The Silence of the Lambs - Thomas Harris [88]
“Pembry dead, Sarge?” Jacobs shut the music off.
Tate knelt and as he reached for the neck to feel, the awful thing on the floor groaned and blew a bloody bubble.
“Pembry's alive.” Tate didn't want to put his mouth in the bloody mess, knew he would if he had to help Pembry breathe, knew he wouldn't make one of the patrolmen do it. Better if Pembry died, but he would help him breathe. But there was a heartbeat, he found it, there was breathing. It was ragged and gurgling but it was breathing. The ruin was breathing on its own.
Tate's radio crackled. A patrol lieutenant set up on the lot outside took command and wanted news. Tate had to talk.
“Come here, Murray,” Tate called to a young patrol?man. "Get down here with Pembry and take ahold of him where he can feel your hands on him. Talk to him.
“What's his name, Sarge?” Murray was green.
“It's Pembry, now talk to him, God dammit.” Tate on the radio. “Two officers down, Boyle's dead and Pembry's bad hurt. Lecter's missing and armed--- he took their guns. Belts and holsters are on the desk.”
The lieutenant's voice was scratchy through the thick walls. “Can you confirm the stairway clear for stretchers?”
“Yes sir. Call up to four before they pass. I have men on every landing.”
“Roger, Sergeant. Post Eight out here thought he saw some movement behind the windows in the main building on four. We've got the exits covered, he's not getting out. Hold your positions on the landings. SWAT's rolling. We're gonna let SWAT flush him out. Confirm.”
“I understand. SWAT's play.”
“What's he got?”
“Two pistols and a knife, Lieutenant--- Jacobs, see if there's any ammo in the gunbelts.”
“Dump pouches,” the patrolman said. “Pembry's still full, Boyle's too. Dumb shit didn't take the extra rounds.”
“What are they?”
“Thirtyeight +Ps JHP.”
Tate was back on the radio. “Lieutenant, it looks like he's got two sixshot .38s. We heard three rounds fired and the dump pouches on the gunbelts are still full, so he may just have nine left. Advise SWAT it's +Ps jacketed hollowpoints. This guy favors the face.”
Plus Ps were hot rounds, but they would not penetrate SWATs body armor. A hit in the face would very likely be fatal, a hit on a limb would maim.
“Stretchers coming up, Tate.”
The ambulances were there amazingly fast, but it did not seem fast enough to Tate, listening to the pitiful thing at his feet. Young Murray was trying to hold the groaning, jerking body, trying to talk reassuringly and not look at him, and he was saying, “You're just fine, Pembry, looking good,” over and over in the same sick tone.
As soon as he saw the ambulance attendants on the landing, Tate yelled, “Corpsman!” as he had in war.
He got Murray by the shoulder and moved him out of the way. The ambulance attendants worked fast, expertly securing the clenched, bloodslick fists under the belt, getting an airway in and peeling a nonstick surgical bandage to get some pressure on the bloody face and head. One of them popped an intravenous plasma pack, but the other, taking blood pressure and pulse, shook his head and said, “Downstairs.”
Orders on the radio now. “rate, I want you to clear the offices in the tower and seal it off. Secure the doors from the main building. Then cover from the landings. I'm sending up vests and shotguns. We'll get him alive if he wants to come, but we take no special risks to preserve his life. Understand me?”
“I got it, Lieutenant.”
“I want SWAT and nobody but SWAT in the main building. Let me have that back.”
Tate repeated the order.
Tate was a good sergeant and he showed it now as he and Jacobs shrugged into their heavy armored vests and followed the gurney as the orderlies carried it down the stairs to the ambulance. A second crew fol?lowed with Boyle. The men on the landings were angry, seeing the gurneys pass, and