There was a beeping noise and a firm grasp on his shoulder. And suddenly, the brilliant light of day.
A human face, inches from his own, issued exhortations in a language he didn’t understand. The nurse switched to English. “Please calm down, sir,” she said. “You’re safe.”
Hayward ceased flailing and shouting and took in his surroundings. His body was no longer twisted and battered by millions of gallons of water charging through a giant concrete storm drain. He no longer had to fight in the darkness to keep from trying to draw a breath.
He was in a bed covered with white sheets and surrounded by medical equipment. His head hurt like never before. There was a cast on his left forearm. Tubes protruded from his other arm.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” the nurse said. Her English was immaculate, and she had a round, kind face. “Dozens of people die in the storm system every year. You’re the only one I know who’s ever been rescued. And you only broke one bone in your arm. You should go to the casino, because you’re a lucky man!”
Hayward didn’t respond. He didn’t feel terribly lucky. He had merely traded one deadly struggle for another. He thought of Katrin’s smile, the way the corner of her mouth lifted when she was trying to stifle a laugh. His heart hurt.
A horrible realization dawned on him. “What time is it?” he asked.
The nurse gestured to a clock on the wall—half past four in the afternoon.
“Jesus,” Hayward breathed. “I need a phone.”
“Right now, you really need to rest.”
He stood. The nurse tried to restrain him, but Hayward wouldn’t be deterred. He nudged her out of the way, walked unsteadily to the wall, lifted the receiver, and dialed a number from memory.
“Sir, please go back to your bed,” the nurse protested, but Hayward waved her away.
The phone rang. Please, Hayward pleaded. Four rings, then five. A clunk as the line connected. He heard a familiar female voice, the voice that stirred him like none before in his life: “You have reached Katrin Ferdinand-Xavier. Please leave a message.”
No. Please, no. Hayward ended the call, then dialed the same numbers again. “Pick up, dammit!” he said, pacing.
It went to voicemail. He tried a third time. He heard a click after just two rings. His spirits lifted and hope filled his chest. Then his blood ran cold.
“You haven’t held up your end of the bargain, Mr. Hayward.” The voice was icy and unforgiving. It was a different voice, not the same man who’d called him at the hotel and activated the mission. The new voice was familiar, unnerving, and it transported Hayward instantly to the training grounds in northern Virginia where he had wilted countless times under the icy glare of the CIA legend. Artemis Grange.
Hayward was suddenly certain Katrin and her family would soon be dead.
“The safe was empty!” Hayward exclaimed.
“An unfortunate turn of events,” Grange said. “As you’re now aware, we’ve taken other measures.”
Hayward gripped the receiver. His mind raced, searching desperately for a point of leverage, anything he could use to intervene on Katrin’s behalf. But there was nothing. The safe had been his trump card. He’d played it, and he had lost.
It was over.
“If you harm her in any way,” he seethed, knowing his words smacked of desperation and defeat, “I will find you, and I will kill every one of you with my bare hands.”
There was a brief pause. “Mr. Hayward,” Grange said, “you knew the consequences of failure.”
“Goddamn you! She’s done nothing to you, and neither has her family!”
Grange was unruffled and unmoved. “Mr. Hayward, my advice is that you find an easy way to die, and you do it as soon as possible. If you wait for us to find you, your death will be far from pleasant.”
The line went dead.