Chapter 6 –
Fishing has its consequences
The nearest hospital was a forty-five minute drive. As we drove, Goulet watched out the windows constantly. His nervousness naturally built my nervousness. Who were we fighting? It seemed like a reasonable question to ask.
“Who was shooting at us back there?” I asked the back of Goulet’s head.
“Foster thugs.” He said to his window. His pistol came up as another car passed going in the other direction. Once it passed us, he lowered his weapon again. “Care to tell me why you were out on the Gulf?”
I wasn’t sure how much I should tell him, but it appeared he had saved my life, so in the end I decided to be honest. “David Starr is with the American consulate. Some drunk Americans told him there was an illegal oil rig on the Gulf. He wanted to see if it was true.”
“What an idiot.” Goulet turned from his window and looked directly at me to make sure I got the full measure of his distain. “Why didn’t he just call me? I could have told him there were illegal rigs out there, and I could have told him who owned them. If he is the best spy you Americans have, you really need to improve your hiring practices.”
“So you know those are Foster rigs?”
“Of course. Those thieving Americans are all over down here. I am glad we were able to kill some of their people today.”
“Why not shut the rigs down?”
“Now you are asking a question that isn’t completely stupid. How is it American thugs are protecting American oil rigs in Louisiana? Who in Louisiana might make that happen? If you can find an answer to that one, you might actually be useful. Now leave me alone while I watch this highway.” For the rest of the trip his eyes never left the highway, and we had nothing more to say to each other.
Eventually we got to the hospital and we parted company there, but I at least made a gesture. As we got out of the vehicles I stepped around to his side of the car and held out my hand. “Thank you.” He stared at me and at my hand for a very long time. Finally he took my hand – briefly – and then walked off to see to his wounded.
I hurried to where Starr was being loaded onto a gurney. I was relieved to see he was still breathing. I followed him into the emergency room and sat in the waiting room while they wheeled him into an examination area and pulled curtains around him. Leading into the room was a trail of blood. I hoped he had enough left to make it through all this.
Miraculously, my cell phone had survived, so I found the consulate number through information, and contacted the duty officer there. They didn’t sound surprised by my call, but apparently his current location was news to them, and they promised to have “people” at the hospital soon.
That responsibility accomplished, I began to think of taking a cab back to my hotel, only to have one of the nurses come over and tell me they could see me now. I looked down at the blood on my t-shirt and realized not all of it was Starr’s. Maybe having a doctor take a look at me might not be such a bad idea. I followed her into one of the examination rooms and sat at the edge of an examination table. Ten minutes passed, and I was beginning to think they had forgotten about me, when a very young physician finally got around to taking a look at me. He and a nurse had me undress and then they both went over my body looking for the sources of my bleeding. I didn’t count, but the final number was nearly two dozen. Fortunately, none of them were serious. In three places they pulled pieces of wood from my skin where old boards had exploded into me, but the rest of the cuts were just the result of crawling over glass and other debris. In short, I was worth a few minutes of their time while they looked for real problems, but once it was clear I wasn’t in any real danger, the doctor moved on while the nurse rubbed antiseptic on me, and looked at me disapprovingly when I winced. I had just been shot at by lots of bad guys, now I was supposed to sit manfully while chemicals were rubbed into open wounds? No way. I winced every time. By the final cut she was actually smiling a bit. That probably helped more than the antiseptic.
Finally, covered in bandages, but still wearing a bloody t-shirt over them all, I stepped back out to the waiting area, Standing there were four very large men, two of whom I recognized from the Granary. American soldiers were on the scene.
“Sergeant Rodrigues, sir” one of the soldiers said when he saw me. “Can you tell us about Mr. Starr?”
“He’s in one of the rooms being treated for his wounds.” I pointed in the general direction of where I had seen him taken. The sergeant motioned to his men and two of them went off in that direction.
“One of the consular officers would like to talk with you outside, sir, if you are done here.” There was something in the sergeant’s stance that told me I was going to be speaking to the consulate guy whether I wanted to or not. Even if you said “sir,” and made it sound like a request, if you are wearing a side arm and have shoulders wider than a doorway, requests come across as orders. Not that I had an objection. Why not talk to my own government? I nodded my head and then followed the sergeant out to the parking lot. It was not hard to find the consular car. It was a huge limo, had an American flag on the side, and it was also the only Ford in the lot. The sergeant opened a back door for me, and I slid in.
There were actually two people waiting for me inside. A man who appeared to be barely thirty sat at the opposite end of the back seat. Perched opposite him on a jump seat was a woman who I took to be in her fifties. Gray hair, gray suit, she was almost invisible against the gray interior of the car. But glancing at her face, I thought maybe she was the adult in the room. But it was the boy ambassador who did all the talking.
“Doctor Murphy, I am Elliot Pound and this is Helen Austin. We are very pleased you were able to escape the attack, although it looks like you have sustained some wounds.”
“These are just superficial cuts, and they have been cleaned and bandaged. Once I get back to the hotel and get a clean shirt, I will be fine. I am afraid David Starr’s situation is much worse. He was shot twice, and bled quite a bit before they got him to this hospital. I have not heard about his current condition.”
“Could you tell us about the attack?”
“Sure. It happened as we entered the harbor. The boat owner was shot in the head and killed. Starr and I dropped to the deck, but he was hit twice. I pulled him down into the boat’s cabin while the gunmen and the LNA fought each other. Eventually the LNA people got us and brought us here.”
“You saw the gunmen and the LNA fight each other?”
“No. We were in the cabin of the boat staying as low as we could to avoid being shot.”
“Did you see any of these gunmen after the fight?”
“No. Colonel Goulet told me they had all been killed.”
“Did you see their bodies?”
“No. We got off the boat and went straight into the LNA vehicles to get the wounded up to the hospital.”
“So you don’t really know who was shooting at you.” What is it about me that attracts smug bastards? I’m sitting there covered in bandages and blood, and this guy who is barely old enough to shave wants to tell me what I did or did not see. Why?
“I assume you are making a point.”
“I hear you are a bit of a journalist as well as a professor. I am suggesting care in how you report this incident.”
“Thank you for the advice. Good bye.” I yanked the car handle up and practically jumped out of the car. That was stupid. I could feel several of my cuts tear against the bandages. I would be bleeding in many spots again. Worse yet, now I would have to find my own way back to my hotel. But there was something about the way he said “a bit of a journalist” that took him off my Christmas card list. Let him have his limo. I walked around to the front entrance of the hospital and looked for a cab. Seeing the condition of my clothing, there was no rush to give me a ride. I’m not stupid. I pulled a fifty franc note from my wallet, raised it in the air, and surpr
ise, surprise, a cab pulled to the curb right in front of me. Ten minutes later I was back at my hotel. I gave him the fifty francs, and then fifty more when I saw the blood I had left on the seat. The guy was going to have some cleaning to do.