Philippa interviewed Mrs. Riordan the following morning. Phone calls
to Philadelphia and Sarasota, Florida had located two other women who
remembered Luka clearly. The fourth woman, a fully professed Sister
of Mercy had returned to Bosnia where she was working in the re-built
Mercy Hospital. Plane tickets were dispatched and Philippa happily
called the INS asking for Mr. Symonds. His assistant answered and
tried to put her off but Philippa stuck to her guns. The dreaded
words "wrongful prosecution" got her quarry out of his meeting in no
time.
"Sir, I'll get right to the point. The evidence I've been searching
for has turned up. My client can prove his innocence with no doubts
whatsoever. You and I both know the Bosnians will hang Dr. Kovac from
the highest tree without benefit of our silly insistence on due
process and all of the other legal folderol that keeps our country
flawed but free. I would like to interview the witnesses against Dr.
Kovac in your presence and if what I think has happened proves to be
the case, you will have to schedule another hearing at which Dr.
Kovac will be fully exonerated."
The INS official hemmed and tergiversated but Philippa's revelation
that a nun and two other honest, devout Catholic women would be
prepared to swear on their hopes of heaven to Luka's innocence, was
enough for him to get his supervisor's approval of both requests.
Philippa deliberately left Mrs. Riordan out of it. The incredible
coincidence of John's godmother, the former housekeeper to the Carter
family being the one who nursed Luka was too unbelievable. Somebody
would be sure to think the woman had been put up to testifying. If
her testimony was compromised in any way; statements made by the
other women would also be suspect.
The following afternoon, Philippa talked to the three INS witnesses.
That all had been in the same refugee camp was not stressed in the
hearing. She quickly passed over the events which took place in
L*****e. She had no doubt of the veracity of this portion of their
statements. Instead, Philippa asked questions about their stay in the
refugee camp. The elderly man was the first to mention he'd been
asked by a volunteer orderly in the makeshift hospital about the
massacre prior to giving formal testimony to a UN official. The youth
now in his early twenties, whose remaining eye had been bandaged at
the time, also admitted talking late one night with someone who'd
asked him to describe "Lukasha".
Through all of this, the woman who'd escaped to the woods with her
daughter, said nothing. When Philippa asked her to relate her
experiences, the woman reluctantly admitted to talking with a man who
mentioned that Lukasha's last name might have been Kovac and that
he'd been a member of a militia group. Philippa smiled. Three
witnesses had all talked to an unknown man or men, who made helpful,
but damning suggestions. Thanking them for their time, Philippa
signalled to Mr. Symonds to remain in the room as the other officials
escorted the witnesses out.
"Mr. Symonds, your witnesses have been influenced." Philippa
announced bluntly. "You've been extremely cooperative with me so I'll
return the favor." Philippa then related Luka's experiences with
the "Sons of Thunder". As the INS agent began to insist that Luka's
participation in these raids was grounds to maintain the judges'
decision, Philippa held up her hand.
"Don't you see? My client began receiving threatening notes about
this matter *weeks* before your office even contacted him. The police
report he filed..." Philippa read the date. "This report shows that
someone outside of your office, or God forbid, a member of your
staff, was in contact with Dr. Kovac prior to your people bringing
formal charges. I don't know about you, but it seems to me someone or
some group with a powerful grudge is behind all of this. Dr. Kovac
has admitted to accidentally shooting and killing a man who was
attempting to rape the woman who acted as his nurse. Perhaps a member
of this man's family wanted revenge." Philippa leaned forward eagerly.
"When I talked with Bosnian officials they were very happy to tell me
that this militia group was raided and many of its members arrested
three or four days *after* Dr. Kovac left them. He has informed me
that he didn't rat them out and regrets not doing so. So, maybe
someone else *did*. Nevertheless, surviving members of the group,
including its leader, may have thought that Luka *was* responsible.
The only reason Dr. Kovac ended up in Mercy Hospital is because a
former Son of Thunder set off a car bomb in an attempt to silence
him. Now, don't you think this is more than sufficient evidence to
indicate a former member of that group could have "suggested" Dr.
Kovac may have been the same 'Lukasha' who slaughtered women and
children?"
Symonds nodded reluctantly. He'd had his own doubts from the
beginning. Luka Kovac had not even bothered to change his name upon
coming to this country. He was either incredibly stupid, foolishly
arrogant, or innocent. "Okay, I'll talk to my superiors.", he sighed.
"It shouldn't be hard to convince them." Philippa took pity on the
poor man. "I deliberately didn't ask your witnesses to describe their
prompters in detail. I'm thinking there's a pretty good chance this
guy or guys, whoever they were, may have been involved in the events
that took place in that village. Afterall, they all ended up in the
same refugee camp; that can't be a coincidence."
His expression brightening, Mr. Symonds got up to leave. Philippa was
mostly correct as far as she knew. The series of events that had
threatened to engulf her client were fraught with nothing but one
incredible coincidence after another. Unfortunately, none of the
officials would find this out until greater damage had been done.
* * * * *
Two days after Philippa's meeting with the INS, over a late
breakfast, Mateus Rovic, now known as Matthew Robbins received a
phone call from a "friend". The bowl containing his cereal hit the
wall spattering its contents all over the kitchen. Despite his
expertise with explosives, despite his subtle handling of the
L*****can survivors, Dr. Kovac would be going free with his name
cleared. Mateus had never believed in life's fairness. Nevertheless,
the injustice of this turn of events made him furious.
He'd managed to cozen UN officials into arranging for him to emigrate
to the United States. Afterall, as a Croatian whose home showed every
sign of being taken over by the dreaded enemy, he was a political
refugee. So Mateus found himself in Chicago with its large Slavic
population scrounging to make a living. Skill with dynamite and
firearms is not in very high demand unless you join the police or the
military. Mateus was too old for the latter, and had no intention of
ever enlisting with the former.
Had he known, Dave Malucci could have told Rovic there was
one "organization" for want of a better word, who often had need of
skilled marksmen and individuals who were good at winning arguments
with reluctant debtors or eager would-be witnesses. Recent
immigrants, especially those whose documentation could not withstand
scrutiny, made easy prey and Mateus soon found himself earning a
living by making others wish they were dead. Unfortunately, he was
not a very good businessman. His salary, though generous, did not
last long. Mateus liked to impress those who went in fear of him.
Expensive clothes hanging from racks "borrowed" from the garment
district lined the walls of his run-down apartment.
Mateus also liked to have a good time. Unfortunately, he did not
possess the handsome good looks of Luka Kovac, so he also spent money
to smooth the rough spots from his "social life". The thought of Luka
earning good wages as a doctor and fucking the son of an extremely
wealthy man had only spurred Mateus's desire for revenge. So, he
spent even more money bribing INS clerks to alert him when and if any
of the village survivors came to the United States. All it took was
one of these "dear cousins" coming to the land of the free, for him
to get to work.
Rovic's "reunion" with his long lost cousin, in this case, the young
boy, happened in a public employment office to which Mateus had
followed his unwitting protoge after discovering where he'd settled.
Mateus pretended to recognize the scarred young man while they waited
to see the overworked employment counselors. It didn't take long for
Mateus to work the conversation around to the terrible state of
affairs back home where wolves and jackals were now running nation
states and living very well indeed.
The youth sighed and volunteered that the only "wolf" he wanted to
see shot had been killed by a car bomb. Mateus asked for the name of
this deserving victim and was not surprised when the boy replied the
suspect's name was probably Luka Kovac. Ten weeks hanging around in
that stinking refugee camp had paid off handsomely. Another twenty
minutes and Mateus had convinced the boy that not all deaths were as
permanent as folks would like to think. Implying that the murderers
of his own family were still searching for him, Mateus "confided"
that he too, had staged his own death. This guaranteed the boy's
silence where Rovic was concerned.
Their conversation took place in Buffalo, New York. Mateus asked for
the boy's address, although the youth's whereabouts were already
known to his fellow countryman. Rovic promised that some of his like-
minded "friends" would try and see if Lukasha had also fled to the
land of opportunity. Mateus then returned to Chicago and waited for a
suitable amount of time to pass. Then he typed an anonymous note
enclosed a video tape of Luka's appearance on Channel Six, mailed it
to the boy and waited again.
The poor young man, thinking he could finally obtain justice for his
disfigurement and the deaths of his friends, contacted the
authorities and began the chain of events that despite carefully
forged links, had ultimately failed to bind Mateus's enemy. The
hearing to exonerate Luka Kovac would be in three days and Mateus
would be ready to extract his own justice.
* * * * *
The hearing room was filled with reporters, government officials,
witnesses, plus the usual curious bystanders. Mrs. Riordan having
done her part, was notably absent. The three INS witnesses had spent
the intervening days providing descriptions of the men who'd prompted
them. A police sketch artist, borrowed for this occasion was able to
produce two portraits. The young boy had been temporarily blinded by
a bandage over his remaining eye when he'd been prompted. He'd only
heard the man's voice and was not prepared to identify anyone on the
basis of one brief conversation which took place over five years ago.
Although two portraits were created, anyone could see that despite a
few minor differences the men depicted were either identical twins or
only one man was responsible. The "original" for these portraits, his
hair long since dyed blond, was seated at the rear of the hearing
room. He scowled as Luka Kovac, accompanied by his little boyfriend,
took their seats. The two men were smiling as the hearing got
underway. Mateus Rovic settled back to listen.
A Justice Department offcial stood and began to speak. "This hearing
has been called in order that testimony from witnesses on behalf of
Luka Aleksandr Kovac may be heard prior to execution of the
deportation order. If this new testimony withstands examination and
is accepted by the United States Department of Justice, execution of
the deportation order will be delayed until such time as those who
brought charges against Dr. Kovac have the opportunity to obtain
additional evidence against him. If they fail to do so, or waive this
option, all charges filed against Luka Aleksandr Kovac will be
summarily dropped and the deportation order will be revoked." The
young official took his seat next to the three survivors as a Federal
judge took his place at the dais.
An INS clerk stood. "This hearing is called into order. Judge
Frederick Grayson is presiding." The middle-aged woman announced. The
room became quiet. One by one, the three survivors gave their
accounts of the massacre for the last time and identified Luka as the
man they thought responsible. When they completed their portion of
the proceedings, Philippa stood, purely out of habit. This wasn't a
formal court of law. She could have remained in her seat.
Nevertheless, her instincts for the dramatic, which had helped her in
prior jury trials, was in evidence as she paused to arrange some
papers before speaking.
"Ms. Rodjavic, how did you come to suspect that my client, could have
been the man responsible for the tragic events you witnessed?"
"I told some people what had happened to me and afterwards one of
them mentioned that the man I described could have been a former
member of a militia group." The female survivor explained quietly.
"Did this person mention any names when talking about this former
miltia man?"
"Not at first. He asked me to provide more details describing the man
who shot my friends. I told him this monster was called 'Lukasha' by
the others who were also shooting people. That's when he mentioned
the family name 'Kovac'."
"I see. What did you do with this information?"
"I went back to the young man from the UN peace-keepers who took my
statement and gave this information to him."
"Thank you, Ms. Rodjavic. I have no further questions for you at this
time."
Philippa repeated identical questions for the remaining survivors and
received variations on the answers provided by Elizaveta Rodjavic.
Pausing once more, she then addressed the three of them. "If you had
not been provided with the opportunity to examine a photograph of Dr.
Kovac, do you think you could have identified him as the man
responsible for the deaths of your families and friends? Please take
all the time you need to carefully consider your answers." Philippa
sat down as the witnesses conferred with each other and the INS
officials. After fifteen or so minutes the witnesses stood.
"Although this man...", the elderly male survivor pointed to
Luka. "...looks somewhat like the man I saw shooting my neighbors,
no. I cannot absolutely say it was him. Ms. Rodavic and the youth
said the same. They sat down as a quiet hum of conversation rose in
the hearing room.
Philippa stood once more. "The events which you survived took place
over three days time." Philippa gave the dates from memory. "My
client could not have been the man responsible for the horrors you
suffered. At that time he was lying in a hospital almost one hundred
kilometers distant very near death himself. I would like to call
three witnesses who *can* identify him positively as a patient at the
Sisters of Mercy Hospital. To the best of my knowledge, the last time
these witnesses saw my client was over five years ago." Philippa
smiled at the INS officials who'd neglected to pay much attention to
the fact that Luka had been identified as the result of a photograph,
not actual physical recognition.
Sister Clare Bernard came forward and stood before Luka. She smiled
at him. "Yes. This man...", she pointed for the record. "...was a
patient in our hospital during the time mentioned. He was admitted
four days before the events described by the survivors and had not
been released prior to my being evacuated four weeks later."
"During his stay in your hospital, could my client have managed to
sneak away, commit these atrocities and then return to the hospital?"
"No. He had developed a post-operative infection and very nearly died
as a result. At the time of the shootings, he was unable to sit up.
Unless he'd been carried out and committed the murders while lying on
a stretcher, he would have been incapable of leaving the hospital
under his own power."
"Could my client have been exaggerating his injuries?"
"No. I updated his records. His fever was high. He was unconcious or
delerious for most of the time I attended to him. He may have been
able to falsify his temperature and pretend to be unconcious, but
there was no possible way for him to increase his white blood cell
count."
"Do you remember any distinguishing marks on my client's person that
are not visible as he sits here?" Philippa almost purred.
"Yes. He should have a large scar on his left side; the result of
surgery to remove schrapnel."
"Thank you Sister Bernard. I have no further questions."
The other two women came forward in turn and positively identified
Luka. When they fininished, he also stood and revealed to the
assembly the scar on his left side. The INS officials had only one
question for each of Luka's witnesses: why hadn't they come forward
before now? Sister Bernard quietly replied that she had been out of
the country for the past two years and inquiries made of the staff at
the re-built hospital in Bosnia were not put to her as she had been
on a spiritual retreat cloistered from contact with the outside world.
The other two women also stated that they lived some distance from
Chicago and therefore, had not seen the news and television stories.
The first they'd heard of the charges against their former patient
was when Philippa's office contacted them one week ago. Satisfied,
the INS officials stood after conferring briefly with their witnesses.
"The witnesses have waived their right to seek additional evidence
against Dr. Kovac in this matter. The Justice Department accepts the
testimony of the witnesses who have come forward on his behalf. Dr.
Kovac, please stand. The Justice Department and the government of the
United States thanks you for your cooperation in this matter. All
charges brought by these said institutions are summarily dropped. The
deportation order is hereby revoked. You are free to leave."
Luka went over and shook the hands of the INS officials and then
stood before the three witnesses who'd inadvertantly brought this
about. "I am extremely sorry for your losses. I hope that the men
responsible for them will be caught and made to answer for their
crimes. Under the circumstances, I cannot blame any of you for
seeking justice. I know you did not do so out of any personal
animosity against me." He said quietly in Croatian.
Elizaveta, tears in her eyes, stood and took Luka's hand. "Although
I'd like nothing better than to see those bastards shot for what they
did, I could take no joy in the death and suffering of an innocent
man. If I did, I would be as bad as they; worse, because I know
better."
"Thank you." Luka replied in English. He returned to his seat.
Mr. Symonds came over and handed Luka his passport. "Congratulations,
Ms. Taylor. Now it's our turn to begin the search for the man who
engineered all of this."
"You have my best wishes, sir." Philippa grinned. "It won't be easy."
Finally, Luka turned to John whose face was grave. In the presence of
the three disappointed survivors, he had no wish to give vent to the
joy that made him want to shout. Only his eyes gave any indication of
his exuberant relief. It was over. They could breathe again.
Remembering the reporters, neither he nor Luka so much as took the
other's hand. Disappointed at this show of seemliness, the
journalists filed out.
At last, John and Luka left the room. John whispered something in
Luka's ear which caused him to laugh aloud. Looking at each other,
they didn't observe Mateus Rovic following them. When they reached
the lobby of the building, the lights from the television cameras
caused them to stop momentarily. Mateus went past them, pulled a gun
from his pocket and fired at point-blank range into Luka's chest.
Screams and a confused scuffle ensued as John gently laid Luka on the
floor. Sister Clare pushed her way through the crowd as an INS
official ran to call an ambulance. Luka was unconcious, so John
didn't hesitate to rip open his husband's shirt. Pain was not an
issue, keeping Luka alive was. The wound was surprisingly small. It
was hardly bleeding. John then slipped his hand under Luka's back and
withdrew it covered in blood. Needing something to staunch the flow
from the exit wound, John stripped off his coat and shirt. Balling up
the latter, he packed it into the steady flow. Sister Clare had been
quick to follow his lead. She removed her panty hose and John used it
to tightly bind the makeshift bandage into place.
Security guards had cleared the space around them. John placed his
fingers on Luka's carotid artery. His pulse was perceptible but
thready. No longer aware of reporters or anything save Luka, John
began to administer modified CPR, exhaling into Luka's lungs while
Sister Clare gently applied pressure to push blood from his
extremities to where it could sustain his vital organs. Her lips
moved as she silently prayed.
"Please, Sascha. Stay with me. It's Janaskja. You're going to be
fine. Help is coming soon." He repeated. It was a prayer. His own
traumatic experience had taught him that although patients appeared
unconcious, many times they were aware of their surroundings and
would remember things said to them afterwards. A choir of heavenly
angels could not have sounded as beautiful as the sound of the
approaching ambulance siren.
Five minutes later, two EMT's raced over to the stricken man. Carter
filled them in calmly but rapidly as the technicians hastily placed
Luka on the transport board. Once in the vehicle, John gave them
Luka's blood type as the crew began to set up a transfusion and
provided oxygen. His experience as a ride-along physician was limited
to only a few runs, so Carter knew the best thing he could do for
Luka was stay out of the way of the more experienced trauma techs.
"Where are you taking us?"
"County's closest."
"Thank God." John knew there was no way Luka's colleagues would fail
him.
"Did you hear that, Sascha? They're taking us home. Kerry's Crew will
have you fixed up in no time. Hang in there, beloved. Janaskja's here
and he loves you very much." John had bent down next to Luka's left
ear and was speaking quietly.
"Two minutes out." the youngest technician called out.
John moved to one side to give the men room to get Luka out of the
vehicle. When the doors were opened, he was the last to leave the
ambulance. The senior EMT gave the bullet to Mark Greene as they all
raced inside. Peter Benton was waiting in Trauma One and helped as
they shifted Luka from the gurney. The rapid infuser was quickly
hooked up and John's friends went to work. He looked up startled as
Chuny handed him the top to a pair of scrubs. He'd been entirely
oblivious to his semi-nakedness.
He watched as X-rays were taken and Luka was intubated, then followed
as Luka was conveyed to surgery. From the amount of blood and other
factors, John surmised the damage from the bullet was severe. John
ran up the stairs and managed to meet them as they emerged from the
elevator. "Do you want to scrub in?" Peter asked. John nodded. "Yeah,
I'd like to be in there. I won't be in the way." He went to prepare.*
The moment John entered the operating theater, Luka crashed. Tears
standing in his eyes, Carter stood and silently watched as they
worked to finish connecting the by-pass equipment. It couldn't end
like this. Not after all they'd been through. John closed his eyes as
the technician made the last rapid adjustment. The machine's monitor
was silent for a couple of seconds, then regular beeping was heard.
Now, they had time to work.
Luka was fortunate. No major blood vessels had been compromised.
Nevertheless, the bullet had caromed off his ribs and managed to
puncture his heart. Peter assessed the damage as Luka's chest cavity
was exposed further. The worst area was the posterior wall of the
cardiac muscle. Peter called for silk of the proper gauge and began
to suture the laceration. Once this was done, Peter asked for
additional suction.
John's heart beat in time to the beeping monitor. Unconciously, his
breaths matched the whispered sounds of the respirator. When he
looked up again, he saw his father and Mrs. Riordan standing outside.
Philippa must have told them what happened. Mrs. Riordan held up her
rosary and smiled. John returned his attention to the operating
table. Peter finished repairing this portion of Luka's injuries and
personally irrigated the field before callling for suction. Everyone
held their breaths as they waited to see if any additional blood
seeped into view.
Judging from the amount of damage, the bullet had been small and it's
velocity, despite the shooter's proximity, had been slowed by its
erractic path. Once again, Mateus failed. By choosing a small, easily
concealed weapon he'd spared Luka. After pausing momentarily, blood
re-appeared. Peter searched for and located the sources and repaired
these additional wounds. Each time a laceration was sutured, or an
ancillary vessel was closed, the field was irrigated and cleared.
Finally, Peter was confident that his reconstruction work was done.
Now for the most dangerous portion of the procedure.
The internal paddles were charged and ready. A solution containing
electrolytes was used to surround the heart muscle. Luka's body,
previously chilled to reduce its functions, would be warmed as the by-
pass technician began to shut down the machine that had been
breathing and pumping blood while his heart was out of commission.
The suturing had to hold up against tremendous pressure when Luka's
heart was shocked into beating on its own.
So many things could go wrong. The sutures could fail. Luka's heart
might not be able to pump with sufficient strength to maintain a
viable blood pressure level. Hidden damage could go critical and
before he could be placed on life support once more, he would die.
Although patients had survived fairly lengthy procedures on heart-
lung by-pass equipment, no one could actually live while remaining
hooked up to the thing for much longer than eight hours.
John closed his eyes and prayed as the paddles were applied to the
solution. A silence that seemed to last ten years followed, then the
beeping resumed. Luka's blood pressure was low, but viable. He had a
chance. Twenty minutes passed as Luka's heart continued to beat on
its own. As his blood pressure crept higher, Peter prepared to close.
John grimaced and clasped his hands when the rib-spreader was winched
to its closed position then extracted. Once the hellish looking
device had been removed, the surgical team watched the monitors.
Luka's heart continued to beat, albeit with a slight decrease in
pressure. So far, much better than anyone had a right to expect. His
sternum had been detached from its supporting super-structure. This
man-made fracture had to be splinted. Surgical steel sutures were
used to hold the replaced bone in place. A technician then increased
the pressure on the respirator slowly until he reached near-normal
and they waited again. Peter stretched his arms and turned to give
the thumbs-up sign to his former student.
A total of four and three-quarter hours later, Luka was wheeled into
the ICU. John went to scrub again. This time from the skin outwards.
During the preceding one hundred and fifty years, doctors had learned
that cutting people open was not the hard part; keeping them alive
afterwards was. Luka had first-hand experience and could have told
them post-operative infections claimed many more lives than the
actual operations.
In order to remain with Luka, John had to be as germ-free as modern
medical technology would allow. After showering, the nurses for this
critical care unit helped him put on the special scrubs, mask,
gloves, and bonnet. Only his eyes were visible.
Author's Note:
* I am not a doctor and I know full well that an actual operation of
this type is a complex and often lengthy procedure. I also have been
informed that in "real life" John's presence in the operating theatre
would not be permitted. Hey, events have been altered for dramatic
content. If our show of shows can do it, who am I to break with a
time-honored tradition? Special thanks to Mike Sugimoto for providing
medical resources. KPP
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n