by Ethan Cross
His own doctors would protest at his early departure, but he didn’t care. His side still ached and shot pains if he moved just right, but he could walk, which meant that he was well enough to walk out of the damn hospital. This investigation wouldn’t wait for his body to heal, and he suspected that another accident would be arranged for Corrigan soon. This time they’d ensure that they finished the job.
Munroe had already dressed and contacted Annabelle to pick him up, and Joey had booked two seats on the next flight to Leavenworth.
But where the hell was Jonas Black?
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The decorative get-well-soon flower arrangement and brightly-colored mylar balloon helped Oliver Pike to blend in and hide his face from the cameras. But it didn’t really matter if the police later identified him, because he’d be out of the country once he completed the mission anyway. He had studied the hospital’s floor plan and quickly found Munroe’s room. He made a quick pass by to discretely assess the situation, and then he moved to the nurse’s station and played the part of a confused visitor.
He asked animatedly for directions to an area of the hospital that was back the way he had already come. This would give him the opportunity to pass by the guard again without raising suspicion. The federal agent sat in a chair next to Munroe’s door. Two additional agents had been stationed there as well, but Almeida arranged for the other men to be called back to headquarters, leaving only one obstacle between Pike and Munroe.
Palming a small injection device in his right-hand, Pike moved back down the hall. The fluorescent lights reflected off the overly polished floors, and despite the strong odor of disinfectant, the slight smell of death and sickness permeated the air and made him uncomfortable. The guard watched him carefully as he approached, and Pike tried not to notice.
Then he made a show of tripping and stumbling into the agent. The man’s right hand immediately went to his gun, and he grabbed Pike with the left in a defensive move that would allow for a quick takedown. Pike recovered almost immediately from the fall, displayed an awkward and disarming smile, and apologized for his clumsiness.
He slumped his shoulders in a nonthreatening way and backed away from the agent. The tension released from the man’s shoulders, and sitting back down, he said, “No problem.”
Pike felt the agent’s suspicious eyes still upon him as he walked away, but he had executed the maneuver flawlessly. When he had stumbled against the guard, he stabbed the needle into the agent’s right arm with such a quick and fluid movement that only a keen observer would even have registered the attack.
The powerful sedative would take effect within a few moments, and then Pike could stroll into Munroe’s room, drug the blind man in the same way, and exfiltrate him from the building in a wheel chair, just like any other recovering patient on his or her way home.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
As Oliver Pike circled through the hospital corridors, nodding thoughtfully and smiling to the hospital staff and visitors whom he passed along the way, he thought of the games played by the military’s bureaucracy. Little had changed in the world since they had ran him out of the service for being a homosexual. The men in his unit, those who had fought with him, had been completely accepting, and they knew his preferences, even though he had always followed the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy. He found the military’s position on the matter to be a joke, but he was also a good soldier and followed orders.
But when a newbie lieutenant started harassing him and dropping comments—probably to make himself feel big like the bullies Pike had faced down in the schoolyard back in Connecticut—Pike decided that his time in the military was over. When his contract was up, he chose not to re-enlist.
He could have fought back like Margaret Witt, the Air Force Major who had battled and won, laying the foundation for the 2010 repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. But Pike wasn’t a social activist, and it made more sense for him to just leave quietly and join the private sector. He could make more money there anyway. As it turned out, his ideas about the money-making potential of being a mercenary and hired killer had proven to be conservative estimates, and his new position with the Castillo Cartel would make this a banner year.
Back in front of Munroe’s room, the guard’s head slumped to the side, but Pike still approached cautiously. Casually checking the rest of the hallway, he opened Munroe’s door and stepped inside, turning back to lock the entrance behind him.
It was a single occupancy room, and a privacy curtain concealed the bed. A cheerful blue covered the walls, and it smelled like a scented candle. Pike couldn’t fault Munroe for wanting to block out that antiseptic hospital smell.
“Mr. Munroe? I’m Nurse Zachary. I’m here to check on how you’re doing. Is everything okay?”
He gently pulled back the curtain, but the bed was empty.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Deacon Munroe slid his feet along the narrow concrete ledge outside his window and tried not to consider what he was actually doing. He couldn’t see the drop to the ground, but he could sense the deadly chasm that loomed in front of him. It seemed to him even more frightening to stand on the edge and not be able to look down.
He wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was thinking. When he had received the frantic call from Jonas Black that someone was coming for him, the first thing that Deacon did was try to inform his protectors. When he found the agent unconscious, he knew that he didn’t have long and that his attacker may have even witnessed him enter the hallway. For all he knew, his enemy had been right next to the door, watching him with some kind of psychopathic pleasure.
His mind had then ran down the list of other possibilities and exits. He could have called hospital security, but he doubted they would arrive in time or that he even had time to make the call. He considered simply locking the door but knew that would provide little deterrence to a professional killer. With his back against the wall, he decided that his only viable course of action was to climb out the window and shimmy his way across to the next room. From there, he could call hospital security, hide, and wait for help. And, if push came to shove, he was not without some defenses.
It had seemed like a good idea when in the comfort and safety of his room, but once he felt the giant empty space looming in front of him and his heart pounding against his ribcage, he realized the flaws in his plan. He considered that the next room’s window could be locked, but someone occupied the room. He had heard the television and anxious movements throughout the day. But he hadn’t heard anything recently. He hoped that the room’s occupant was merely sleeping, otherwise he would be trapped clinging to the ledge like an overgrown pigeon.
That was if he made it over to the window without falling. And if the ledge reached all the way to the next window.
As the different dangers and possibilities flew through his mind, he considered turning back, but he had already come this far. He focused on moving one step at a time toward his destination.
Progress was slow. He crept along the ledge, bombarded by strong winds carrying the smell of exhaust fumes and a million noises that echoed up from the ground below and indicated just how far he had to fall. Tires on gravel. Horns honking. People moving away from the hospital. He had learned to judge distances by sound, but at that moment, he wished that he could turn the ability off, like flipping a switch in his head.
His right hand hugged the wall to give him an anchor and a bearing, and now the hand felt an opening in the brick surface. A recess that he prayed contained the window of the next room.
As he turned the corner, a bird took flight from its perch beside the window and startled him.
He lost his balance, felt himself falling back. His arms wheeled as he struggled to regain his footing. Throwing his body weight forward, his left foot slipped from the ledge and into open air. But he managed to stumble into the recess, and his face struck against
the cool glass of the window.
His heart blasted out an unhealthy allegro rhythm as he took a second to get his bearings and calm down. He had made it. He was safe.
Keeping one hand against the window for balance, he stooped down and pounded on the glass. He strained to hear any movement inside the room, but he detected none. He pounded again, with more force this time. Still nothing. The room was empty, and he was trapped.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Pike thoroughly checked everywhere in the hospital room—the closet, bathroom, under the bed. Many of Munroe’s things remained, but no Munroe. The blind man couldn’t have just left with the guard stationed out front, and if he had, the guard wouldn’t have remained at his post. Unless it was a decoy of some kind. Or perhaps Munroe had seen that the guard was unconscious and left the room?
He cursed and slammed his hand down on the bedrail.
Deciding to search the hallways, he moved toward the door, but then he heard something. A whistling sound. Wind. The window was open, just a crack. He checked it and found that the frame would open just enough for someone to climb out, but surely the blind man hadn’t gone out the window. Then again, Munroe had proven his resourcefulness in the past, and Pike had no intentions of underestimating him again.
Pike opened the window further and leaned out. Then he heard another sound. A knocking. Someone pounding on the window of the next room down.
He had to smile. Munroe had balls, and as a former Spec Ops soldier, Pike admired that bravery. Plus, this could work out just as well for him.
He moved back into the hall to the neighboring room, closed the door behind him, and locked it. He could still hear Munroe pounding frantically on the glass. Opening the window just a crack and acting surprised, he told Munroe to step back and that he’d help him inside. Remembering at the last second that he wore black leather gloves, Pike ripped them off before offering his hand to Munroe and pulling him into the room.
“What were you doing out there?” Pike said, playing the part of a patient or member of the hospital staff.
Munroe gulped in greedy lungfuls of air and leaned over a table that sat beneath the television on the room’s far side. “You saved me, friend. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t showed up. Listen, I need you to call hospital security. Someone’s after me.”
Pike pulled a second injector from his leather jacket and stepped toward Munroe. He visualized the attack. Munroe had his back to him. Grasp the forehead with the left hand, pull back the head, needle goes into the neck on the right side, and then lights out. Simple.
“Don’t worry,” Pike said as he continued forward. “We’ll get help and sort this whole thing out.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
When the man had first helped him inside, Munroe could think only of being safe and free from the ledge, but when he heard the stranger move, he knew something was wrong. Whenever a person moved, they made distinct sounds based on the intricacies of their individual body and the clothes they wore. Most people never detected the subtle tones, but those tiny details built the world in which Munroe lived.
And this man’s details didn’t match up.
A hospital patient would have been barefoot or in socks or slippers, and a staff member would have worn comfortable tennis shoes, but Munroe could hear this stranger’s heavy combat boots. Particular fabrics made distinctive sounds. A hospital gown or scrubs made from light materials would cover a patient or nurse, but when the stranger moved, Munroe heard the telltale creak of a leather jacket.
He supposed his savior could be a visitor that just happened to have been walking past and heard his knocking, but something in the man’s demeanor and the facts of the situation told him that wasn’t the case. No help would come. If he was going to escape the hospital, he would have to do it himself.
Trying not to betray his movements, Munroe’s hand snaked inside his jacket and grasped the item that Annabelle had smuggled into the hospital at his request. Tobi Savoy had provided him with a box of the wonderful little devices, and they had saved him once already.
He heard the stranger move closer. Perhaps the man planned to sedate him in the same manner in which he had done to the agent in the hall. Munroe didn’t plan to wait and find out.
He laid the flashbang grenade on the table and pressed a button to activate it. Different than the standard M84 stun grenade, this prototype device possessed a programmable timer, a more concealable shape and size, and a myriad of other bells and whistles. Munroe suspected, however, that it would never see actual combat. This type of grenade was too expensive for wide-spread military usage, especially considering its fire and forget purpose.
He counted to two, and then he jumped away from the table in the direction of the door. His hands cupped his ears tightly, and he bent forward while opening his mouth slightly to help absorb the coming shockwave. The stranger would have no time for such reactions.
Even with his hands over his ears, the magnesium-based pyrotechnic charge deafened him when it went off. The stranger screamed and cursed and knocked over chairs and other objects in the room as he stumbled about.
The air smelled like burning metal. Munroe’s head throbbed from the concussion wave. He could barely hear the stranger’s thrashing over the ringing in his own ears, but he knew the effect was already wearing off.
Munroe groped for the door, found the handle, and pushed. But it was locked. He searched for the locking mechanism and then stumbled into the hall, not caring what or who he ran into as he did so.
He found the far wall and, using it as his shoreline, moved away from the attacker as fast as he could. Running footsteps and concerned voices echoed up and down the hall as the hospital staff scrambled to determine what had just happened.
Someone grabbed him and said, “Are you okay?” A female voice, young, likely a nurse.
“I was in protective custody down the hall and was just attacked by a professional killer. I need you to get me out of here. Call the police.”
“Okay, sir, stay calm. Come with me.”
The nurse guided him farther down the maze of halls, away from the room in which he had left the killer. He couldn’t discern what was happening around them because of the flood of sounds reverberating off the laminate floors.
Then a shrill scream cut through the rest of the noise. The distinctive pop of a gunshot followed.
“We need to get out of here now,” he said.
“We’re at the elevator.” He heard a rapid clicking as she tapped the call button. The whirring of motors and a pulley system emanated from ahead as the elevator rose toward them, but he could tell that it wasn’t close enough.
He heard the sound of running feet, but the pitch of the noise was different than before. This wasn’t the padded footfalls of hospital staff coming to help. This sound sprung from the hard treads of combat boots.
Another loud pop and a scream.
The pop originated from down the hall. The scream came from the mouth of the woman beside him.
He felt her falling back. Her fingers clawed at his shirt, seeking help, and she dragged him to the floor with her.
She tried to speak, but the words lacked the strength to carry them from her throat. He felt blood spatter on his face. He ran his hands over her body to find the wound, but all he could feel was the warm liquid that seemed to be coming from everywhere. The sweet metallic taste and smell of blood surrounded him.
He couldn’t help her. She was dying, and he was all alone in a world of darkness.
Where could he go? How could he escape this foreign place with a killer on his heels.
The elevator bell dinged as the doors behind him slid open.
He crawled toward the opening over the dead nurse’s body, the poor woman’s blood soaking through his clothes. His head throbbed. He felt dizzy and couldn’t breathe.
Finally
, he fell in a heap on the floor of the elevator and reached up to tap a staccato rhythm on the buttons of the elevator’s control panel. He didn’t care where it took him, just as long as it was away from here.
The pounding of the combat boots increased in intensity and grew closer.
Then the metallic scrape of the doors signified that they were sliding shut. Munroe could feel the change in pressure and sound as the two sides connected and sealed out the rest of the world.
A loud bang shook the doors as the killer slammed against them, but the stranger was too late. The elevator car began its descent, and Munroe ran his fingers over the braille plates below each button on the control panel until he found the one for the underground parking structure.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Annabelle had only been a few blocks from the hospital on her way to pick up Munroe when she received his frantic phone call. She found him hiding in the parking garage. He looked like the living dead, white from fear and adrenaline and covered in blood. He immediately called their supervisor, Jack Fuller, and told him about the attacks. Fuller wanted them to come in, but Munroe refused. All he requested from Fuller was to put Makayla and Chloe into protective custody, and then he hung up on his superior.
“We should listen to Jack and come in,” Annabelle said. “You have friends in the FBI and other agencies that would let us use a safe house. Or hell we could just find a cheap motel and hide out there until all this dies down.”
“Have you heard anything from Black?” he said.
“He called me right after he called to warn you. I sent Joey down to pick them up.”
“Good. You were right about finding a place to lay low, but we’re not going to hide there. I’m not running or hiding. We’re going to regroup and plan out how to strike back.”