Brian McCoy sat in his office in the Emergency Command Center. His job at the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) coordinated with other agencies during terrorist attacks or natural disasters. The view of Boston Harbor from his tenth-floor office was spectacular.
McCoy didn’t pay any attention to the scenery. When he last saw Jay, they were in a bar in Bahrain the night he disappeared without a trace. The only information he had was from a cryptic phone message on his cell phone. It said Jay was okay, but he had to go away for a while. The voice scrambled, and the caller ID blocked. McCoy tried to trace the source of the call without any luck. He missed his roommate and felt guilty for escaping punishment after the Pakistan debacle. He also knew Natalie, Jay’s girlfriend, and Gunny Mack, the two former teammates with Jay that night in Bahrain, also missed him.
The other former Infinity Squad members stayed in touch. CJ and Madman finished their enlistment and returned to New Hampshire. Gia Khalil returned to civilian life and concentrated on raising Rameera, her adopted daughter. At the same time, Michelle Goddard moved from London to New York to run Goddard Aviation. He tried calling her several times but was turned away by her assistant.
Andrea, his administrative assistant, walked in and handed him a newspaper. “I think I found him. Look at the police report.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” McCoy said. “I thought you had an obituary. He’s not dead.”
“No, but he is in trouble.”
Jay awoke to a pounding headache. He could tell he was in the hospital by the familiar beeping from unattended monitors. He tried to sit up but screamed when a surge of pain blasted through his head. The pain wouldn’t stop, and Jay put his hands to his head, trying to cope with the intense throbbing. A nurse ran in, hearing his scream. She administered pain medication through the IV drip, and Jay fell back asleep.
When Jay awoke, he saw an enormous figure standing in the doorway to the treatment room. The person blocked the light in the hallway so Jay could only see a silhouette. The person moved closer to Jay until he stopped at his bedside. Jay noticed the person was a large man in a police officer’s uniform.
“Jay? Jay Mendes, right?” the police officer said.
Jay nodded.
“Don’t you recognize me? I’m Marty. Marty Hernandes. Do you remember now?”
Jay thought to himself, who was Marty Hernandes? The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“I think I know you,” Jay said. “From when I was a kid?”
“Yeah. We were best friends. Your dad worked for my dad in the cranberry bogs when he wasn’t fishing. We played football together. I blocked for you when you ran sweeps.”
“Yeah, now I remember you. My head is a bit fuzzy. I had a tough day yesterday.”
“Well, actually, it was three days ago,” Marty said. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness since we brought you here.”
“So why are you dressed in that uniform?” Jay said. “Are you a cop?”
“You might say that. I’m Deputy Chief of the Falmouth Police Department. Jay, I’m here to read you your Miranda rights and inform you of the charges against you.”
“Charges? What charges? Marty, what did I do?”
“The Commonwealth of Massachusetts is charging you with two counts of assault and one count of disorderly conduct. You broke Mike Alvarez’s cheekbone, and you busted Sal’s TV at the PA club. Our fathers built that club with their bare hands. How could you disrespect their memory?”
“Shit, was I that drunk? I usually don’t blackout when I drink.”
“No, Sal hit you over the head with a bottle of Jack Daniels.”
“That explains the glass in my skull. So now what? Am I going to jail?”
“Most normal human beings would go to jail. But Jay, you’re not human. You have friends in high places.”
“God?”
“No, you idiot, me,” said a voice from outside the treatment room.
Jay looked up to see a second man standing at the doorway to his room. This man was as tall as Marty but much slimmer. He had short, blonde hair cut tight to his head. Unlike Marty, Jay recognized his voice immediately.
“McCoy?” Jay said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“To do one thing, Mendes. Save your sorry ass.”