Chapter 4 - The Captain's Arrival
The sudden thump of heavy tactical boots resonated through the hallway outside the isolation ward, accompanied by the sharp, authoritative bark of a voice Lauren knew intimately.
“Back off the door, pal! I don't give a damn what color your badge is, this is a municipal emergency facility, and you’re brandishing an unregistered sidearm in a pediatric zone!”
Captain Thomas Vance.
Lauren exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Vance was fifty-two years of age, built like an iron piling beneath the municipal pier, and had served the harbor district for nearly three decades. He didn’t bow to federal suits, and he certainly didn't care about corporate directives.
Through the wired glass of Trauma Three, Lauren saw the confrontation unfolding.
The lead agent had his wallet open, pressing a black credential against Vance’s chest. “Captain, you are obstructing an active rendition under Special Directive 14-B. National defense authorization. Step aside, or you will be stripped of your badge before morning.”
Vance didn’t step aside. He was flanked by four harbor precinct patrol officers, all of them with their hands resting unlatched on their service weapons. Vance leaned forward until his nose was an inch from the lead agent’s polarized glasses.
“Son,” Vance rumbled, his deep baritone reverberating through the acoustic ceiling tiles, “you can wave your little laminated hall pass until you’re blue in the face. But until I see a signed warrant from a district magistrate, you are an armed trespasser in a city hospital. And if one of your boys flinches toward that holster again, I’m locking you in a drunk tank down at the wharf with the fish-gutters.”
Dr. Harrison Grace scurried into the gap between them, waving his manicured hands. “Captain Vance, please! You don’t understand! The hospital board cannot afford this kind of liability! Nurse Pierce has stolen an infant from these men!”
Vance turned his head, looking at Grace with pure, unadulterated disgust. “Harrison, go write a prescription for your own spine and stay out of my way.”
Vance stepped up to the door of Trauma Three and tapped three times with his heavy gold class ring on the glass—their old code.
Lauren walked over and threw the deadbolt, opening the door just wide enough for Vance to slip inside before slamming it shut and locking it behind him.
Vance took off his soaked service cap, water dripping from the brim onto the floor. His grey eyes swept over the shivering girl, the sickly baby on the warmer, and finally landed on Lauren.
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“You want to tell me why six private security contractors with counterfeit DHS plates are trying to rip a baby out of your hospital, Lauren?” Vance asked quietly.
“Because,” Lauren replied, pointing to the infant’s chest, “they put something inside him.”
