The Newton Prophecies

Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Her head was bleeding. Sprawled out like a rag doll on the crumbling brick inside the sweltering pit, the scorching sun bleaching all color from her face thin, Savanna looked dead.
         "Clinton!" DiBianco's voice was tearful, but strong. "Give me a hand. Hurry!"
         Clinton propped his door open with an old book from the hallway and ran to help.
         Careful not to do further harm to her already frail body, they carried her into the apartment.
         At the center of the room, Clinton laid her feet on the floor, cleared away the bag and books from the sofa, and lifted her legs onto the plush oversized cushions.
         Placing a pillow under her head, a small silver earpiece fell into DiBianco's hand. It was in several pieces. A three-inch wire with a tiny microphone at the end was snarled in her hair. He carefully removed it and tossed it aside.
         Clinton ran to the kitchenette and filled a pan with cool water and grabbed a dish towel from the handle on the fridge.
         "Here," he said.
         DiBianco took the wet rag and cleared the blood from her face.
         "That's her. The woman I heard in the restroom. The one I followed to the hospital."
         DiBianco was shocked to she her. Why was she here? Why was she in London? How did she find him?
         "She's lucky," Clinton said with confidence.
         "What do you mean?"
         "Looks like a superficial wound," he said pointing at the cut in her forehead. "It could have been much worse."
         "How pray-tell, would you know that?"
         "I've seen my share of diving injuries; that and I'm an avid fan of the Discovery Channel. Go Doctor G!"
         "She's not waking up. Any ideas, Doctor G?"
         "Check her eyes." Clinton grabbed a flashlight from the counter. "See if her pupils dilate."
         DiBianco grabbed the flashlight and shone it in her face. She squirmed and opened her eyes, only to shut then tightly, screaming in pain.
         DiBianco dropped the flashlight and tried to calm her. He placed the towel on her forehead.
         "Savanna," he said. "It's me. Michael."
         "You know her?" Clinton's tone was critical.
         She groaned and winced.
         Her eyes cinched shut.
         "Bu." Her voice was faint.
         She quivered. "Bo..."
         "What is it?" DiBianco said, anxiety building.
         "Aba," she gasped, her voice exerted.
         "What's she saying?" DiBianco glanced at Clinton, who stood behind the sofa, gazing in disbelief. "I don't understand."
         She moved her legs. DiBianco held them down. She screamed. The pain was agonizing.
         "Bomb!" Her eyes shot wide with terror.

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