George Washington University Hospital ICU ward
Washington, D.C.
For a while, we thought we’d lost you,” Walks Many Miles said when Brooke opened her eyes.
Seeing him momentarily confused her before she realized he was standing next to a hospital bed that she was lying on. Her arms were attached to IVs and monitors. Being shot. Parker. The Viper. Now she remembered. She tried to sit and a sharp pain shot across her abdomen like 50,000 volts of electricity.
“Easy now,” Miles said when he saw her grimace.
“How long have you been here?”
“Landed an hour ago. Came right over.”
“You get shot in Africa?” she asked.
He slapped both hands against his chest as if he were searching for holes and said, “No bullets. I’m still in one piece.”
“Not me. I got shot.”
Miles couldn’t tell if Brooke was cracking a joke or was simply being serious. She seemed groggy from the morphine being pumped into her arm.
“How long since that bastard shot me?” she asked.
“Three days,” Aunt Geraldine announced, stepping toward the bed next to Miles. “Everyone thought you were going to die—even the paramedics who flew you here—but not me. I told them—she’s a fighter. It isn’t her time to die. They operated on you for nine hours straight, sewing up everything and rearranging your insides. You’ve been knocked out for two more days because of all the pain.”
“Where’s Jennifer? Is she okay?”
Miles nodded to his right, and Brooke glanced past him and her aunt and spotted Jennifer standing at the foot of the hospital bed. The teenager was clutching a bright pink stuffed animal—a unicorn.
“This is for you,” Jennifer announced, lifting the mythical animal in front of her as she edged forward. Geraldine and Miles moved aside so the teen could be closer to Brooke. “Unicorns can do magic,” Jennifer announced.
“Have you named her?” Brooke asked, reaching for the toy.
“I call her Brooke the Unicorn.”
With her free hand, Brooke took Jennifer’s and squeezed it. “I’m pretty fond of that name. How you doing, peanut?”
“Aunt Geraldine is letting me stay in your old room.”
“That’s wonderful. There’s still a lot of my stuff there. Board games I used to play.”
“That’s really old stuff. But it’s okay.”
Geraldine said, “It’s like we’re having a family get-together in the hospital, isn’t it? Your uncle is directly down the hallway.”
“Is he awake?” Brooke asked in a concerned voice.
“No, child, not yet,” Geraldine replied. “But his eyes have been twitching and the nurses tell me that’s a good sign that he’ll be coming out of his coma real soon. But don’t you worry yourself about him.”
A nurse joined them, saying, “Sorry, but I need to check our patient’s vital signs and apply fresh bandages.”
Brooke released her hold on Jennifer’s hand. She didn’t want the teen to see her wounds. “Are you hungry, peanut?” she asked.
“I bet Mr. Miles here is as hungry as a dog in a bone factory,” Geraldine volunteered. She’d recognized Brooke’s reluctance at having Jennifer in the room when the bandages were changed.
“A bone factory?” Jennifer said, giggling. “Is there such a thing?”
Geraldine snickered. “You can’t get much past this child. But c’mon, we need to let this young nurse do her job while we go downstairs and get some breakfast.”
“I definitely could eat,” Miles volunteered, placing one of his hands on Jennifer’s shoulder and rubbing his stomach with his other one.
“Do you think it would be okay if I took Brooke the Unicorn with me?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes, peanut,” Brooke replied, handing the stuffed animal back to her. “What do you think unicorns like to eat?” she added with a wink.
“I’ll ask her when we get downstairs. Probably ice cream.”
Everyone laughed.
Miles said, “Jennifer, why don’t you and Mrs. Grant go downstairs right now? I need to tell Brooke something really quick. Then I’ll join you.”
Geraldine led Jennifer out of the room.
By this time, the nurse had finished checking Brooke’s vitals and was ready to slip back the covers and apply fresh bandages.
“Would you mind giving us a moment before you change the dressing?” Miles asked.
The nurse frowned. “The doctors will be making their rounds soon and I’ll get in trouble if the bandages aren’t fresh.”
“I promise, only a few minutes.”
Letting out a sigh, she said, “Be quick, please.”
As soon as they were alone, Miles said, “Jennifer has regressed. Physically, she’s okay but she won’t talk to anyone about what happened in that bedroom with Agent Parker.”
“Is he dead?”
“The backup agents who Parker called found him dead and you unconscious. Half of Parker’s face was blown away and Jennifer was on his back choking him with a chain. She was covered with blood splatter when they pried her loose from him.”
“No wonder she doesn’t want to talk. She’s blocking it out.”
“What happened in that bedroom?”
“Parker was the Viper. He fooled us. He planned on murdering me and Jennifer and blaming it on the terrorists.”
“But why?”
“Money. He sold us out for money. Plus, I think he was a narcissistic psychopath who only cared about himself, his own wants, his own needs. Just because he was wearing a suit and tie and had a badge didn’t change that.”
From the troubled look on Miles’s face, Brooke could tell he seemed unconvinced.
“It doesn’t fit,” he said. “I mean, he tried to kill you, so there’s no doubt he betrayed us, and because of that I’m glad he’s dead. But are you sure he was the Viper?”
“Why are you questioning it?”
“Because Parker knew what the FBI was doing here in the U.S., but he couldn’t have known what I was doing in Kenya. He certainly wouldn’t have had access to our flight plan when we were sent to watch that billionaire.”
“Maybe he got access to it through the FBI computer system.”
“I doubt the agency and Pentagon shared that information. And he certainly wasn’t told about the goat herder and woman who were protecting me in Kenya.”
“Woman?” Brooke asked through her now partially closed eyes. She was fading. Miles leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“We’ll get it straightened out after you’re feeling better.”
Miles found the nurse waiting impatiently outside the door.
“Thanks for giving us a moment,” he said. “Can I bring you back something from the cafeteria? Some coffee, fruit, toast, a bagel—anything?”
“Actually, a bagel would be great. I’ve not eaten this morning. But have them put the cream cheese in a container on the side. I’m watching my calories and they smear it on really thick in the cafeteria. I’ll pay you when you bring it upstairs.”
“No way are you paying. I’m happy to do it. Thanks for taking such good care of our patient.”
“You the husband?”
“Hope to be someday.”
When the nurse began the painful task of changing the bandages, Brooke opened her eyes. After the dressing had been changed, Lieutenant Colonel Gabe DeMoss arrived.
“Major Grant,” he said cheerfully, “I wanted to check on you and General Grant before heading to the White House this morning. Representative Stanton’s murder and all the rumors about Agent Parker have everyone alarmed, especially the president.”
Before Brooke could reply, the nurse interrupted them. “I need a new bag of saline for you. I’ll go get one. I’ll be back in a minute.”
The nurse scooted by DeMoss and out the door. “Actually, I’m surprised you’re alone here,” he noted. “Every time I’ve stopped by, one of your cousins or your aunt Geraldine and Jennifer have been here. Your aunt drew up a round-the-clock family schedule so you wouldn’t be alone.”
“She’s a sweetheart,” Brooke said. “You just missed her, Jennifer, and Walks Many Miles. They went downstairs to get breakfast.”
“Your aunt Geraldine is not with the general?” he asked in a startled voice.
“She’s downstairs.”
“That’s unusual. She eats, sleeps, and showers in his room. I’ve never known her to leave that room unless there’s someone watching him.”
“She doesn’t want him to wake up and be alone, I suspect. Isn’t there a Pentagon security officer stationed outside his door?”
“Not any longer. Only a hospital security guard who’s got a desk near the elevator.”
DeMoss seemed fidgety, and the morphine was making it difficult for her to keep focused.
“Did you miss me?” the nurse asked, returning with a fresh saline bag for the IV.
“I’ll go check on your uncle now,” DeMoss volunteered. “I don’t like him being alone. You need to rest.”
As soon as DeMoss left, the nurse said, “Now don’t be getting all jealous, but I’ve got to tell you that your boyfriend—he’s a keeper. He’s not only handsome, he’s thoughtful. He asked if there was anything from the cafeteria he could bring me, and when I told him a bagel with cream cheese, he refused to take any money from me. Now that’s a gentleman.”
Brooke was only half listening. She closed her eyes. A bagel with cream cheese. A bagel. Mr. bagel. No. Wait!
Brooke popped open her eyes. Something isn’t right. Bagel. What is it? Brooke tried to focus. The last time she had gone to breakfast in the hospital, Gabe DeMoss had been with her and a woman had spoken to him. What had she called him: café misto with a cinnamon raisin bagel. Mr. CM/CR. No, she’d called him Don and he said they’d never met but she’d said she never forgets a face. Why had he lied? What was he hiding?
Another memory popped into her head. It was of her fatal encounter with Agent Wyatt Parker. He was pointing a pistol at her. What had he said?
“The Falcon asked me personally to kill you. Both of you.”
“The Falcon?”
“You didn’t have a clue, did you?”
“You’re a traitor?”
“Let’s just say I recently decided to switch teams. You should feel honored. The Falcon called me directly. Always before, I’ve gotten my orders through an intermediary. But he called me personally because he really wants you and this girl dead.”
What had Parker said? Always before, I’ve gotten my orders through an intermediary.
She thought about what Miles had said minutes ago.
“Because Parker knew what the FBI was doing here in the U.S., but he couldn’t have known what I was doing in Kenya. He certainly wouldn’t have had access to our flight plan when we were sent to watch that billionaire.”
Parker couldn’t have known all of the information that the Viper had known. He wasn’t the Viper!
The nurse had left her alone. Brooke pushed the call button, but no one responded. She pushed it again and again. Finally, she forced herself into a sitting position. The throbbing in her abdomen was excruciating, and for a moment she felt as if she was going to pass out. Stay awake. Stay focused.
She carefully began disconnecting the IV tubes and various wires attached to her and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Another debilitating jolt.
Brooke slid off the mattress to her feet and staggered toward a tiny closet. It wasn’t clothing that she was after. She didn’t care that a gaping hole in the back of her hospital smock exposed her bare buttocks. She was searching for her pistol. It wasn’t there.
General Grant can’t be left alone.
She forced herself to walk across the room and into the hallway. Where is everyone? There was no one at the nurses’ station. Where is the hospital security guard? Touching the hallway wall to support herself, she moved as quickly as she dared toward her uncle’s room. When she reached it, his door was closed, so she pushed inward.
Gabe DeMoss was next to her uncle’s hospital bed holding a syringe.
“It wasn’t Agent Parker,” she said. “You’re the Viper.”
She expected DeMoss to deny it, to tell her that she was mistaken and delusional. Instead he asked, “What proof do you have?”
“The woman from the bagel shop. She recognized you.”
“A simple case of misidentification. You’re cold, Major Grant.”
“Parker said his orders always came through an intermediary. That means he wasn’t calling the shots here in the U.S.”
“Warmer, but still chilly.”
“Parker couldn’t have been the Viper and I can prove it. Akbar and Aludra were holding Cassy and Jennifer captive in a Virginia cabin. Cassy managed to escape and was hiding in the woods. Akbar had just started to search for her when he got a telephone call on a satellite phone warning him that the FBI was on its way to the cabin to rescue the girls. Parker couldn’t have placed that call because he was with me. We were in a helicopter flying to that cabin. Someone else warned Akbar. The NSC was monitoring our every move. That means you knew we were heading to that cabin. You warned him.”
“Ah, you are turning up the heat.”
“Parker didn’t have access to what was happening in Kenya, but you did. As a member of the NSC, you knew about the SAD team’s flight to El Wak and you also were briefed about the goat herder and woman who helped Miles.”
DeMoss smirked but did not challenge her reasoning.
“And I saw you sitting next to my uncle at Decker Lake’s funeral. It was you who sent that text to Fawzia Samatar telling her to light herself on fire and attack the president.”
“Congratulations, Major Grant,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve pulled together all of the pieces. It was that text to Fawzia that caused your uncle to become suspicious of me. During the funeral, he saw me reach into my pocket and fidget with a cell phone. I’d already written the message. All I did was hit send, but in the short time it took for me to do that, he noticed. He thought it was disrespectful for me to be sending a text.”
Brooke interrupted him. “Let me guess, he began zeroing in on you when he learned the text to Fawzia had been sent from a burner phone—a phone bought by the president’s reelection committee and stored in a box at the White House—a box that you had access to.”
“Bravo. They were careless. There were no records kept of who took one of the burner phones to use when they were conducting campaign business versus doing their government jobs.”
“Were you responsible for my uncle being shot?”
“I had to do something, and killing him made the most sense. So yes, I arranged for him to be attending a meeting at the CIA that morning and then I told Akbar and the others where they could trap him by having that rented truck dump debris on the highway. I hadn’t planned to go with him that morning, but then he invited me.”
“And you opened the passenger door to the car so Akbar could get a better shot at him, didn’t you?” she demanded.
“Yes, it was a game time call. I opened the passenger door and then Akbar failed to kill him.”
“Why? Why would you do it? Parker was in it for the money. Is the Falcon paying you too?”
“No, I don’t give a damn about the money. Don’t you get it, Major? I am your worst nightmare. I am an American jihadist.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why? Because I am not an Arab or a Somali?”
“You weren’t raised as a Muslim.”
“But I am one now. I thought I was going to die when I was captured by the Taliban in Afghanistan. Have you ever been tortured, Major Grant? Denigrated? Abused? There are things worse than death. They twisted my arms and legs and tied them together, leaving me hanging inches above the ground for hours. No one can stand that much pain. They beat the soles of my feet. You can’t imagine how many different ways a man can inflict pain on another human being. One morning, I asked for a copy of the Holy Quran. I hoped maybe they would stop beating me if I acted interested in their religion. But then I began reading it.”
“And you became a Muslim?”
“Not at first, but I began feeling at peace. I actually started praying for them. They didn’t believe me at first, but they kept me alive, and when they became convinced that I was not deceiving them, they began teaching me, explaining why they—why we—must fight against infidels, against the Great Satan. I began to understand. I became one with them. It was a biblical-like transformation. My torturers became my saviors.”
“I was told you escaped after being held as a prisoner for nine months,” Brooke said.
“I didn’t escape. They forced me out. I wanted to stay with them and fight with them, but the Falcon convinced me that I could help them more by staying in the Army and working in the Pentagon.”
“Stockholm syndrome.”
“No, not at all. I am not a victim, Major Grant. During those nine months, my entire perspective changed. I became a true believer.”
“In what? Murdering innocent children and families?”
“I don’t expect you to understand. You and your uncle are blind to the truth, to our higher purpose. You are like a robot programmed to believe democracy and capitalism are superior when neither is.” DeMoss glanced down at General Grant. “I’ve been waiting to be alone with your uncle. I can’t afford having him wake up from his coma. But until this morning, every time I came to visit him, your aunt was standing guard. And then finally, she leaves him alone and now you’ve interrupted us.”
Brooke felt weak, as if her legs were about to go out from under her. She grabbed onto the bed’s foot railing to steady herself.
DeMoss was still holding the syringe in his hand. “There should be enough in this shot for you too,” he said. “I’ve been told it’s quick, painless, and untraceable. You’ll be found at your uncle’s bedside. What a touching end to the Brooke Grant story. Here with her beloved uncle. I will be gone before anyone finds either of you.”
She tried to stop her legs from quivering. She failed. One of them buckled and she was forced to tighten her grip on the rails to continue standing.
DeMoss snickered as she swayed, helpless.
Brooke did not have enough strength in her legs to attack him. She didn’t have enough to flee into the hallway for help.
She screamed.
What came from her mouth was a guttural noise from deep inside, a blending of rage, fury, and frustration.
The hospital security guard, who’d been taking a bathroom break earlier when Brooke had come down the hallway, heard her. He nearly knocked Brooke over when he flung open the door to General Grant’s room.
DeMoss had just inserted the needle into General Grant’s skin but he hadn’t yet pushed in the syringe’s plunger.
The guard reached for his pistol, which was in its holster.
“Don’t be a fool!” DeMoss threatened. “You know who this patient is. If I inject him, you’ll be responsible for killing him.”
The officer lifted his left hand away from his sidearm.
“It’s over,” Brooke said. “Give up.”
“It’s not over until I say it’s over,” DeMoss replied.
Brooke was only half listening now. She was focusing on what she needed to do to save her uncle. In one quick motion, she removed her right hand from the bed railing and swept her fingers up the security guard’s left leg, plucking his sidearm from its holster. She had not been watching DeMoss when he’d been talking. She had been staring at her uncle’s twitching eyelids, and she had seen the general open them.
As she raised the guard’s handgun, General Frank Grant jerked his hand upward from the bed, shoving DeMoss’s hand away from his chest, taking the syringe with it.
Brooke fired the pistol as a startled DeMoss looked blankly at the now fully awake general before slipping backward into a heavy machine monitoring the general’s vitals. He slid down its front to the floor with the syringe still in his fingers.
Brooke’s body began to tremble and she collapsed.
The gunshot drew other security guards and nurses. Within minutes, Brooke was back in her hospital bed. Miles burst into her room. Her first impulse was to think that she’d been dreaming. None of that could have happened.
“Brooke,” he said, “how did you know about DeMoss?”
During the next several moments, she explained the clues that had convinced her that DeMoss was the Viper. “All this time,” she said, “I thought he was coming to visit my uncle because he cared about him, about both of us. All he was really looking for was an opportunity to murder him. When I told DeMoss that the three of you were downstairs having breakfast, he saw his chance.”
“Agent Parker, and now Colonel DeMoss,” Miles said. “How could we have been so easily fooled?”
“Because we are Americans. We believe people are good and decent until they show us otherwise. It is one of our greatest virtues and our greatest vulnerabilities.”