Cindy Dees – Special Forces: The Operator (страница 7)

A few people, obviously trying to render first aid, were moving among them, but the victims vastly outnumbered the medics. Thankfully, though, help was starting to arrive as golf carts and running coaches and trainers got wind of the problem.

She leaned forward and shouted in Torsten’s ear that the American athletes would probably be congregated by the northwest corner of the pool where they’d left their clothes.

He headed that way, but had to stop well short of the pool because of the sprawl of humanity on the ground.

She tumbled out of the golf cart dozens of yards short of the pool, grabbed a case of water and picked her way through the mess as quickly as she could. The athletes moaning and crying at her feet acted like people who’d just escaped a burning building full of smoke as they coughed thickly and nursed what looked like burns.

The medics on scene appeared to be trying to attend to the most severely affected, but coaches and team officials were shouting for their own athletes to be seen first. The result was a disorganized mess with no semblance or proper triage and sorting of patients into those who could wait and those who could not.

Rebel looked around for the fire and saw no smoke, no flames, no building with people pouring out of it.

“There! Tessa and Piper!” Torsten shouted at her, pointing off to their right.

She followed him toward her teammates, weaving between victims as fast as she could. Avi veered away as someone shouted at him—probably an Israeli athlete or coach. Ignoring him, she ran to her own teammates.

“What the hell happened?” Torsten demanded.

Piper looked up from the legs of one of the women softball players where she was pouring bottled water over several angry, palm-sized burns.

“Athletes were partying away in the pool, and all of a sudden, people started coughing. Shortly thereafter, they started thrashing around and screaming. Other athletes started pulling them out, and then people started screaming about acid in the water.”

“How can we help?” Rebel asked quickly. All of the Medusas had emergency medical training, but most of Rebel’s to date had been classroom theory and not practical field experience.

“Grab bottles of water and flush the wounds. There’s definitely something caustic in the water that has to be washed off the skin of anyone who was in the pool. A few of our girls need eyewashes, but I don’t have the right solution or equipment to irrigate their eyes.”

Rebel spent the next few minutes rinsing off the American women’s skin and reminding them not to rub their eyes. The girls were coughing up a lot of mucus, and their eyes were watering copiously. But fortunately, none of them seemed badly injured. The softball players claimed to have been on the far side of the pool from the worst of whatever had happened.

The Medusas handed off the American athletes to another American security type who escorted the women to an ambulance where an eye washing station had been set up, and the Medusas grabbed their remaining bottled water and headed for the most seriously injured athletes.

It was a frantic race to provide breathing support for those who were struggling to get air, to keep the people puking their guts out from choking, and to get as many skin wounds rinsed and dressed as possible. Over the next half hour, though, the plentiful medics and team coaches nearby arrived and gradually got ahead of the crisis.

More ambulances pulled up, and the most seriously burned athletes were carted away to area hospitals. The less seriously injured limped away to their rooms to take more complete showers, and gradually, the lawn around the pool calmed.

It was nearly midnight before the scene was fully cleared of victims, leaving behind only police and security types for the most part. Rebel pushed loose strands of hair back from her face and made her way over to where Torsten and Avi Bronson had their heads together.

They glanced at her as she joined them and kept talking in grim undertones.

Avi was saying, “...Aussies are saying they think someone accidentally shocked the pool. It should have been closed, but they got their wires crossed.”

“What did they shock it with?” Torsten responded.

“Concentrated chlorine.”

Rebel frowned. “Wouldn’t whoever have poured it into the pool seen it filled to the brim with people and refrained from putting caustic chemicals in the water?”

“This pool has an automated cleaning system that releases chlorine into the pool from several dozen injection points along the bottom of the pool for more rapid and even distribution of the chemicals.”

“Snazzy,” she commented wryly.

“Did someone forget to turn the system off?” Torsten asked.

Avi nodded. “That’s what Olympic officials are saying.”

Rebel frowned. “If the chemical was supposed to be distributed evenly, then why weren’t the American women athletes affected much? Why were athletes on one side of the pool hit worse than the rest?”

“Could be your athletes were in a part of the pool where the water wasn’t being churned up as actively,” Avi offered.

She didn’t argue, but the explanation didn’t sit right with her.

“I don’t know about you,” Avi commented, “but I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since noon, and it’s been an active evening for me.” He threw her a significant look.

She got the message. Chasing her had been part of that activity. Rolling her eyes at him, she remarked, “Gee. My teammates and I have been trained, in a crisis, to ignore simple bodily urges like hunger. I would have thought a big, macho guy like you would know how to do that, too.”

Torsten grinned and slapped Avi on the shoulder. “Score one for the lady.”

“Yes, but the crisis is over,” Avi retorted. “Now is the time to attend to my body’s needs.”

Well, hell. There went her stomach jumping around like an excited puppy again. She was not interested in his body’s needs—hunger or otherwise.

“How about that supper you and I were going to have?” Avi asked her.

Panic flitted through her belly. “Are you hungry, sir?” she asked Torsten. “Do you want to join us?”

“Nah. I’ll have a pile of incident reports to fill out after this mess. I’m going to head back to the office and get started on that. You two go eat.”

Her and the hot Israeli alone? Together? She didn’t know whether to be delighted or terrified... Definitely terrified. She’d never dated anyone in remotely the same realm of hotness—not a date, dammit. It would be a working supper. No more.

He glanced at Avi. “Can I give you two a ride somewhere?”

“Sure. Drop us off at the north gate.”

He wanted to leave the village, did he? She’d assumed they would just go to the huge, inflatable tent that was the village dining hall. The white tent would easily hold two football fields and was ringed with food stations offering literally any kind of food a person could imagine, from every corner of the world. Chefs and food were shipped in to meet the wants and needs of each delegation present.

They arrived at the gated checkpoint, and Torsten stopped the cart. Avi hopped off and held out a hand to help her out of the backseat. More hesitantly than she wanted to let on, she laid her hand in his palm. His hand was big and warm and gentle, encompassing hers lightly as his fingers wrapped around her hand.

She had no doubt that hand could crush her windpipe. Casually. Hence the gentleness of Avi’s grip was striking.

Drat. There went her stomach again.

He released her hand, but her stomach didn’t go back to normal.

Sheesh. He was just being polite. And she appreciated the gentlemanly gesture. It was always a bit of a balancing act being around men—she didn’t mind being treated like a lady as long as they understood that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, too.

Although truth be told, she doubted Avi actually took her the least bit seriously. The good news: it wasn’t her job to convince him of anything. She was merely here to trade information on Mahmoud Akhtar and then get on with her regularly scheduled life.

Avi, however, seemed inclined to go for a stroll and enjoy the sights. To that end, he led her away from the gate and wound into the blocked-off streets still impressively jammed with partying pedestrians. With the games starting tomorrow, everybody who planned to attend the Olympics was pretty much in town by now.

“Have you gotten an opportunity to get out and see Sydney, yet?” he asked her, leaning in close to be heard without shouting.

Gosh dog it, she really did need to eat, if for no other reason than to weigh down her stomach and keep it from hopping around like a bunny in her belly.

“I haven’t done any sightseeing,” she confessed. “We hit the ground running when we got here and dived right into helping with our delegation’s security requirements.”

“You Americans. Always in such a hurry.”

“We get more done that way,” she retorted.

“What’s the point, though, if you miss the beauty of life along the way?”

“Philosopher, are you?”

He shrugged. “I enjoy every moment as much as I can. And I try not to take anything for granted before I die. Life’s short, after all.”