When You Pass Through the Waters

Personal Security Expert Roosevelt Brooks finds something unexpected while taking a stroll along the Potomac River.

When You Pass Through the Waters…

…I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.  Isaiah 43:2

 

 

     Roosevelt and Hoover strolled together at a leisurely pace along the south bank of the Potomac River. The pair walked mostly in silence, content to take in the beauty surrounding them. If Roosevelt did speak, Hoover would pause long enough to turn his jowled face in his companion's direction and lift an eyebrow in feigned curiosity before returning placidly to his explorations. The walking trail was quite narrow in places, and at these times it was always Hoover who took the rear. Roosevelt had him well trained.

     They made an impressive pair, man and dog. Roosevelt stood 6’ 7" with broad shoulders, an enormous barrel chest, and biceps that no man has yet been able to get both hands around. His sparkling white smile, set in a deep mahogany complexion, was used often and to great effect. He spoke in a rumbling bass, and his laugh was deep, rich and infectious. Roosevelt had an instantaneous effect on people: you knew immediately that this was not a man you wanted to mess with, but you also instinctively wanted to be his friend because of the air of joy and peace he emanated.

     The dog also made an instant impression. Standing 35” at the shoulder and weighing in excess of 200 pounds, Hoover exuded power and dignity. Man and canine together proved quite an unnerving sight, and casual passersby usually allowed the pair a wide berth. This always amused Roosevelt, who would shake his head and chuckle good naturedly. “If they only knew how ‘dangerous’ you really are,” he often teased his gentle giant.

     Of course, as a Personal Security Expert (he never referred to himself as a bodyguard), Roosevelt was well aware of the advantages of an intimidating physical appearance. He could often diffuse a potentially volatile situation just by showing up. And having Hoover with him on a job was double insurance. As for the mastiff, he tended toward laziness and would just as soon be left out of an altercation if the situation called for one. But he was also faithful, loyal and very well trained; and anyone who found himself on the wrong side of the dog’s good graces might also find himself flat on his back beneath Hoover’s enormous weight, staring up into his placid black face.

     At the moment, the pair was enjoying some well-earned downtime in Washington, D.C., having just finished a job in the area. Roosevelt never passed up a chance to spend time in the capital city. Even though it was only a couple of hours' drive from his home in Richmond, Virginia, he still didn't get there as much as he would have liked.

      Today, having Hoover along,  he had decided to avoid the usual tourist haunts and explore the Potomac. He had parked his Lincoln Navigator in a provided space off to the side of the Clara Barton Parkway, and he and Hoover had made their way past the stagnant canal to the trail that ran along the river proper.  The canal itself had held plenty of attractions for Hoover: a sleepy snake of indeterminate species; three turtles, all basking on one log; and several dogs of varying breeds walking on the canal trail with their owners.  But the big guy on the other end of the leash had insisted on having things his own way-- so down to the river they went.    

     Hoover was consoled somewhat when he scared off a pair of lizards on the river trail, but the real fun came when Roosevelt let him off the leash. He trotted ahead to antagonize a dragonfly while his master sat down on a large flat rock. Roosevelt kept a sharp lookout down either end of the trail, lest someone should see Hoover off his leash. But he wasn't terribly worried about it. The river trail was pretty much deserted at this time of day, anyway. He wondered if it ever got the kind of traffic that the canal trail did. It had a much better view, certainly; but the canal trail was wider and lent itself to foot and bicycle traffic much more easily than its counterpart.  "I would much rather have the view," thought Roosevelt, taking in his surroundings contentedly.

     From his perch on the rock he watched Hoover terrorize small animals for  awhile, then got up and ambled down the path in the wake of his dog. Lost in appreciation for the beauty around him, he was almost on top of the animal before he realized Hoover had stopped dead and was staring intently into the river. Before Roosevelt could stop him, Hoover had leapt in and was battling the current toward a large object that it took Roosevelt a moment to make out. It was a body.

     Despite his size, Roosevelt could move quickly and was a strong swimmer. In a matter of seconds he was in the river; and as Hoover reached the body and began to tow it to shore, Roosevelt met him halfway. He could see two things  immediately: the body was a woman’s, and it was incredibly battered. Together, Roosevelt and Hoover got their burden safely up on the riverbank.

     As he laid her on the grass, Roosevelt took a closer look at the woman; but her face was so damaged that even someone who had known her  wouldn’t have recognized her. It was impossible even to guess at her age. He did guess, however, that she hadn’t been in the river very long, though he couldn’t be absolutely sure. He wondered if the damage to her face and body had been inflicted before or after she’d gone into the water. He could detect no vital signs, but had no way of knowing how long she’d been dead. 

     Purely out of conditioning, and expecting nothing, he began CPR and mouth-to-mouth. So he was somewhat caught off guard when she spluttered, took a ragged breath, and began to cough. “Easy, baby girl, easy.” She clutched at him, and Roosevelt found himself looking down into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. They stared at him, confused and terrified, as she gasped for air. “Easy, now,” he said again. He knew he needed to keep her calm. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Just breathe.”

     The green eyes looked at him questioningly. “Jeff-Jeffrey,” she stammered. “Where is…?” She tried to look around. “Is he here?”  Roosevelt made an effort to keep her still and quiet, but she struggled to speak again. “Don’t…let him…find me,” she managed. “Don‘t let him… hurt me…please.” The ragged whisper that was her voice gave way, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. 

     “Ssshhh,” Roosevelt soothed. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise. You’re safe.” So this was no accident. Someone had done this to her--someone she knew. Anger boiled up inside him, and all his protective instincts surged to the surface. Part of him wanted to try to get more information from her, but he knew her time was at a premium. He needed to decide whether to call an ambulance or take her to the hospital himself. A quiet voice spoke inside him, "Take her yourself. You have a friend who can help."

      Gathering the woman into his arms, he strode quickly back up the river, Hoover in tow,  and took the first opening to the canal. Crossing the canal bridge, he headed toward Clara Barton Parkway where his Lincoln Navigator waited in a roadside parking area. He placed the woman gently on the backseat and belted her  in as best he could.  When Roosevelt stood aside to let Hoover in, the mastiff eagerly clambered into the back to stand guard over the woman. Wedging his large apricot body between the seats, he gently positioned himself against her so as to prevent her from being jostled as much as possible. Glancing back, Roosevelt was pleased to see the possessiveness with which Hoover was already regarding their new charge. The dog’s protective instincts were as strong as his own. 

     As he maneuvered the vehicle onto the main road, Roosevelt punched a button on his steering wheel and then spoke. "Call Bob."

      After two rings, a refined voice with a slight lilt answered, “Bob Sheehy.”

     “Bob, it’s Roosevelt Brooks.”

     “Hello, Roosevelt, how are you?”

     “Fine. Bob, I need a favor.”

     Bob was a little surprised by Roosevelt's uncharacteristic brusqueness. Something must be up.“Well, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I owed you one,” he responded wryly, then sincerely added, “What can I do for you, Roosevelt?”

     “I’m bringing you a patient. I’m about thirty minutes away, maybe less.”

     “What sort of patient?”

     Roosevelt hesitated. “A Jane Doe. In pretty bad shape. And Bob, I need this handled…delicately.”

     “I see.” The hospital administrator mulled this over for a moment. “What can you tell me about her condition?”

     “Head trauma, certainly. Other than that, I can’t be sure; but I’d guess some broken or fractured ribs, and…” His voice became grim. “Possible internal injuries. In fact, I’d say it’s likely.” He glanced behind him at the unnervingly still figure on his back seat. Thirty minutes. Did she even have that long? Had he made a mistake? There were closer hospitals. Should he take her to one of them? He had entered the freeway now. He was committed. If he’d made the wrong decision… Bob Sheehy’s voice interrupted his reverie.

     “All right. Bring her to our ER. I’ll have a team standing by. Then you and I will be able to talk privately in my office. Will you, um…be able to give me more details at that time?” 

     Roosevelt breathed in deeply through his nose, then let it out slowly. He swallowed. “Not much, I’m afraid,” he answered finally. Silence hung between the two men for a moment.

     "All right. Just get her here, and we'll do what we can for her."

     "Thank you, Bob. I'll see you soon."