Chapter 12 - Blood and Steel in the Operating Room
The steady beep... beep... beep... of the vitals monitor was the only sound inside the sealed surgical vault.
Forty-five minutes had passed since Dr. Thorne made the primary incision along Gabriel’s spine.
Blood dripped steadily into the suction tubing,
and the smell of cauterized tissue filled the chilly air.
I stood beside the surgeon,
my hands moving automatically,
passing arterial clamps,
sponges,
and retractors with trained efficiency,
though my mind was screaming with anxiety.
"I have visual on the titanium clip,"
Dr. Thorne muttered,
peering through his binocular surgical loupes.
"It's locked tight around the dura."
"I'm applying the retraction tool now."
Suddenly,
the heavy concrete floor beneath our feet shuddered violently.
A muffled,
booming explosion echoed through the thick walls from the upper levels of the distillery,
followed immediately by the distant rattle of automatic gunfire.
The fluid in the suction canister rippled.
"What the hell was that?"
Dr. Thorne asked,
his hands flinching over Gabriel’s exposed spinal column.
"Keep your hands steady!"
I barked,
my nurse instincts overriding my fear as I reached out to steady his wrist.
"Do not move that scalpel an inch!"
The wall-mounted intercom buzzed violently,
and Vincent’s voice burst through the speaker,
accompanied by the deafening sound of shouting and shattering glass.
"Maya!"
Vincent yelled,
his voice laced with pure panic.
"The Romanovs found the distillery!"
"Carmine leaked our GPS coordinates!"
"They brought thirty men with heavy explosives!"
"We're holding the main tunnel,"
"but a breached squad dropped through the ventilation shaft in sector three!"
"They're heading straight for the medical wing!"
Before I could answer,
the intercom cut off with a blast of static.
"Dear God,"
Dr. Thorne whispered,
his face turning white beneath his paper mask.
"We have to stop!"
"We have to evacuate!"
"If you stop now,"
I said,
my voice deadly cold as I pulled a heavy silver tray of orthopedic tools closer,
"the incision is open,"
"the dura is exposed,"
"and Gabriel will bleed to death in three minutes."
"Finish removing the clip!"
"How long do you need?"
"Five minutes!"
Dr. Thorne stammered,
his fingers trembling as he adjusted the release lever on the titanium clamp.
"I need five uncorrupted minutes!"
"You have four,"
I said.
I turned away from the operating table,
marched over to the heavy steel security door,
and grabbed a heavy iron fire extinguisher mounted on the wall.
I kicked a heavy surgical cart against the handle to lock the latch from the inside,
then pulled a heavy steel bone-saw from the tray,
holding it in my right hand like a hatchet.
Heavy boots slammed against the concrete hallway outside.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The steel door shuddered under the impact of heavy shotgun slugs.
The glass observation window cracked into a web of white spiderwebs.
"Open the door!"
a voice shouted in a thick Russian accent from the hallway.
"We know the boss is on the table!"
"Hand over the girl and we let the doctor walk!"
I didn't answer.
I stood in the center of the room,
my pink cat pajamas covered in surgical scrubs,
my knuckles white around the handle of the fire extinguisher,
staring at the cracking door.
"Four minutes,
Doctor!"
May you like
I screamed over the sound of splintering metal.
"You better be quick!"
