tended.
The ambulance rolls to a stop and the driver puts it in park. He turns his head and looks back. He looks vaguely familiar and before I can process how I know him, he raises a gun to the back of the head of the paramedic seated at the head of the gurney and pulls the trigger. "What the fuck," his partner screams and throws himself to the door at the side, wrenching it open. Brain matter is splattered everywhere, chunks of it in the guy’s hair as he screams falling through the door.
I ducked and pushed the rear door open; my pistol was trained on the driver. He's no longer peering through that opening from the front, and the door has been opened and slammed shut. I hear yelling, and as Marco comes rushing around the side of the ambulance. He's on a full run, chasing the guy who had been driving. It was then that I realized he looked familiar because he's one of Cain's bodyguards.
I turned and walked around to the side door of the ambulance and pulled the dead paramedic out, tossing him onto the ground. Our men are running everywhere, and Dr. Moreno comes rushing up to me. "Are you hurt?" He asks.
"No. Check Camilla," I tell him. Then I rush around the front of the ambulance with my gun drawn. Marco had tackled the man that I had identified as one of Cain's men and was beating his face in with his pistol. I turn back toward the ambulance, my head on a swivel.
"Where's the rest of the medical team?" I ask Dr. Moreno, who is assessing Camilla and wiping bits of brain matter off her face. He's already ripped the blanket off that had been covering her.
"Hiding," he says. "We need to get her out of here. Is the area secure yet?" he asks me. It's probably a scene he's dealt with in the past, when my father was here running the show.
"Seems to be," I say, just as Jimmy comes running up to us.
"Boss," he pants as he comes to a stop and starts reloading his pistol. "Cain was here. Grim and Frank went after him. Michael was supposed to meet up with the pursuit. We have our guys surrounding the place. We have three of his soldiers, but Cain is in the wind again."
"Take them to the warehouse. Do your worst, we need to go," I say. I turn to Dr. Moreno. "We need your team so we can load her in that plane and get out of here," I tell him. He nods, takes his cell phone out of his pocket, and makes a quick call. Then he turns and looks at me, his eyes narrowed.
"I told you, Nick, this woman has been put in harm's way yet again. When does this end?"
"As soon as you load her onto that fucking plane, Wayne, now let's go."
I open the rear door of the ambulance and pull out the bloody blanket that Wayne had tossed to the floor. The fellow comes running up beside me, his face pale. He looks over at the medic who lies dead on the ground and starts to gag. "What the hell?" he says, before he bends over and vomits everything that is in his stomach.
"Fucking weak," I mumble. Between myself, Dr. Moreno and the two nurses, we get the gurney and all the equipment. Marco comes running over, blood coating his hands and splattered across the front of his shirt. I look pointedly at him, as the nurses look away.
"What?" he says, a cocky grin on his face. He looks down at his white button up shirt, tears it off, wipes his hands on it and tosses it to the ground. I just shake my head at him as we arrive at the plane and the professionals take over, loading the gurney and equipment into the plane.
We are loaded and the pilot announces we are departing. The doors are shut, and I watch out the window as the plane begins to taxi. The medical staff who actually work on the medical plane are busy getting Camilla situated while casting glances our way. The fellow sits in his seat, head cupped in his palms as he leans forward, breathing heavily. "You good there, buddy?" I ask with a chuckle. Dr. Moreno shoots me a withering look, and I just smile.
"Excuse me," a woman in scrubs approaches me from the front of the plane.
"Yes?" I respond.
"The pilot would like a quick word." I nod, unfasten my belt, and make my way up to the cockpit. It might be a medical plane, but it's now owned by me and that's my pilot in the cockpit.
"Sir," he says as I come through the door. "We have a problem," and he points out the front windshield of the plane. There on the tarmac sits a line of cars; behind them are men with what appear to be machine guns, aimed at our approaching plane. They are not my men.
"Fuck," I growl. I did not anticipate this. Where did these men come from?