Eric Symon’s ICU Room | Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center
There were the sounds of monitors beeping and a ventilator whooshing. There was no window, and the lights were dimmed. The smell was a putrid-seeming mix of disinfectants and unidentified aromas that always made Kayne think of foul things she couldn’t dwell on.
She hated hospitals.
When her parents had died, she wasn’t allowed to see them. Too traumatic for a young girl, maybe. She’d never really gotten an explanation on that. All she’d known was that one day she was a little girl with a mommy and a daddy, and the next day she had only Papa.
When he died, she was older. A decision maker. A caretaker. She was right there with him, the whole time. She saw every needle and every tube that penetrated his flesh. She helped turn him so his sheets could be changed. She emptied his bed pan and held a straw to his lips when he was thirsty. And eventually she held his hand as the beeps on the monitor slowed, and the lights went out for good.
It had been a peaceful death, but that did nothing to make it hurt her any less. Or to be less frightening. Or to destroy her sense of self and stability. To untether her in the world.
All of that rushed back to her as she saw Eric in that bed. The tubes. The mask. The monitors. The smells.
Déjà vu.
This was not a place she wanted to be. For so many reasons. Seeing Eric like this, knowing what could come next, and aware that at any second she could be recognized and arrested. Or that Mayher could turn on her and use this moment of vulnerability to take her down.
If that was how it turned out, so be it. There were no guarantees in life, Kayne knew. Nothing was certain. Any given outcome was the results of billions of tiny choices, and she wasn’t the only one choosing. Her fate was as entwined with the choices made by Eric and Mayher and Denzel, and every soul in this hospital and in this city, as it was with her own choices. All she’d ever done in her life was lean in on the best odds for gaining what she was after, for meeting her goals. But she’d never controlled those odds. Even with all her obsessive planning. Even with QuIEK letting her outsource and augment her planning and strategizing and guessing, she was always at the mercy of fate.
All of us are.
She pulled a chair closer to Symon’s bed, and as she sat, she took his hand in both of hers. An IV was taped to the backside of that hand, and she was careful not to touch it or the area around it. She just wanted him to feel her.
“Hi Eric,” she said quietly, smiling. “I… just want you to know, I got the guy who did this to you. I… he’s… he’s in custody now. Alive.”
She sensed some tension shift in Mayher, though she wasn’t sure whether the agent was relived that Kayne hadn’t killed Conners, or if she was disappointed.
“And look at this,” Kayne said, squeezing his hand lightly. “You finally got your hands on me.” She smiled, laughed lightly. “All that chasing and all you had to do was lay down for a bit and wait. You are a very cunning strategist, Eric Symon. I could never have planned my way out of this trap.”
There was no reaction from him. No movement. Nothing to signify that he even knew she was there. She decided, however, that he did know. That this mattered. That what she said mattered.
“I don’t have many friends these days,” Kayne said. “There’s mostly you. And you… you never stop chasing me. It’s kind of annoying.” She laughed again. “But I think I needed it. I think I’ve needed it all this time. Not just someone chasing me. You. So, don’t stop, ok? Chase me now. Here I am. You can have me. Take me in. All you have to do…” her voice caught, she stifled a sob. Tears burned down her cheeks. “All you have to do is wake up and tell me I’m under arrest. Got it? You do that, and I’m done. No more running. I’ll go sit in whatever cell you want. Ok? Eric? Just wake up and say the word, and I’m yours.”
She waited. Hoping.
She meant it. If he’d just open his eyes, right now, she’d happily go to prison for the rest of her life. Because…
Because she loved him.
She wasn’t sure what kind of love it was. Not entirely. It might have been tinged with romance, but she didn’t particularly see wedding bells with Eric Symon. She thought he was attractive, but she wasn’t even certain she’d want to sleep with him. She just knew she loved him. Cared for him. Wanted his health and happiness to be above the line, unquestionable. And maybe, someday, if they could ever put this nonsense—her being a fugitive, him being the man hunting her—if they could just put that to rest, maybe something might evolve out of this love.
Maybe.
But for now, it was a different kind of love.
It was a love born of respect. A love born of mutual respect and concern. She loved him the way she loved anyone good and honorable and trustworthy.
He reminded her of Papa Kayne.
A good man. Willing to do what good men do, even when the cost could be high. A cost, like the one Eric was facing right now. A cost that, despite having nothing to do with Kayne, was still somehow on her. Still her responsibility.
Love and responsibility were, often, the very same thing.
The monitors continued to beep. The ventilator continued to whoosh. Eric Symon continued to fight a silent battle for his life.
And Alex Kayne stopped running.
She gave his hand a final squeeze, then stood. She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned away from Mayher as she scooted the chair back into place. She didn’t want to leave anything in the way, nothing that might interfere with someone who might need to rush in and save Eric’s life.
She was always planning a few steps ahead.
But she’d never planned for this.
She turned to face Mayher and took a trembling breath. Then she let it out, a cooling and soothing exhale.
“Ok,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Mayher had been watching her, quiet. She frowned and shook her head. “Ready for what?”
“Ready to turn myself in,” Kayne replied.
Mayher’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow. I can’t say I was expecting that. I mean, based on your history, I thought maybe you had a grappling line in the ceiling or something, waiting to zip you out of here.”
“You’re thinking of Batman,” Kayne said, a tiny smile touching her lips. “I’m just me. And I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep running.”
Mayher watched her. “See,” she said finally, “the problem is, I don’t believe you.”
Kayne shook her head. “It’s true. I’m done.” She held out her arms, palms turned up, wrists exposed. “You can cuff me. Take me in.”
“You’re wallowing,” Mayher said. “I mean, yeah, I think you mean it. Right now. But… no. I may not know you as well as Eric does, but I know you. I’d have you in a cell somewhere, and a day later no one would know where you went. Because I know something about you now. Something it took me until now to really figure out.”
“What’s that?” Kayne asked.
“You don’t run because you’re afraid of being caught. You run because you’re afraid you’re the only one looking out for everyone else.”
Kayne frowned, shaking her head. She again wiped at a tear bulging at the corner of her eye. “No, I…”
“Alex,” Mayher said, her voice stern but soft. “I didn’t believe it for a long time. I realize that now. I didn’t believe that anyone could have…” she struggled, shrugged. “Pure motives, I guess. But now I do. Because you’re here. Because you didn’t kill Derrick Conners. Because there was nothing for you to gain by coming to see Eric. And… not just see him… You didn’t bother putting any sort of exit plan in place, did you?”
Kayne shook her head. “No.”
“Now that, I find really weird. That’s not your nature. So something would have to be really big for you to do that, I think. And, you’d have to be a certain kind of person. Ross Eckhart tried to tell me that about you. Eric has tried to tell me, for the past few years. But… I think I get it now.”
“Look,” Kayne said, “I’m glad you think I’m a good person. But you… you’ve sworn an oath, right? You have a job to do.” She gestured with her wrists. “Do the job.”
“Self-flagellation is kind of gross,” Mayher said. “It’s like you’re trying to be a martyr.”
“Whatever gets it done,” Kayne said.
Mayher nodded. “Well, ok then. You’re under arrest. But I’ll hold off on the cuffs until your attorney gets here.”
Kayne lowered her arms and frowned. “My attorney? I don’t have an attorney.”
There was a soft knock on the door, and Mayher glanced toward it. “That’s probably them, now.” She turned to it. “Come in,” she said, her voice louder.
The door opened, and in stepped Adele Bertrand. “Agent Mayher,” she said, her tone officious but subdued, respectful of their environment. “I’d like a word with my client.”
Mayher nodded. “I’ll be right outside,” she said, and with that she stepped past Bertrand and into the hall, closing the door behind her.
“There are two more agents out there,” Bertrand said. “So if you’re planning to run…”
“I actually just turned myself in,” Kayne said, a little confused by the events transpiring.
“Good,” Bertrand said. “That’s going to help. Cooperation is always looked on favorably.”
“Cooperation in what?” Kayne replied.
“Ms. Kayne… can I call you Alex?”
“Sure,” Kayne said.
“Alex, at the behest of Ross Eckhart, my firm has been working overtime to… untangle some of your current legal troubles. I have contacts in some powerful circles, including the US government, and believe me, I have been pressing them hard on this. It’s taken a few days, but I think we’ve come to something. Your help as a confidential informant for Historic Crimes has been a very good first step. You’ve been named as a resource in resolving several threats to national security, including a recent one right here in San Francisco, involving Lee Coben. I spoke with Agent Denzel and with Director Liz Ludlum, and both were eager to write letters of recommendation. As was Mr. Eckhart and his good friend, Ethan Patterson. Who happens to be the head of the Oversight committee for Historic Crimes. You’ve gained some powerful fans, over the past three years.”
“Most of them want to see me locked up for life, but sure,” Kayne said.
“There are plenty of people in the halls of government who see you as an asset, and who recognize that you have saved billions of lives.”
“Seems like too big of a number,” Kayne frowned. “I mostly just help people who can’t help themselves.”
“People such as Shai Salide. Stevie Reece. Kenneth Hebert. Natalia Rustyovska. Abbey Cooper.”
Kayne recognized every name. They were clients. Former clients. She’d kept track of them, after every case. She knew how they were doing. She had QuIEK check in and alert her any time any of them ever had an issue. Anything she might help with, if they really needed it.
They were people she cared for. People who, sometimes, didn’t even know she existed.
“There are many more,” Bertrand said. “This is just the short list. But there’s also everyone who didn’t die because of a terrorist attack, thanks to you. And the agents you’ve helped. The whole world, Alex.”
Kayne shook her head. “I just…”
“You’re a hero,” Bertrand said.
“No,” Kayne said flatly, abruptly, sternly. “I’m not.”
“Just what a real hero would say,” Bertrand smiled.
Kayne glanced toward Symon, laying prone in his bed, strung up with tubes, kept alive by machines.
“Oh, absolutely, he’s a hero, too,” Bertrand said. “But he knew you for who and what you are, didn’t he? Doesn’t he?”
“Where’s this going?” Kayne asked.
Bertrand smiled. “Well, to a holding cell first. There’s still a few things that have to be ironed out. But then, I’ve booked you a hotel room. A luxury suite, actually. Courtesy of Ross Eckhart.”
Kayne blinked. “What…”
“You’ve gotten a Presidential pardon,” Bertrand smiled. “With… some limits. But I think you’re going to find them agreeable.”
Kayne shook her head. She wasn’t sure what was happening, or what she was feeling. She felt slightly dizzy. “A… pardon?” Then, a few blinks later. “From the President?”
“Let’s go let the nice FBI people arrest you,” Bertrand said. “And I’ll explain everything.”