“I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
They stood together for a while on that Barcelona rooftop, between an abandoned cement factory and the sky. Ethan was, for the time being, thankful to just have Bretta safe. She was a warm weight against him. Solid and real.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pushing her gently away.
He saw her look down into her cupped hands. There was a glint of silver, and Ethan recognized the angel wing pendant before her bloody fingers closed over it.
Bretta looked up at him. “You know, I think I could use a little trip to the hospital, if you’re offering?”
Ethan grinned. “Our job is done here, I think. We can go wherever you like.”
Bretta leaned forward and rested her head against his chest. “ICU… I sure know how to pick a hot date, huh?”
Ethan smelled her bloody, sweaty hair.
There was the sound of a throat being cleared over Ethan’s TCAPS earpiece.
“Copperhead,” Aaron said, “sit-rep on Maelstrom.”
“Maelstrom is in our custody,” Ethan replied. “Repeat, Maelstrom is safe. The last Kidon member got away.”
“Copy that, Copperhead,” Aaron said. “What’re your orders?”
“Let’s get the Patrol around, Constrictor,” Ethan said. “Maelstrom requires a visit to the hospital.”
“Copy that,” Aaron said.
“Hey, Copperhead,” William’s voice, weaker and quieter than usual, came over the comm.
“Yeah, Death Adder?” Ethan replied.
“I hate to be the porcupine at the nudist colony, but can I be the third wheel on that hospital date of yours?” the Texan drawled.
Ethan snorted. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, my friend.”
Epilogue
Outside, in the corridor, nurses moved in that peculiar half-walking, half-running gait that always reminded Ethan of people in airports who were running late for their flights. All of the nurses wore disposable, full-body scrubs with matching covers for their shoes. Over every face was an N95 respirator mask.
Ethan turned away from the burgeoning anxiety outside to look back at the two beds, which took up most of the space in the private hospital room. It was part of a small suite the DIA had requisitioned in the Centro Médico Teknon; one of Barcelona’s best private hospitals. Bretta and William lay in the two beds, surrounded by the usual hospital paraphernalia. Aaron sat in a corner, spinning a pen listlessly in his fingers, his face drawn.
Having to see Huntsman go out in the way that he did… no man should have to watch a friend shredded by a grenade.
None of them had really said anything to Aaron about the incident. There was nothing to say, really. Nothing that would make any difference, anyway. They had clapped him on the back, squeezed his shoulder, and that had been enough. All of them knew what it was like to lose friends. All of them were acquainted with the pain that Aaron was bearing.
Ethan himself felt the death of the operative. Though he had only spent a short time with Huntsman, it was apparent the man was a skilled operator, possessing a zest for life often driven out of those in this profession. Yes, his had been a brightly burning flame, which made it all the sadder to see it extinguished so prematurely.
Bretta, for a woman who had suffered hours of torture at the hands of Israel’s most elite killers, was doing remarkably well. There was not a square inch of her body not mottled with bruises, she had a couple of cracked ribs and her gullet was raw from the waterboarding she had endured but, apart from that, the doctors said she would make a full recovery.
“How’s the head, Hest?” Ethan asked.
The big Texan, who had been laying with his eyes closed, cracked one lid at Ethan’s voice. William’s head was swathed in a neat bandage. He had sustained a linear skull fracture thanks to Bedouin’s enthusiastic application of the fire extinguisher.
“Well,” William began, “I feel like I’ve been whipped like a redheaded stepchild––as my grandmother used to say to me before she came at me with the slipper––but I’ve had worse.”
Ethan nodded. He knew all too well just how much worse William had had.
“Come to think on it,” William said, settling himself back in his pillows and closing his eyes again, “I’m pretty sure I’ve had worse sandpaperin’s from dear old Grandma.”
Ethan’s mouth twitched up in a half-smile, and as he watched the blustering cowboy drop back into a doze.
A few minutes later, the door to the private suite opened and Sam strode into the room. She was dressed in a nondescript charcoal business suit, the impeccable cut and tailoring of it being the only clue as to how expensive it was, along with a hijab and surgical mask.
Ethan gazed at her suit and cocked an eyebrow. “Armani?”
“E Zegna,” Sam replied, removing the mask. “It’s what the pissed-off head of a private security company wears when she comes to visit her injured employees––which is, as far as the hospital is concerned, what is transpiring here.”
Sam looked at the beds, toward the sleeping form of William, and at Bretta, who watched her impassively, crystal-blue eyes glittering under puffy lids. Sam glanced at Aaron next, but she could only hold his haunted gaze for a moment.
Her own countenance was just as––if not more––stressed than any of the others. Under the tastefully applied makeup, Ethan could see the dark rings under her eyes, the lines at the corners of her mouth.
“You look like you’ve been having a few sleepless nights,” Ethan commented. “Hope it wasn’t on our account.”
Sam gave him a look that he could have bent an iron bar around.
“There’s been a lot going on,” she said drily. Outside in the hallway, some sort of alarm echoed off the walls. Her tone softened almost imperceptibly: “I’m glad to see you’re all alive, if not unscathed.”
“Not all,” Aaron said, without looking up.
Sam glanced at him and nodded sadly.
“No,” she said, her voice colored with regret. “Not all. I’m sorry about Huntsman. More than you know. He was… one of my best.”
Aaron nodded. Then his lower lip tightened, and he gazed at her defiantly. “One of your best? No. He was the best. Out of all of us. He gave his life for me in the field. That’s the greatest sacrifice a man can ever make for another man. I’ll never forget it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Sam agreed, tears welling in her eyes. She looked away and wiped them quickly. When she had recovered, she continued: “I wanted to come in person––a mission in its own right these days, getting out of Washington––to let you know Dr. Avesta is, even as we speak, on her way to the U.S. You did it.”
Ethan let out a sigh. “Well, I guess the mission’s complete.” At that moment, as he always did on hearing Sam confirm their job was done, he felt awfully drained.
“Yes,” Sam said, focusing on Ethan. “You did a great thing these past few days. All of you. A service to your country, the DIA… and to me.”
Ethan locked gazes with Sam. The corner of her lips twitched up briefly, in what Ethan counted as a smile for the usually taciturn woman.
“She had a lot to say about you,” Sam said. “I do believe the good doctor hopes to see more of you when you get State side.”
Ethan glanced at Bretta, who was scowling. He returned his attention to Sam. “If I ever get stateside. I half expected you to have another mission lined up for us.”
“No such luck,” Sam replied.
Ethan nodded. “I’m almost disappointed. And I mean that sincerely.” His thoughts returned to Kiana. “I hope you look after her.”
“You have my word,” Sam said. “Kiana will be kept safe and under wraps. Her research won’t be exploited by any government, including our own. Not if I can help it.”
Ethan nodded, but in his cynical, realist heart he was inclined to think that a discovery as valuable as Kiana’s was bound to fall into government hands eventually.
Where something can be we
aponized there is the potential for vast sums of money to be made. And as far as fortunes are concerned, all bets are off as to how low people will stoop to scrape them up.
Sam nodded to herself. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. We’ll have a full debriefing tonight.” She held Ethan’s gaze. “And while there’s no immediate mission lined up, there’s still work to be done.”
“There always is,” Ethan replied.
Without another word, she replaced her surgical mask, gave them all one last nod of thanks and took her leave.
Ethan walked over to the window. The room looked through the square arch that marked the entrance to the hospital and out onto the Carrer de Vilana. Even from here, Ethan could make out the few citizens still moving about: masked, gloved, not talking to one another. Police lights blinked in the distance and, like some electronic wolf, a siren wailed mournfully in the city somewhere. It was a desolate sight: the palm trees, the vacant streets, the trash blowing across the road and the flicker of emergency lights.
Ethan sighed. The emptiness of the usually vibrant roadways was little different to the emptiness he felt in his own heart at that moment.
Another job done, another mission complete. Another colleague to be carted home in a pine box.
He looked out once more at the sparsely populated streets. He had completed another mission, risked his life yet again, and yet the world never seemed to become a better place. In fact, it only seemed to be becoming worse. Darker. He couldn’t help but wonder... was he truly making a difference?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed his eyes with his finger and thumb. He had risked his own life yet again, yes, but what got to him more was that he had almost lost William and Bretta.
He looked over at Aaron. The youngest member of their band had pulled a set of headphones from his pocket and sat in his chair with his eyes closed, his head swaying slightly to whatever it was he was listening to.
His gaze alighted on William. The big man’s mouth was open now and he was beginning to snore as if he meant to go on with it all afternoon.
You’re a good man, Will. One of the most loyal and dedicated friends a man could ever ask to fight at his side. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve you.
His eyes slid sideways and he realized Bretta was looking at him. Those azure eyes scrutinized him, giving him the impression that she was leafing through his heart like a coffee table book.
“You think what we’re doing––what we just did––is going to make any difference at all?” he asked her abruptly.
Bretta looked thoughtfully at him for a while longer. Then she said: “I’m not dead or sitting in some Israeli hellhole of a prison because of what you all did. I can’t speak for the rest of humanity, but you guys saved me.” She smiled at him. One of those smiles that seemed to shine a spotlight on her. “It made all the difference in the world to me. Huntsman gave his life for me. For us. William and Aaron nearly gave theirs as well. That’s not a sacrifice I intend to waste.”
Ethan found himself walking over to her, though he was unaware of making the decision. He was drawn to her in a way he had never been drawn to anyone in his life. He sat down on the edge of her bed, took her scabbed and bruised hand in his.
“Is that the answer you were looking for?” she asked him, softly.
Ethan smiled, and gently tightened his grip around her palm.
“It was precisely the answer…” he replied.
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Acknowledgments
I’d also like to thank my knowledgeable beta readers and advanced reviewers who helped smooth out the rough edges of the prerelease manuscript. Particularly: Jeff M., Berkeley P., Sharon S., Bette S., Trudi.
Without you all, this novel would have typos, continuity errors, and excessive lapses in realism. Thank you for helping me make this the best novel possible, and thank you for leaving the early reviews that help new readers find my books.
— Isaac Hooke
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Isaac Hooke holds a degree in engineering physics, though his more unusual inventions remain fictive at this time. He is an avid hiker, cyclist, and photographer who sometimes resides in Edmonton, Alberta.
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Boiling Point (An Ethan Galaal Thriller Book 4) Page 29