The Monster Hunter Ch. 31-40

The soldier did a quick check before opening his kit. He cut away Michael's belt and pants down the left leg, sprinkling in a coagulating/antibiotic powder before placing a battle dressing over the large gash on his left butt cheek. He said something in Russian, and Curtis applied pressure. "MOTHERFUCKER," Michael said as he fought the pain.

"Better than bleeding out. Take the fucking pain and shut up, Marine." Michael turned his head to the other side, so he wasn't smelling his breakfast, and endured the medic wrapping gauze around the smaller injuries. He listened as the medic spoke in rapid-fire Russian. More military and police vehicles, plus an ambulance, were approaching with sirens.

Curtis stayed over him protectively until the ambulance arrived, making room for the attendants to bring in the stretcher. Curtis took possession of the MP-5 submachine gun by his side, the Glock in his belt holster, and the knife strapped to the outside of his right side as the men checked him over. Multiple hands lifted him onto the gurney, but the motion hurt as the embedded shrapnel cut at his torn flesh. "They are taking you to the hospital. I'll be right behind them," he promised. The doors closed, and the ambulance started moving with a police escort through the crowded town.

The men in the ambulance didn't speak English, and their equipment was dated and basic. The ride was uncomfortable, with every bump sending pain shooting through his left leg. Eventually, the ambulance stopped, and the rear doors opened.

Luckily, one of the doctors spoke English. "You're at the Hospital for the Ministry of Internal Affairs. I am Doctor Akmetov, the Emergency Room Attending Physician. Can you tell me your name, age, and blood type, please?"

"Michael Johnson, thirty, oh-positive."

He was wheeled into a room as the doctor took the report from the ambulance attendants. They lifted him onto a treatment table, and the nurses started to remove his clothing. They cut through the Velcro of his bulletproof vest and soon had him naked on the white sheet. The bleeding had mostly stopped by now, and they took him for X-rays. Fifteen minutes later, Curtis was in the room with him as he waited for the verdict. "What happened to my team and our principals?"

"They are secure back at the hotel. Nothing but bruises, thanks to your warning. Your team did well."

"Why do I feel like shit then?"

"An RPG landing fifteen feet behind you will do that, idiot," Curtis told him.

"Angel. Does Angel know?"

"I'll call her as soon as I know what's going on with you. Otherwise, your FBI sister will keep giving me questions I don't have answers for."

They didn't wait long for Doctor Akmetov to return with another doctor in scrubs by his side. "You are a lucky man, Mr. Johnson. You have a concussion, which I understand happened when the explosion bounced your head off the side of the vehicle. You also have a few chunks of metal and stone that will require surgery to remove. With your head injury, we don't want to risk general anesthesia. We'll use a spinal block before we go in to remove the fragments and clean the wounds."

"Wonderful," Michael replied.

"My wife had one of those, one pinprick, and you can't feel a thing from the waist down," Curtis added.

"Yes, it is common and relatively safe. You are lucky that you were wearing your vest; the pieces that it stopped would have killed you. The damage to your leg and buttocks is not severe; you will be uncomfortable while it heals, but you should have a full recovery in time."

"He's used to being a pain in the ass, Doctor. My company would like to fly him out as soon as possible. Can you tell me the soonest that I can start getting him home to the States?"

The doctor hesitated, then talked to his counterpart in Russian. "No earlier than tomorrow morning, sir. The head injury is limiting; he needs to remain here under observation until then. If you have medical personnel on the flight, he should be uncomfortable, but able for you to transport by air."

"Thank you. Michael, sign the paperwork and let them remove that stuff so you can go through a metal detector again. I'll let your sister know what happened."

"Thanks, Curtis. Tell her not to worry." Curtis left, and Michael signed forms and listened as Doctor Akmetov translated the surgeon's information. Twenty minutes later, he'd been moved onto a gurney to another floor, prepared for surgery, and brought into the sterile room. The needle burned as the spinal block needle went in, but soon he relaxed as the pain from his wounds went away. A surgical drape blocked his view of their work; they gently rolled him on his side, then back onto his stomach.

Michael couldn't understand the language, but he heard the metal fragments rattling around in the pan as the doctor removed them. He had to keep his hands above his shoulders, so he watched the clock and waited. The nurse came into view twenty-six minutes and thirty-eight seconds after the spinal block injection and mimicked sewing with her hands. He nodded his understanding; they were finishing up.

He stopped the clock after forty-one minutes and twelve seconds when they wheeled him into a recovery room. He knew the block was wearing off when he started to feel the sharp pains from his wounds and something uncomfortable in his dick. It wasn't until Doctor Akmetov stopped by that he found out they'd inserted a catheter while the spinal block was taking effect. "You got lucky you couldn't feel it," he told him. "We don't want you to be moving around for a few days, and this is the best way."

"Just fucking great." His company medic in the Marines had teased him about the procedure years ago. They were out drinking, and another Marine complained about how much it hurt to piss after he caught the clap in Okinawa. The medic said that was nothing compared to having a tube shoved up your dick and secured in your bladder with a balloon. It immediately made Michael's list of 'things you can let me die before they do it to me,' and now he had one.

"Once you can move your legs, they'll move you upstairs to a room. How does your head feel?"

"The double vision is gone, and I have the headache from hell." The doctor checked his eyes and asked a few more questions. "Have you had a concussion before?"

"Once when I was thirteen, playing soccer."

"Then you know the drill. The nurses will be checking on you every hour overnight. I'll stop by later on to see how you are doing; one of the nurses on that floor speaks English, so you'll be fine. You may as well have these souvenirs of your visit." The Doctor handed him a clear plastic container with four pieces of jagged metal inside.

"Thanks, Doc." An hour later, Michael moved up to a room where Curtis was waiting in a chair. "What did Angel say?"

"She said you're a fucking idiot who needs to find a better job," Curtis said with a smile. "I told her she was half right." Michael laughed, but that hurt a bit. "I called her again after you got out of surgery, and she'd calmed down by then. We'll put you on a Chevron jet out of here tomorrow and have you stateside in another day."

"What happens to my team?"

"They're staying here with the executives until the meetings are over. They are very appreciative of our services and concerned about your health. Nothing like a near-death experience to focus you on life."

I knew this well. "Who's taking my spot?"

"I am. It won't be hard as the guys know what to do."

Michael felt a little better hearing this, as Curtis would keep them safe. He was less than thrilled that the meetings were continuing after this attack. "You have to change things up for these meetings, Curtis. Minimize the exposure time."

"I hear you." The nurse came in and shot him a look. "I guess I have to go. I'll be back in the morning, and I'll get all the arrangements made for you."

"Thanks, buddy." The rest of Michael's day was anything but restful. The pain was constant, and they didn't give him strong painkillers due to the head injury. The television had no English-language channels, and the radio wasn't any better. Whenever he fell asleep, a nurse would wake him up to check his concussion symptoms.

By the next morning, he wanted to sleep for a day straight. As they drove away from the hospital to the airport in an ambulance, Curtis handed him the cellphone they'd brought from his room. He called Angel's phone first. "Hey, sis," he said when she answered.

"Oh, God, Michael! Are you all right?"

"I won't be sparring you for a month or so, but I'll be fine. I promise." They talked for a few more minutes before she told him to call Amber. "She's been going nuts since I told her you got hurt. Your girl isn't used to this life, you know."

"I know." Michael and Angel both worked at dangerous jobs, while Amber was a college student and furniture saleslady. He told Angel goodbye, then called Amber. They spoke until Curtis told him they were at the airport. "I'll be home soon, baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Michael."

He ended the call as Curtis looked at him. "Got any pics?"

Michael pulled up a picture of the two of them by his Harley during the ride in the Catoctin Mountains and showed it to him. "She's the one on the right."

"I'd hope so, or she'd be one ugly dude," Curtis said with a chuckle. "She's young."

"Twenty-one and still in college," Michael agreed. "It's working, though."

"Good for you."

Michael kept his phone as they transferred him to a stretcher and carried him up to the jet. The Chevron corporate jet had a small bedroom at the back, and the crew strapped him in and handed him the remote for the television. They had sent a nurse along, who took his medical records and a turnover from the ambulance crew. "Get some sleep, Mr. Johnson. If you need anything, just let me know." She left the door latched open and took a seat just outside, and Michael was asleep just after takeoff.

He still hadn't looked at his text messages.

Ch. 40

Michael woke up as they landed in Reykjavik, Iceland, to refuel and change aircrews. His nurse checked his vitals and made sure he ate. She used pillows to help him roll onto his right side so he could eat easier. As he ate pasta with shrimp, he started looking through his phone for messages.

Word of his injury had spread quickly through Securitech. Many of the messages were from his team or people he'd trained with; he scanned through them quickly. A few more were from DSS agents or Marines he'd served with overseas. When he got to Angel's texts, he opened the thread after a hesitation. She must have freaked out when she got the call.

What he saw made his stomach drop. The only recent message was for him to call when he could and heal quickly. The next message was the problem. "Pipe was leaking by the shower handle in your bathroom. What a mess! We may have to replace the wall and part of the floor. Call me."

He never thought she'd find it. He'd hidden the money in a bathroom she didn't use, inside the walls, with a homeowner who gave him all the home repair tasks. Michael could only imagine what must be going through her mind. He closed his eyes and thought about how to respond. Angel must know it was his, but she hadn't turned the money in. She was waiting for an explanation of how he got it.

He moved on to check the rest of the messages as he ate. There was nothing he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to talk about it over the phone. Instead, he figured out it was late enough in the morning to call Amber and put it on speaker. "Hey baby," he said as she answered.

"MICHAEL? Oh, GOD, MICHAEL!" It took a minute to get her to stop crying and talk to him. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"I'm sorry, but I'll be fine in a month. My head feels much better now, and the shrapnel missed anything vital. I'll have a few new scars, that's all."

"Where are you?"

"Refueling stop in Iceland."

The copilot poked his head into the room. "You'll need to go to airplane mode in five minutes, sir. We'll be wheels up in ten minutes. Our estimated arrival time at Leesburg Executive Airport is 17:25 local time. An ambulance will meet the plane and transport you to Reston Hospital Center, just east of Dulles."

"Thank you," I said. I made sure Amber had the times and asked her to pass the information to Angel. "There's no point in going to the airport, and I'm sure it will be a while before I get back to my room, then visiting hours will be over. You shouldn't waste money and your time off coming down to see me, only to see me for an hour, Amber. Wait until I get back home, and we can spend some time together."

"Don't you EVEN THINK about keeping me away, Michael! I love you, and I have to see for myself that you're all right."

Michael knew she wasn't going to take no for an answer, and honestly? He wanted to see her. "I can't wait to kiss you again, my love."

"I love you too." Michael hung up and sent a short text to Angel with his arrival details, then had to turn his phone off as the aircraft door closed. The nurse took away the dishes from lunch and secured him on his stomach again for takeoff, carefully positioning the straps around his wounds.

Once they leveled off, the nurse checked the severity of his concussion symptoms again. He was doing better, so Michael got a better painkiller and slept most of the flight. After landing, customs, and transport, he made it up to his hospital room just after nine PM. The hospital let Amber and Angel visit for a few minutes. "Hey, beautiful," Michael said as he saw Amber rushing in.

She was crying as she leaned over and hugged his neck. While she kissed him, Angel grabbed his hand and squeezed. "I hate your job, Michael."

"Yours isn't much safer," he replied. "God, it's good to see you two!" They didn't have much time to talk, but Michael got released from the hospital two days later. He was able to walk, but sitting in a car was a little much. Angel put down the seats in her SUV and made a bed for him. When they got home, the girls had to help him slide back out and stand up. Angel and Amber had moved his bed downstairs, allowing the lovers to spend their first night together since the attack.

They had 'porcupine sex': slow and careful, so no one gets hurt.

The next morning, Angel sent Amber out to get medical supplies and finally had Michael alone. Angel paused his Premier League game between Arsenal and Tottenham before tossing one of the packets of money onto the bed. "Talk to me, Michael."

He looked at the money, then looked up at the woman he'd known since they were young children in hell together. "Do I need my lawyer?"

"I don't have a badge anymore."

Michael rolled his eyes. "You are still a Federal agent, just on administrative leave."

"I'm your sister first, and I love you, Michael. Still, you brought this into my house when we were both suspects in the Monster Hunter investigation! My God, Michael! Do you know what might have happened to me if they got a search warrant?"

"Nothing, Angel, at least until now. Your fingerprints weren't on them, and I'd claim it as mine." Michael would never let the younger Angel suffer in his place. Even in the dark times, he would take punishments for her, protecting her as best he could.

"I swear to you I won't divulge anything I learn about the money from you," Angel replied. "I can't claim ignorance since I found it a week ago. I'm guilty too, because I didn't report it, and I've spent a little of it. Whatever you did, it's in my best interest to keep quiet now."

"How much did you spend?"

"Less than ten thousand, mostly on remodeling the bathroom and buying clothes."

Michael didn't seem too worried. "It's all right. If I'd have died, my will would have given you a message for where the money was and where it is. I'd never saddle you with money that would get you in trouble. No one will miss this cash, ever, and the person I got it from doesn't need it anymore."

"Who DID you get the money from?"

"I told you I resigned from the DSS because I broke the jaw of that tribal chief who raped the young boy, right?"

Angel nodded. "You were out with some CIA guys when it happened."

Michael looked into her eyes. "They gave him a million dollars in cash to make up for his injuries."

Her eyes got wide. "You told me the Chief died a few days later when someone slit his throat while he was sleeping."

"He didn't deserve to keep breathing, Angel. I snuck in, covered his mouth, sliced his neck, and held him down. I made sure the last thing he saw was my face as he bled out onto his silk sheets."

"You killed him in cold blood?"

"I've killed before, but it's not often you get the enjoyment of seeing justice come for someone like him. I didn't regret a thing I did, Angel. I enjoyed every moment of his suffering until his eyes glaze over in death."

Angel was shaking. "What then?"

"When he was gone, the boy chained to his bed was covered in blood and shaking in fear. He pointed to where the Chief hid his money, and I took it. I gave the boy some of the fuckers gold jewelry and set him free to go back to his family. I disappeared into the night; no one could prove I did anything."

"Jesus." Angel sat down on the chair and looked at him. "How did you get the money back here?"

"My boss had an idea I'd killed the Chief but didn't push me on it. He hated the fucking CIA and how they operated, and he knew why I'd knocked the fucker out." Michael reached his hand out for her. "My boss knew he couldn't save my career, but he let me resign. My last assignment was to carry a pair of diplomatic bags back to the States. I put the money in one, and he sealed it up. I brought it back to the States with me, but only one went to Foggy Bottom."

"He helped you smuggle almost a million in cash out of Afghanistan?"

"Almost one and a half million, since it wasn't his only payment. I handed my old boss a third of the money once he rotated back home." Michael squeezed her hand. "The CIA hands out bundles of cash like candy on Halloween, Angel. The Chief's death got blamed on a rival, and no one is looking for the money. I've been moving it slowly into gold, silver, and other investments quietly so I don't attract any attention from the IRS or anyone else."

"Jesus." Angel got up and walked upstairs without looking back.

She didn't come down when Amber returned with the barbecue takeout.