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She headed for the door as thoughts flooded through her head. Burns. Sullivan was a surgeon. After working in Helmand Province he was bound to have experience with explosive injuries and burns.
She spun around. ‘Someone find Sullivan. Tell him I’ll need his assistance.’
Franz put down the phone. ‘Princess Gabrielle?’
She was already walking back out the door but something about his anxious tone stopped her. ‘What?’
‘Dr Darcy. He’s already there.’
‘He’s what?’
Franz gulped. ‘He’s helping co-ordinate the rescue effort.’
* * *
She didn’t wait for a driver. She got into the nearest palace car and just floored it. At least she tried to. Arun stepped out dead centre in front of the car as she reached the palace gates.
‘Move!’ she screamed.
He calmly walked around to the driver’s side. ‘Move over,’ he replied smoothly.
She blinked, then took a deep breath and moved over. He slid into the driver’s seat and drove down the mountain as if an avalanche was chasing them. But Arun had the skill and expertise to handle the car at speed.
He pressed a button on the steering wheel, connected to his control room, and spoke in rapid French. A few seconds later, another voice came on the line. It took Gabrielle a few seconds to realise who it was. By the time she did, Arun had disconnected.
They reached the bottom of the mountain and, instead of turning right, towards the diamond mine, he turned left.
‘Where are we going?’ shouted Gabrielle. ‘People need help.’ She could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. ‘Was that Sullivan on the phone?’ Her brain was still trying to fathom how fluent his French had been.
Arun made the next corner on practically two wheels. ‘We’re not going to the mine. We’re going to St George’s.’
‘St George’s?’ She was confused. It was one of the most prestigious hospitals in Mirinez—mainly for private patients. From what she could remember, it did have a fully functioning small emergency department that treated private patients.
‘Why are we going there?’
Arun glanced at her as they turned down the main road towards the hospital. ‘Because apparently Sullivan has taken over.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
SPEAKING NUMEROUS LANGUAGES in Mirinez was definitely a bonus. So far he’d used French, Italian, German, English and a smattering of Chinese.
He didn’t normally contemplate the big picture—but fate had certainly played a part in his being there.
His reluctant security host Mikel had shown him St George’s Hospital and introduced him to the director only an hour earlier. The director had made a few casual enquiries about Sullivan’s availability as a surgeon and his areas of expertise. What he hadn’t expected was for Sullivan to turn up two hours later with a number of casualties from the mine blast.
Mikel, who had spent most of the morning growling at Sullivan and giving one-syllable answers to his questions, had been surprisingly smart when they’d first heard the explosion.
The ground had shaken underneath them as they’d stood in the car park.
Sullivan had moved right into combat mode. ‘What’s that? Where did that come from?’
Mikel had looked around for a few seconds. ‘It must be the mine.’
Sullivan had sped back into the hospital and shouted to the director, ‘I need a bag for emergency supplies. We think something’s happened at the mine.’
He hadn’t waited. He’d moved through the department he’d just been shown around and started grabbing gloves, wound pads, saline and everything else he could lay his hands on. The director had hesitated for a second, then shouted to another member of staff as he’d watched the pile on the trolley grow. Sullivan glanced over his shoulder. ‘Do you have ambulances you can send? And give me a couple of members of staff too.’
It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Military mode had washed back over him like an old familiar blanket, and thankfully no one had argued. A few minutes later he’d had a bag of supplies and a nurse in the back of the car as Mikel sped towards the mine.
The main gates were wide open. Smoke was spiralling into the sky. People were running everywhere. There was a huge cloud of choking dust hanging in the air.
It only took a few seconds for Sullivan to surmise who was supposed to be in charge. He ran over to a man in a bright yellow fluorescent jacket. ‘Sullivan Darcy, doctor. Where do you need me?’ He repeated it in French and Italian and the man replied quickly.
‘Over there,’ he said, pointing to a large grey cabin. ‘That’s where the casualties are coming up.’
‘Who is bringing them up?’
‘The other miners.’
‘Are there still casualties below ground?’
He nodded. Sullivan thought quickly. ‘Ambulances are on their way. I’ll triage those in the cabin. Get a report from the mine. If they need medical assistance down there, I can go.’
He moved quickly. The cabin was obviously used for occasional first aid and minor injuries but the first-aid kit must have been used up within seconds of seeing the first casualties. He kept the nurse next to him. She was used to working in a calm hospital environment and he’d obviously taken her well out of her comfort zone. But to her credit she was cool and efficient.
There were a huge variety of injuries—penetrating wounds, head and eye injuries, breathing difficulties, a few obvious broken bones. But the majority of injuries were burns—something he specialised in. It didn’t help that every single patient was covered in a layer of smudged dust.
He threw some bags of saline at the nurse. ‘We need to try and keep things clean. Irrigate everything that’s burned. Remove any clothing or jewellery if you can do it without causing any damage. See if the kitchen has cling wrap. If they do, just put a clean layer across any burn. And keep the burn victims warm—ask for blankets. We don’t want them becoming hypothermic. If anyone has a penetrating injury, look at it and patch it. If anyone’s bleeding profusely, give me a shout. Triage One, Two and Three. One for the people who need to go to hospital first. Two for those who also need to go but aren’t in immediate danger. Three for those who can wait for a limited period.’
She nodded and got to work. Mikel appeared at his side. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Sullivan paused only for a second. ‘I’m either going to ask you to transport some patients who are stable, or to come down the mine with me. What’s your preference?’
Mikel gave a quick nod. ‘Wherever you need me.’
Sullivan smiled. He hadn’t given Mikel enough credit. He suspected he was a former soldier too—he was obviously a team player. He hadn’t panicked when the explosion had happened, and he was happy to take direction and go where he was needed. This man wasn’t scared.
Ten minutes later, when he and Mikel descended into the mine, along with one of the engineers, he was glad of the company. Four men were trapped by falling rocks and equipment. No one had known if it was safe to move them to pull them out from where they were trapped and Sullivan and the engineer did a quick assessment of each casualty. Two were able to be slid out slowly once the debris above them had been removed or propped up.
Another was more complicated. He had a serious penetrating wound and burns. By that time, more emergency services had arrived and Sullivan must have used seven bags of saline to saturate wounds, as well as putting in lines to increase fluids and administer some pain relief.
Half an hour later the ambulance he was in pulled up outside St George’s. Gabrielle was standing, waiting, in the ambulance bay wearing an apron and gloves. She pulled back as she saw him. ‘Where have you been?’
He looked down. Every part of his clothes was covered in dust. He reached up and wiped his for
