Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [94]
Hayward nodded vaguely. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it all. She seemed to have lost all power of ratiocination.
She felt the surgeon’s light touch on her shoulder. “May I ask if the lieutenant is a religious man?”
She tried to focus on the question, finally nodding. “Catholic.”
“Would you like me to ask the hospital priest to come?”
“The priest?” She glanced at Pendergast, unsure how to answer.
“Yes,” said Pendergast, “we would very much like the priest to come. We would like to speak to him. And please tell him to be prepared to administer extreme unction, given the circumstances.”
A soft beeping went off on the doctor’s person and in an automatic motion he reached down, detached a pager from his belt, and looked at it. At the same time the public address system chimed and a smooth female voice sounded from a hidden speaker:
“Code blue, OR two-one. Code blue, OR two-one. Code team to OR two-one.”
“Excuse me,” said the surgeon, a faint hurry in his voice, “but I have to go now.”
44
THE PA SYSTEM CHIMED, THEN FELL SILENT. Hayward sat where she was, suddenly frozen. Her mind reeled. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Pendergast, at the nurses, anywhere but at the floor. All she could think of was the look in the surgeon’s eyes as he had hurried away.
A few minutes later a priest arrived carrying a black bag, looking almost like a doctor himself, a small man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked from her to Pendergast with bright bird-like eyes.
“I’m Father Bell.” He set his bag down and extended a small hand. Hayward took it but instead of shaking her hand, he held it comfortingly. “And you are—?”
“Captain Hayward. Laura Hayward. I’m a… a close friend of Lieutenant D’Agosta.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “You’re a police officer, then?”
“NYPD.”
“Was this a line-of-duty injury?”
Hayward hesitated, and Pendergast smoothly picked up the flow. “In a way. I’m Special Agent Pendergast, FBI, the lieutenant’s associate.”
A crisp nod and a handshake. “I’m here to administer the sacraments to Lieutenant D’Agosta, specifically one that we call Anointing the Sick.”
“Anointing the Sick,” Hayward repeated.
“We used to call it the Last Rites, but that was always an awkward and inaccurate term. You see, it’s a sacrament for the living, not the dying, and it’s a healing sacrament.” His voice was light and musical.
Hayward inclined her head, swallowed.
“I hope you don’t mind me explaining these things in detail. My presence can sometimes be alarming. People think I’m only called in when someone’s expected to die, which is not the case.”
Even though she wasn’t a Catholic, Hayward found his directness steadying. “That code we just heard.” She paused. “Does that mean…?”
“There’s a fine team of doctors working on the lieutenant. If there’s a way to pull him out of this, they will find it. If not, then God’s will be done. Now, does either of you think the lieutenant might have any reason to wish that I not administer the sacraments?”
“To tell you the truth, he was never a very observant Catholic…” Hayward hesitated. She couldn’t remember the last time Vinnie had gone to church. But something about the idea of having the priest there seemed comforting, and she sensed that he’d appreciate it. “I would say yes. I think Vincent would approve.”
“Very well.” The priest squeezed her hand. “Is there anything I can do for either of you? Arrangements? Phone calls?” He paused. “Confession? We have a chapel here in the hospital.”
“No thank you,” said Hayward. She glanced at Pendergast, but he said nothing.
Father Bell nodded at them in turn, then picked up his black bag and walked down the corridor toward the operating suites at a brisk and confident pace, perhaps even with a slight hurry in his step.
She put her face in her hands. Five percent… or less. One chance in twenty. The brief sense of comfort the priest had brought with him dissolved. She’d better get used to the idea that Vinnie wasn’t going to make it. It was so useless, such a waste of