The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy [136]
"What is it, sir?" A breathless marine lance corporal with a .45 Colt in his right hand skidded to a halt on the tile floor.
"This man just tried to kill my patient!"
"What!" Petchkin's face was crimson.
"Corporal, your post is now at that door. If this man tries to get into that room, you will stop him any way you have to. Understood?"
"Aye aye, sir!" the corporal looked at the Russian. "Sir, would you please step away from the door?"
"What is the meaning of this outrage!"
"Sir, you will step away from the door, right now." The marine holstered his pistol.
"What is going on here?" It was Ivanov, who had sense enough to ask this question in a quiet voice from ten feet away.
"Doctor, do you want your sailor to survive or not?" Tait asked, trying to calm himself.
"What—of course we wish him to survive. How can you ask this?"
"Then why did Comrade Petchkin just try to kill him?"
"I did not do such a thing!" Petchkin shouted.
"What did he do, exactly?" Ivanov asked.
Before Tait could answer, Petchkin spoke rapidly in Russian, then switched to English. "I was reaching for a smoke, that is all. I have no weapon. I wish to kill no one. I only wish to have a cigarette."
"We have No Smoking signs all over the floor, except in the lobby—you didn't see them? You were in a room in intensive care, with a patient on hundred-percent oxygen, the air and bedclothes saturated with oxygen, and you were going to flick your goddamned Bic!" The doctor rarely used profanity. "Oh sure, you'd get burned some, and it would look like an accident—and that kid would be dead! I know what you are, Petchkin, and I don't think you're that stupid. Get off my floor!"
The nurse, who had been watching this, went into the patient's room. She came back out with a pack of cigarettes, two loose ones, a plastic butane lighter, and a curious look on her face.
Petchkin was ashen. "Dr. Tait, I assure you that I had no such intention. What are you saying would happen?"
"Comrade Petchkin," Ivanov said slowly in English, "there would be an explosion and fire. You cannot have a flame near oxygen."
"Nichevo!" Petchkin fmally realized what he had done. He had waited for the nurse to leave—medical people never let you smoke when you ask. He didn't know the first thing about hospitals, and as a KGB agent he was accustomed to doing whatever he wanted. He started speaking to Ivanov in Russian. The Soviet doctor looked like a parent listening to a child's explanation for a broken glass. His response was spirited.
For his part, Tait began to wonder if he hadn't overreacted—anyone who smoked was an idiot to begin with.
"Dr. Tait," Petchkin said finally, "I swear to you that I had no idea of this oxygen business. Perhaps I am a fool."
"Nurse," Tait turned, "we will not leave this patient unattended by our personnel at any time—never. Have a corpsman come to pick up the blood samples and anything else. If you have to go to the head, get relief first."
"Yes, Doctor."
"No more screwing around, Mr. Petchkin. Break the rules again, sir, and you're off the floor again. Do you understand?"
"It will be as you say, Doctor, and allow me, please, to apologize."
"You stay put," Tait said to the marine. He walked away shaking his head angrily, mad at the Russians, embarrassed with himself, wishing he were back at Bethesda where he belonged, and wishing he knew how to swear coherently. He took the service elevator down to the first floor and spent five minutes looking for the intelligence officer who had flown down with him. Ultimately he found him in a game room playing Pac Man. They conferred in the hospital administrator's vacant office.
"You really thought he was trying to kill the guy?" the commander asked incredulously.
"What was I supposed to think?" Tait demanded. "What do you think?"
"I think he just screwed up. They want that kid alive—no, first they want him talking—more than you do."
"How do you know that?"
"Petchkin calls their embassy every hour. We have