Lieutenant Wilson found Cheng first, in the reception room, administering emergency aid to a woman unconscious on the floor. Her face was a frightening blue. "Heart attack," Cheng told his commander succinctly. "I've called the medics."
Asimov, still with his mask in place, was helping Khan carry unconscious victims out from the gas filled rooms into the fresher air of the reception area. The man they had between them was one of the guards who had accompanied the prisoners. He saw Martinez and Lang laid out on the floor, Martinez already stirring, trying to clear his head and lungs with slow deep breaths. That was a good sign, it looked like the effects of the gas were wearing off.
That was three of his men accounted for. "Has anyone seen Corporal Brown?" asked Wilson.
Khan frowned. "He was with me when we went into the corridor, but I haven't seen him for a bit." Leaving the guard with Asimov, he followed Wilson into the warren of corridors and small interviewing rooms in the back of the courthouse. Traces of gas were still floating in the air and both men donned their masks. They drew their weapons and began a systematic search, making sure each room was clear before moving on to the next. They were about halfway through when Wilson pushed against a door which resisted. The heat sensor showed two bodies inside, both on the floor, one of them blocking their entry.
Khan covered him as he slowly forced the door inwards, they had found Corporal Brown. Another man lay a couple of metres further into the room, a gas mask partly covering his face. To Wilson's vast relief, both men were still alive, unconscious but alive. "I think the Corporal might have found the man who fired the gas canisters, sir," suggested Khan, as Wilson called for medical assistance on his wristcom. "That mask is a bit of a giveaway." Wilson nodded in agreement.
They carried Brown from the room first, then went back for the other man.
Martinez looked closely at the man's face as they brought him into the reception room. "I think I recognise this one. I've seen his picture on Pearce's payroll! Take extra care of him please, Lieutenant, I think we may have found our link, or at least a starting point."
A team of medics finally arrived and went straight to work. Two went over to help Cheng, and the others began examining the gas victims, carrying out a quick check to see if there were any evident complications that needed priority attention.
One of the medics called another over. "Can you bring a stretcher? This man needs to go to the hospital, I don't like the look of that head injury."
Martinez looked up too quickly and had to shut his eyes for a moment until the room stopped spinning. When he opened them again, he saw the two medics carefully lifting Robin onto a stretcher. His heart leapt into his throat, making it difficult to speak. "Captain Lang had a head injury a few weeks ago, a stunner blast."
One of the women nodded. "It looks to me as if he's hit it again, probably when he fell down. Don't worry, sir, we'll take him straight to the hospital, they'll take good care of him there."
Martinez searched his memory, "His doctor on Capella was Dr Yoshida, if that helps."
"Thank you, sir," the woman made a note of the name on her wristcom.
Martinez was torn. He wanted to go with Robin Lang, even though he had almost decided he didn't want to become his lover, he was still his friend; but he was in charge of the operation, he could hardly just disappear. Besides, Colonel Young would be waiting for his report. They had eleven people in custody, not counting Myles and Wentworth. Interviewing them all, including the four decoys, would take hours.
"He's going to be all right, isn't he?" he asked the medic.
"We'll take good care of him," she repeated rather ominously. "But I don't think it's life threatening," she added, seeing the fear on his face.
As Martinez had thought, the interviews took hours, even though he had help from the men of the Qatar, in the form of Lieutenant Wilson and Corporal Brown when he felt well enough. The good news was, though, that it looked more and more likely that they would be able to establish verifiable links between the operation and Ron Pearce. Evidently this time he had needed to draw on men connected to his organisation to supplement the locally hired muscle.
It was well after midnight when Martinez found himself free to visit Robin Lang. Max had been in to sit with his father earlier in the evening and told him he was still unconscious, but that his vital signs were steadily improving. Martinez looked down on the man in the bed. His silver grey hair rather surprisingly gave him a more youthful look, although there was no doubt he was looking at a mature man, lines of experience had left their mark on his face. A strong face, full of character. He sat down beside him.
He couldn't help reliving their kiss from the morning. He had been aroused, excited, terrified all at once. He looked at Robin's large, work roughened hands, long square-tipped fingers, lying on top of the white bedspread and wondered how they would feel on his body, on his skin. He shifted uncomfortably on the chair, glancing around quickly to make sure no-one was watching him. He hadn't actually moved into a hotel yet. He simply hadn't had the time, he told himself. And in any case, there was no point at the moment with Lang in here.
He kept looking at Robin. Was he letting his fear get the better of him? Should he let Robin make the pass he knew he was so obviously planning, see where it would lead? He was pretty confident Robin would let him call a halt if he felt uncomfortable, maybe he could just see what would happen. What harm could it do, just to try it once? No-one else need know anything about it if it didn't work out. He would think about it, there was no rush, Robin would be here in hospital for at least the next couple of days.
He glanced around again, no-one was watching. He bent over and kissed Robin on the mouth, slipping his tongue gently between his lips in a light caress. He almost jumped out of his skin as Robin's eyes opened and his hand came between them, pushing him violently away.
His eyes were wide and staring wildly. "Where on Earth am I? And what the fuck were you just doing, Martinez?"
Martinez stared in horrified embarrassment as he looked into the eyes of a Robin Lang who was no longer the cheerful seducer, the man completely comfortable in his own skin, that he had got so close to in the last couple of weeks. That second blow to the head, and the Robin Lang-in-denial, who had shot himself, who was still waging the war with his personal demons, was back.