(1976) The R Document by Irving Wallace Read Free Book Online Page A

Kennedys used to attend… . Here we are, sir.’
    As they proceeded quickly up the corridor, they passed several uniformed medical officers in consultation. To Collins, Bethesda seemed more a military installation than a hospital.
    When they reached a private hospital room with an open door, Collins’ guide gestured toward it. ‘In here, sir. The Colonel has two adjoining rooms, and this one is used as a sitting room. He’s in the other.’
    Entering the temporary sitting room, which was empty, Collins heard a soft sobbing off to one side, turned, and saw that the door to the next room was ajar. He could see only a portion of the bed, but then he made out a tableau in a dim corner of the next room. There was gray-haired, dumpy Hannah Baxter, for whom he had great respect, seated in a chair, a handkerchief to her eyes, weeping inconsolably. There was the boy, the grandson, Rick - he was twelve, Collins recalled - clutching her arm, looking pale, confused, tearful. Standing over them was the black-garbed priest.
    ‘Please wait, sir,’ said the officer who had escorted Collins. ‘I’ll let them know you’re here.’
    He disappeared into the next room, closing the door behind him.
    Collins found a cigarette, brought his lighter to it, and paced nervously around the small, cheerless room. Again, for the dozenth time, he wondered what was so urgent that Colonel Baxter had to tell him on what was to be his last night on earth. Although Collins knew the Colonel and his wife fairly well from occasional social invitations, he had never been close to them, and most of his relationship with the Colonel had definitely been of a business nature. What
    could the Colonel have to say to him in these fading moments?
    Presently the door to the adjoining room opened, and Collins automatically put out his cigarette and stood stock still. The officer, who did not look at him again, emerged, followed by a nurse and little Rick. They went past Collins without recognition and out into the corridor. Seconds later, the doorway from the next room was filled by a black-robed figure. This obviously was Father Dubinski, of Holy Trinity Church.
    As the priest carefully but firmly shut the door behind him, he gave Collins a silent nod, then crossed to close the corridor door. Collins watched him: a short, stocky, quiet man, the clergyman, with jet black hair, surprisingly light blue eyes, sunken cheeks, a composed mouth; a man perhaps in his mid-forties.
    ‘Mr Collins? I’m Father Dubinski.’ He had reached Collins, and for a moment he stared down at the floor.
    ‘Yes, I know,’ said Collins. ‘I was at the White House when I got the message from Hannah - from Mrs Baxter -that the Colonel was dying, that he urgently wanted to see me, that he had something important to tell me. I came as quickly as I could. Is he conscious? Can I see him now?’
    The priest cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid not. I’m sorry to say it’s too late. Colonel Baxter died no more than ten minutes ago.’ He paused. ‘May his soul rest in peace for all eternity.’
    Collins did not know what to say. “That - that’s tragic,’ he said, finally. ‘He died ten minutes ago? I can’t believe it.’
    ‘I’m afraid it’s true. Noah Baxter was a fine man. I know how you feel, because I know how I feel. But, once again, God’s will be done.’
    ‘Yes,’ Collins said.
    He did not know whether it was proper, in this immediate period of mourning, to try to find out why the Colonel had summoned him here. But proper or not, he knew he must inquire.
    ‘Uh, Father, was the Colonel lucid before he died? Was he able to speak at all?’
    ‘He spoke a little.’
    ‘Did he tell anyone - you or Mrs Baxter - why he wanted to see me?’
    ‘No, I’m afraid not. He simply informed his wife that it was urgent that he see you, speak to you.’
    ‘And he said nothing more?’
    The priest fidgeted with his rosary. ‘Well, after that, he did speak briefly to me. I advised him