Thursday night
November 25 – 11:42 p.m. MST
Denver Health, Denver, CO
Alex opened her eyes.
She knew by the quality of the blue light and the sounds that she was in the hospital. She tried to move her right arm, but it was immobile. She shifted her left hand and she felt fingers holding on.
Max.
Her entire body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Her mind went through her body. Besides the pain and immobility in her right side, everything seemed fine. She saw Jesse floating near her bed and smiled. Her head rolled to the right.
John was sound asleep in a chair by her bed.
She heard a familiar noise and knew that Trece had just cleared his throat. She had so much to tell him; and wanted to hear everything he had to say. She was about to get Trece’s attention when John opened his eyes.
“Hi,” John said.
She smiled at him.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I hope I did some damage to the truck that hit me,” Alex said.
He got up and went to her bedside.
“Do you remember anything?” John asked.
“Some,” Alex nodded.
“Everyone wants to talk to you – MPs, military intelligence, the spies, your parents, your sisters, Colin, the police,” John said. “But I’d rather you sleep.”
“Max?” Alex asked.
“He had something like a heart attack,” John said. “They went in and replaced that leaking valve. We won’t know if his heart is damaged until tomorrow. He finally received a pacemaker, as well.”
Alex nodded.
“He is healing,” John said. “We were more worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Heparin,” John said.
“On the knife?” Alex asked.
John nodded.
“How is Steve?” Alex asked.
“Let me put it this way,” John said. “He’s better off than you.”
Alex smiled.
“The swelling is subsiding in Raz’s brain,” John said. “The vesticulostomy was enough. They didn’t have to do a decompressive cranioectomy.”
“Sounds awful,” Alex furrowed her brow. Her eyes filled with tears. “Is he going to be all right?”
“We think so,” John said. “He’s healthy and, as I said, the swelling is already subsiding.”
“How did that happen?”
“Sami hit him,” John said.
“Things were going so well,” Alex said.
“Troy was drugged,” John said. “Went into anaphylaxis about five minutes after he woke up.”
“Wow,” Alex said. “Everyone.”
“Everyone who was home,” John said. “Eoin saved the day.”
Not sure what he meant, but too tired to ask, Alex smiled. He gave her a tissue to wipe her eyes.
“Glad you’re here,” Alex smiled. “How are you?”
“Grateful,” John said.
“It was close this time,” Alex said.
John nodded.
“I . . . ,” she started. She was too tired to finish.
“You should rest,” John said. “You’re not out of the woods.”
“In the meadow . . . ,” Alex drifted off.
John watched her for a moment before kissing her forehead.
“You can get some rest,” Trece said. “I’ll watch her.”
John looked up at him.
“I’ve spent the last couple of weeks sleeping,” Trece said. “Seriously, I’ll get you the moment something changes.”
“I’ll be in the doctor’s lounge,” John said.
Trece nodded. John smiled at him. He leaned over and kissed Alex’s cheek. He looked at Max. He went and kissed Max’s forehead. For good measure, he kissed Raz’s forehead and Troy’s. He stood looking at Steve for a few minutes before kissing his forehead too. He looked up to see White Boy watching him.
“For luck,” John said.
“Good thinking,” White Boy said.
John pulled on his tie and stumbled back to the doctor’s lounge. When he was on call, he hated the lounge. If he wasn’t conducting a surgery or meeting with patients and their families, he wanted to be at home. Tonight, he merely lay down on a cot and fell sound asleep.
“John?” His surgical nurse Trish shook his shoulder. “Dr. Drayson?”
“Alex!” John woke with a start.
“Time for rounds,” Trish said.
“Alex? Max? Raz? Troy? Steve?” John asked.
“They’re awake and wondering if you’ll order pizza,” Trish said. “They are arguing with those big guys over what toppings to put on their pizza.”
John grinned.
“Their vitals show that they are very weak,” Trish said.
“They put on a good show,” John said.
Trish smiled.
“You have time to shower and shave,” Trish said. “I’ll meet you outside.”
Groggy from his hard sleep, he stared at the door. She reappeared.
“If you don’t get going NOW,” Trish said. “You’re going to bitch at me about it all day.”
John jumped into action.
FFFFFF
Friday, afternoon
November 26 – 1:27 p.m. EST (11:27 a.m. MST)
Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), Arlington, VA
“Is Cam here?” Patrick asked.
“He is.” The secretary had looked up when they came in, but now refused to make eye contact.
Patrick, Eoin, Cian, and Ben were standing in a small 1950s-era waiting room in an outdated research building. The walls were stark white against the worn wide-plank wood floors. Peeling vinyl chairs lined the walls, and ancient magazines lay stacked on the end table. The room smelled like the inside of a moldy old book.
“Would you like me to announce you, General?” the secretary asked.
She looked up for the first time and smiled at Patrick. At least seventy, her slight flush and fluster indicated that she and Patrick had been close. Patrick touched her shoulder in a kind, “I remember you” way. She gave him a genuine smile. She glanced at Ben, and he nodded to her.
“Don’t bother,” Patrick said. “I know the way.”
Patrick opened the heavy wooden office door.
“Cameron!”
Patrick walked into the small office. Cian looked at Eoin and they followed. Bookcases lined the walls and sun-bleached Asian rugs covered the wood floors. A radiant heater tapped in the corner. Despite the warm-looking setting, there was something cold and severe about the office. Cian shivered.
Dr. Cameron Singer pushed his reading glasses onto his forehead and stood from his wide oak desk. He had thinning white hair, a round face, and a slim body. He held a fountain-tip pen in his hand, and there was an open journal on his desk. He wore a white lab coat over wool pants, a blue dress shirt, and a matching tie.
True to his spy nature, Ben was the last in the room. Ben closed the door, but only moved an inch or so away from it. Cian and Eoin stopped walking when they hit the Asian rug under Dr. Singer’s desk.
Dr. Singer’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he settled on a broad smile. He dropped the fountain-tip pen in his right lab coat pocket.
“Patrick!” Dr. Singer came around the desk to shake Patrick’s hand. “Can it be?”
Dr. Singer turned to Eoin.
“Eoin Mac Kinney! As I live and breathe,” Dr. Singer wagged his index finger at Eoin. “You, young man, have destroyed my best work.”
“Yes, sir,” Eoin said.
“And you must be Cian Kelly,” Dr. Singer said. “Should I have security check my car?”
“No sir,” Cian said. “I’m a baker now.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Dr. Singer said.
When Dr. Singer turned to Ben, Cian shifted closer to Eoin. The Irish volunteers eyed the exits for a fast retreat. Instinctively, they edged back into a more protected corner of the room near the bookcases. Dr. Singer nodded to Ben. Ben gave him a kind of bow.
“What can I do for you?” Dr. Singer asked as he turned back to Patrick.
Patrick grabbed the doctor by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Surprised, Eoin stepped back and bumped into Cian.
“They are my children, my twins, my Sami. How dare you!”
Patrick’s voice was low, and his demeanor deadly calm. His face held the rage of a father and the power of an experienced soldier. Holding the doctor by the throat, Patrick brought the man’s face within an inch of his own.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Dr. Singer whispered.
“You think you can try to kill my children and get away with it? You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Patrick said. “Why would you do it?”
“Then she’s not dead,” Dr. Singer said. “That’s not good.”
“For who you stupid fuck?” Patrick asked. Patrick shook the man. “Tell me.”
Dr. Singer smiled. Furious, Patrick squeezed his throat.
“Tell me!” Patrick sneered.
“Paddie look out!” Cian yelled.
Dr. Singer jammed the nib of his fountain tip pen into his own neck. Blood sprayed from the wound. Patrick squeezed down on the man’s carotid artery in an attempt to slow the bleeding. Ben jumped forward and pressed his handkerchief into the oozing puncture would. The two men held Dr. Singer in the air.
“I always wondered if that would work,” Dr. Singer said.
“Why?” Patrick said. “Tell me why or I’ll let go.”
Dr. Singer’s eyes held Patrick’s for a long moment before he wrenched his body out of Patrick’s hold.
“No!” Eoin screamed.
“I guess the joke’s on . . . you.” Dr. Singer said as he fell to the floor. Eoin and Cian jumped back. Blood sprayed across the white walls.
The doctor glanced at Eoin for a moment, before he died.
“What was that?” Ben towered over Eoin.
“Get off him,” Cian pushed Ben away from Eoin.
“Men,” Patrick said. “We have a minute or less.”
“What was that?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know,” Eoin said. “I’m not fakin’; I don’ have any idea.”
Ben nodded.
“He taped every interaction. Find his video camera,” Patrick said. “I can’t move or I’ll track blood everywhere. Ben stop. You’re covered, too.”
Cian went to the desk. He grabbed the notebook and stuffed it down the back of his pants. Eoin riffled through the drawers. He grabbed a stack of files from the bottom drawer and tucked them into his sports jacket.
“Video,” Patrick pointed to the long bookcase along the wall to the left of the door. “It’s got to be over there.”
Cian carefully checked each shelf.
“Dr. Singer?” the secretary asked through the door.
Cian found the camera. He yanked it from its fitting and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Does it go anywhere?” Ben asked.
Cian shook his head.
“Jane!” Patrick said. “Call the police.”
“What . . . ?” The door handle turned.
Patrick nodded to Cian. He met the secretary at the door.
“Don’ come in here,” Cian said. “He’s gone and offed himself.”
The elderly woman did something strange; she looked at Cian and nodded. She glanced around the room.
“With his pen?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Cian said.
She turned her wrist over to look at her watch. She gave Cian a sincere nod and walked out of the office. Cian was so surprised he didn’t know what to say. She reappeared with a roll of butcher paper, a heavy duffle bag, and three young men.
“Paddie, I only have fatigues,” she said.
“That will do,” Patrick said.
While Eoin and Cian gawked, she rolled the butcher paper in Patrick’s direction. The roll bounced against his shin. He bent down and tore the sheet. Without moving, he turned and rolled the paper to Ben, who repeated Patrick’s gesture.
Patrick walked the paper to the door. The secretary looked him over and nodded. The secretary dropped the duffle bag. Patrick undressed. He dropped his jacket and dress shirt onto the paper. He stepped out of his shoes, took off his socks, and pulled off his pants. From the duffle bag, he took a digital camouflage shirt and pants. When he was dressed, the secretary gave him a plastic trash bag, which he put his clothing into. She set down a pair of flip flops which he put on. Patrick stepped aside to allow Ben to change. Ben went through the same procedure and ended up with a plastic bag full of clothing.
“Mr. Kelly?” the secretary asked.
Too uncomfortable to not comply, Cian stepped forward. The secretary looked him over.
“Turn around,” she said.
Cian turned around.
“You’re clear,” she said. “Please stand with the General.”
Cian stepped off the paper and stood with Ben and Patrick.
“Mr. Mac Kinney?” she asked.
Eoin stood in front of her.
“You don’t know this,” she said. “But you saved my daughter’s life.”
“I . . .”
“I just wanted to thank you,” the secretary said. “Turn around please.”
Eoin turned around.
“You’re clear,” the secretary said. “Follow Patrick.”
She nodded to Eoin and stepped out of the doorway. The three younger men came into the room, and she went back to sit at her desk.
“We’ll get the desk,” one of the young men said. “Anything else?”
“The bookshelf,” Cian said.
“I touched that chair,” Eoin said.
“Done,” the young man said. To Patrick, he said, “We’ll be in touch.”
“Destroy your clothing as soon as you can,” the secretary said. “All of you.”
“This way,” Patrick pointed to the door.
They followed Patrick out the door and down the hallway. Patrick veered from the elevator and took the stairs. They were out of the building. Rather than take their rental car, Patrick flagged a taxi. He had a long, complicated conversation with the cab driver about his retirement from the US Senate. The cab dropped them off at Fairfax Hotel. While Patrick slapped people’s backs and laughed, Ben checked them into a four-room suite at the hotel. No one spoke until the suite door swung closed.
“What the hell was that?” Cian asked.
Ben’s eyes flicked to Cian before going to the bar to mix a drink.
“What was that?” Cian asked again.
Ben glanced at Patrick and he nodded.
“We’re not sure,” Ben said. “The secretary is someone we know from other business. She works on a cleaning crew.”
“She’s seventy!” Cian said.
“She did look that way today,” Patrick said.
“Dr. Singer was either slated for elimination today or they thought we would kill him,” Patrick said.
“Did ya plan to?” Eoin asked.
“No,” Patrick said. “He was worth more alive than dead.”
As if he was cold, Patrick went to stand in front of the fireplace.
“She seemed to know he would kill himself with the fountain-tip,” Ben said.
“Good point,” Patrick said.
“You think we were targeted?” Cian asked.
“It’s very possible that our appointment was noted,” Patrick said. “Whoever set up his removal didn’t realize that we have our own connections.”
“What does that mean?” Eoin asked.
“He means that we know the cleaners,” Ben said. “Patrick knew the good doctor was slated for elimination when he saw the secretary.”
“My guess is Cam knew it the moment she showed up for work this morning,” Patrick said.
Eoin and Cian nodded.
“I want to know one thing,” Patrick said. He turned to look at Eoin.
“What’s that, sir?” Eoin asked.
“What do you and Dr. Singer have in common?” Patrick asked.