“And nothing. Just sit at your desk. Don’t answer the phone, don’t fill out any papers, don’t do anything.”
It took only forty fidgety minutes before Jen caved in and returned to Mercer’s office, her blue eyes glazed with boredom. “Point taken and I’m sorry. Usually the consultants around here treat the staff like slaves.”
“Since you are the first secretary, excuse me, assistant, I’ve ever had, I really don’t know how to treat you.” Mercer’s honesty had begun a great working relationship. Now he asked, “Did you read about that woman rescued last night?”
“Yes, isn’t that fantastic?”
“Strange thing is, I know her, or rather, I know her father,” Mercer said, heading for his office. “Come on and fill me in on what’s been happening while I’ve been gone.”
Mercer struggled out of his jacket and threw it carelessly over the leather sofa. He laid his briefcase on the desk and settled into his chair. Jen hung up his jacket with a maternal scowl and sat in the chair in front of the desk to help him pore through the mountain of papers.
Around noon, Jennifer went to lunch; Mercer stayed in his office, catching up on the paperwork treadmill. A security guard knocked quietly at his office door a few minutes after Jen left. “Are you Dr. Philip Mercer?” the guard asked, confirming the name from the slip of paper in his hand.
Mercer winced inwardly — he hated to be called doctor. He grinned at the security officer. “So you boys finally caught me stealing toilet paper from the men’s room.”
The guard looked at him, puzzled, then realized that Mercer wasn’t serious.
So much for a sense of humor, thought Mercer.
“Sir, Western Union delivered this telegram to the front office; it’s addressed to you.” The guard handed Mercer the envelope and left without another word.
The telegram had been sent from Jakarta. Mercer knew instinctively that it was from Jack Talbot. For some reason he felt a sense of foreboding as he unfolded the paper.
“Tish is in mortal danger. Help her.
It was signed
Mercer spent no more than ten seconds making up his mind. The Jack Talbot he knew was not prone to fantasy or hysteria. If Jack said that his daughter was in danger and that the NOAA ship had been purposely destroyed, Mercer believed him unequivocally.
Mercer stood quickly, his gray eyes hard and set, his lean body already slightly tensed for the unknown. He grabbed his jacket and strode to the elevators. Within six minutes of reading the telegram his black Jaguar XJS convertible was bulling its way through downtown traffic toward the GWU hospital.
The nurse at the hospital’s front desk informed him that Tish was in room 404, but that no visitors were allowed. The nurse also told Mercer that the room was being guarded by the FBI.
The fact that the sole survivor of a shipwreck was under guard gave some credence to Jack’s warning that his daughter was in danger and that the sinking of the
“Well, that takes care of that,” Mercer said, and gave the nurse a smile that made her blush. “Where can I find a cup of coffee?”
“To the right and up the stairs, sir,” she responded, patting her mousy hair. “The cafeteria is on the second floor.”
Mercer thanked her, but once in the stairwell he climbed quickly to the fourth floor. The fluorescent lights, yellow-painted walls, and hospital smell were enough to cause nausea in the most healthy person. After a few minutes he found the wing which contained room 404. The two beefy no-necked men sitting at an impromptu security desk eyed him like sharks looking at a wounded mullet.
“Dr. Mercer to see Tish Talbot,” Mercer said casually, flashing an ID card.
One guard looked him up and down, noting the stethoscope protruding from his coat pocket. Mercer had picked it up at an empty nurse’s station. The other guard saw the GWU logo on the card and noted that the photo of Dr. Mercer matched the man in front of him.
“What’s your business, Dr. Mercer?” The man’s voice was flat and lifeless.
“I’m a urologist,” Mercer replied, and stifled a small yawn. “I need to check for renal damage due to extended dehydration.”
The guard waved him through without a second thought. The ID that Mercer flashed had in fact been issued by GWU hospital, but it merely signified that he was a recipient of the hospital’s health coverage. Anything more than a cursory examination would have gotten him a quick trip to the J. Edgar Hoover Building.
So much for the vigilance of the FBI.
Mercer looked over his shoulder and saw one of the guards bury his face in a near-empty bag of corn chips and pour the remainder in his mouth. Since Tish was in possible trouble, there was no way that he would let these two idiots look out for her.
Tish was sitting up in bed, a magazine resting on her bent knees. Though she looked fatigued from her ordeal she was a beautiful woman on the easy side of thirty with short-cropped dark hair, arresting red lips, and high cheekbones. Her skin was burned dark by the sun but did not appear permanently damaged. She looked up at him with her father’s eyes, impossibly clear blue and impish.
“Miss Talbot, I’m Philip Mercer. I’m a friend of your father’s. In fact I owe him my life — maybe he told you the story?”
Her smile was warm and open. “I’ve heard that story about a million times, Dr. Mercer, and I must say it’s good to have a friend here.”
“Better than you know,” Mercer said under his breath. “How do you feel?”
“Tired and sore but okay. I really don’t know why I’m being kept here.” There was annoyance in her voice.
“Believe it or not, you’re a pretty hot item right now. Do you know that you’re under guard?”
“I wasn’t aware of that. What the hell for?” She was plain speaking, just like her father.
“I was hoping you could tell me. I received a telegram about an hour ago from your father in Jakarta. He asked me to look after you.”
Tish stared at him.
“He felt that the
Tish continued to regard him blankly.
“Does any of this make sense to you? Do you remember something or did you see something that could cause this stir?”
“In the first place, Dr. Mercer…” Before she could continue a man opened the door. A lab coat covered his suit.
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Alfred Rosenburg, your urologist.” His smile was crooked and his teeth stained tobacco yellow.
Mercer took one look at the man’s shoes and reacted instantly. The punch was powered with a full twist of his body. The instant before his fist smashed into the man’s face, Mercer bent his arm, and his elbow connected solidly with Rosenburg’s cheek. Tish muffled a scream in her hands as the doctor’s head whipped around and he slammed into the wall.
Mercer turned to her. “Get dressed now, I’m getting you out of here.”
Rosenburg was already regaining his feet, a six-inch stiletto in his hand. Mercer bent at the knees and torqued his body around, extending one leg in a sweep. The man fell back, his body shaking the wall when he hit. Mercer planted a foot squarely in his stomach, then kicked up into his face as he doubled over. Rosenburg’s head snapped back and crashed into the wall. He slumped over, unconscious.
Mercer looked at Tish, who was still in bed. “He won’t be alone. Now get dressed.”
She flew from the bed and was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt within moments, though not before Mercer stole a glimpse of exquisitely long legs and a white silkpantied backside.
Mercer opened the door slowly and looked toward the guard station. The pool of blood under the desk told
