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"Orthognathic," the surgeon repeated. "Actually, something like this requires three specialists, an orthognathicist,a plastic reconstructive surgeon, and an orthodontist."
"May I have that doctor's name again? And would you spell 'orthognathic' for me?"
The surgeon corrected Castillo's botched pronunciation of the term, and then spelled it and the name of the physician at the University of Pennsylvania. Castillo wrote it down.
"She should be able to travel, presuming she will be accompanied by a physician and a nurse, sometime tomorrow. I will prepare a package-her X-rays, a report of the procedures she has undergone, a record of her pharmacology, et cetera-and have it available for you."
"Thank you."
"I presume you intend to stay with her until she wakes up?"
"Yes, I do."
"It will be some time before she wakes up at all, and when she does, the drugs I have prescribed for the pain will be having their effect. I don't suppose you'd listen to my suggestion that you go home and get a good night's rest yourself, and come back in the morning? I doubt if she'll even recognize you tonight."
"I'll stay."
"I'll check in on her later," Dr. Santa Claus said, and walked out of the room.
Castillo followed him out.
Corporal Lester Bradley, USMC, had acquired a second folding chair somewhere and was sitting beside Jack Britton.
"Betty's going to live," Castillo told them, "but the sooner we get her to Philadelphia, the better. Dr. Whatsisname…"
He gestured at the surgeon, who had just reached the elevator bank.
"… gave me the name of a good doctor in Philadelphia, at the University Hospital. Rieger. Ever hear of him?"
Britton shook his head.
"I need to get on the phone, but my battery's about dead," Castillo said. He looked at Corporal Bradley. "Bradley, go get me a battery charger. This is a Motorola, I think." He checked, then extended the telephone to Bradley. "Take a look. Make sure you get a charger that'll fit."
"With respect, sir. I don't like leaving you."
"I'll be all right for a few minutes," Castillo said, as he reached into his pocket for money. "Not only are SIDE agents controlling who can come onto this floor, but Special Agent Britton is here."
Corporal Bradley looked doubtful, and then on the edge of saying something.
Jesus Christ, he's working up the courage to ask me why Britton can't go buy a charger!
"Bradley, all you have is your pistol. Special Agent Britton has the Madsen and"-to keep you from letting me know you shot Expert with the Madsen-"is generally acknowledged to be the best Madsen marksman in the Secret Service."
"Aye, aye, sir," Corporal Bradley said reluctantly, as he examined the cell phone.
He handed it back to Castillo.
"I'll be as quick as I can, sir," Bradley said, and trotted off toward the elevators.
"Best Madsen marksman in the Secret Service, my ass," Britton chuckled.
"To the best of my knowledge you're the only Madsen marksman in the Secret Service, making you ipso facto its best." Castillo smiled at him and went back into room 677.
The plump nurse had made herself comfortable in a metal folding chair by the window. She had her feet resting on an overturned wastebasket, and was reading a magazine with a picture of the king of Spain on the cover. What looked like a kitchen timer was clicking away on the windowsill.
I guess when that goes off, she goes and checks on Betty.
Castillo went to the bed and looked down at Betty. After a couple of moments, he gently rested the balls of his fingers on Betty's wrist, just above the needle that had been inserted in the back of her hand and was dripping something into her vein. Charley was still there when Corporal Bradley came quietly into the room and offered whispered apologies for having taken so long.
