him before he could reach his gun. He never regained his balance; instead, falling to the floor as the man stood up, throwing a chair hard toward Jim’s head before bolting from the door.
Jim’s first reaction was to run after the killer, but instead, he ran around the bed and pulled Evan’s IV out. Evan didn’t move. He ran to the door and yelled for the nurses. The man was gone.
“Nurse, hurry!”
The duty nurse sensed an emergency without seeing the patient and pushed the Code Blue and Red “panic buttons” before rushing toward Evan’s room. Jim held the door, “He was giving him this (holding the syringe) in his IV.”
As she was checking vital signs, the emergency team arrived, almost all at the same time. Security was close behind. The doctor took over, ordering people to specific tasks. Jim stepped out in the hall and called the Jackson police and his office with a description of the man he’d seen. He knew it was a long shot; the man was a pro. Jim had no doubt he was a professional killer. He also didn’t expect to catch the man, but that wasn’t his main concern; he needed Evan to fill in some blanks. He needed him alive. The door remained opened and people surrounded Evan; he wasn’t moving. Nurses ran in and out for supplies ordered by the Doctor.
Almost two hours passed before the team stopped working on the patient. Jim found a chair and sat outside, occasionally looking inside as people began leaving. Damn, we should have had someone posted here. As the doctor was leaving, he was relieved to see the heart monitor still beeping in Evan’s room.
He stood asking, “How is he Doc?”
She looked grim, “It will take at least twenty-four hours for his system to clear out. The syringe was a powerful Barbiturate, probably Halcion. If it was full, it was more than enough to be lethal. We’ve flushed him with fluids and now it’s up to his body to do the rest. If he wakes up in a day, he’s got a chance, but that’s about all anyone can predict now.” She looked tired. Even critical care physicians get emotionally drained when someone deliberately tries to kill a patient in a hospital.
Twice! Twice he had failed to kill the mark. Rack couldn’t believe his luck. He’d never missed even once before, much less twice. He’d almost been caught; this was turning out to be the contract from Hell, from that lunatic Russian. He had run down three flights of stairs using every third step, then crossed the lobby with his hat pulled low, avoiding a good camera profile. In total, he had been out of the hospital in under thirty seconds. Now, he had no choice; he’d wait until the man was declared dead from the lethal injection, or he’d kill him a third time. No one could be that lucky again.
Jim called Kiki and explained that he was staying at the hospital until the police place a guard on Evanoff. They needed to protect this patient around the clock. He had to sit there five more hours before shifts could be adjusted and an officer assigned to guard at the hospital. Jim was tired when he was relieved, but at least he knew he might have saved a life that day. He’d know in the morning.
That night, Kiki had dinner waiting for him. She made her special beef tips, with chilled berry soup and steamed broccoli. The aroma was overwhelming when he got home, “What ... you can cook too!” She greeted him with a smile and a salad spoon as he put his arms around her waist and they kissed passionately. “You know, a man could get used to this.”
She smiled, “I was hoping you’d say that.” She giggled, returning to the kitchen. “Take off your coat and gun and put on some music. I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”
The Link
The report was unchanged late the following day. Dr. Evanoff was comatose, but vital signs remained constant. The police guard shifted at four hour intervals. Nurses were on high alert, still scared by the attempt on his life.
While enjoying dinner with Kiki late that evening, his mobile phone rang. Evan was awake. He quickly pocketed it while grabbing his sport coat, telling Kiki, “Gotta go.” He kissed her and left for the hospital. The killer was still out there somewhere, and Evan held the key to his motives. The attacks had been brazen and sloppy. Someone was in a hurry to see Evan dead.
Jim lived only fifteen minutes from the hospital. Exiting the elevator, he saw the police officer sitting opposite room 310 on alert. The room door was open as a nurse exited. The officer stood when he saw Jim approaching, “All’s cool, Detective.”
“So, how’s he doing?”
They recognized each other, but neither knew the other’s name. The policeman said, “He’s talking to the nurses.”
Jim thanked him, patting him on the arm, then went into the room. “How are you feeling, Professor?”
Evan was a little groggy, but otherwise alert. “Ah, I guess I’m alright.”
“You look a lot better than yesterday.”
“Yeah, what’s going on, Detective? Why doesn’t this guy stop? He killed Karina and that should’ve stopped this.”
“That’s what I’ve gotta find out, Evan. For some reason, he wants you dead. Do you have something; did you take something of his?”
“I don’t have any idea who he is.”
“I’m guessing a hired killer. We’re searching the whole area for him. But, that’s not I mean. These guys work for people. Who would hire him?”
“I’ve never harmed anyone and never taken anything; nothing that someone should kill me over.”
“What about this guy Jelavich?” Jim was checking his notes.
“He’s a bad man. He did threaten me through Karina. It’s all about some research we’re doing, like I told you.”
“I never got the whole story, Evan. You were kinda out of it when we talked before.”
Evan sighed, what difference does it make now? He couldn’t disclose his client, but he didn’t have any loyalty to Jelavich. Maybe the cops could prevent him from ever getting the gold. That would be sweet revenge. “Karina was hired by Jelavich to track down a rumored shipment of something valuable taken from the Russian monarchy in 1920.” He went on to explain the myth of the train sunk in Lake Baikal and their theory about the Army.
Jim didn’t believe in coincidences and was thinking about Kiki’s old boxes. “So, why come to Michigan, why Jackson?”
“Call it an educated hunch more than anything. There was a Major Hicks in charge of supplies in Russia on the train that supposedly had the Russian treasure. Karina and I both did a lot of research of Army records and then internet searches. It all points to Hicks. There could be other possibilities of course, but he left a strong trail of suppositions that we had to check out, at least to eliminate him. Karina and I work for different people, but we both reached the same conclusion that Hicks was the strongest lead.”
Jim was taking notes furiously, nodding without speaking. He now had other concerns. He had a killer loose in the area and now had a personal involvement. He needed a plan: how to protect Kiki?
“Look, Evan, we’re gonna catch this guy, the killer. He can’t hide for long in the area. I don’t think he’s gone far, probably waiting to see if he got you yesterday. He won’t leave until he’s sure, just like he came back after the gunshot failed.”
“You’re scaring me, Jim.”
“We’ll protect you from him, but we need to get his boss, too.”
He then left the hospital, driving to the farm. Kiki and Sibley planned to start cleaning the grounds and assembling equipment for sale. He didn’t want to be far away from her.
The next day in Moscow, Gregori Jelavich was still fuming over losing his researcher. Collateral, my ass! Then his phone buzzed with a new SMS message: The matter is now complete. Confirmed dead today. Odd Job.
Good! He’s finally dead! From this point on, Jelavich would do his own searching, his way. He knew enough from Karina’s last report that the Army supplies from the 7th Brigade were shipped back to Michigan in 1921 and a Major Hicks took a large shipment away to his private storage. This was the most significant lead ever to the gold. It must have go
ne with Hicks, who met an untimely death soon after. His stolen shipment was never accounted for. Jelavich laughed, it would be impossible for amateur thieves to deal with such treasure.
Probate
His phone rang as he exited the elevator in the hospital garage, “Olander.”
Her voice relieved some of the anxiety he felt, “Jim, we have an appointment with Fiske. We’re going over to his office now.”
“Okay, I just finished at the hospital; do you want me to come along?”
“Yeah, meet us there.”
When he arrived, they were already in the small conference room. Fiske’s law office hadn’t been remodeled since the seventies. The legal profession had seen a glut of attorneys at the end of the twentieth century, and the average practice barely survived. Fiske was no great attorney, but he charged less than others and handled the simplest cases. He didn’t do any criminal work anymore, just real estate and personal estate planning. Jim knocked on the glass door and entered.
Kiki smiled, “Whit, this is my friend, Jim Olander, he’s gonna join us.” Others around the conference table included Sibley and Jason Albrecht who smiled at Jim.
Whit explained in carefully chosen language that the probate process was partially complicated by the fact that ownership had been protested between Kiki and the Albrechts. Sibley spoke, “Mr. Fiske, let’s get that solved. We’re one family. Kiki’s my daughter, just