I walked down the heavily secured corridor leading up to the landing pad. Once outside, I felt the chill of the bitter snowstorm that had been brewing since Friday. The icy flakes blew against my exposed skin. I cupped my hands around my mouth and blew warm breath into them. Between the cold and the air from the spinning rotor, my warm breath was useless. I turned my back against the wind until the helicopter lifted off and I heard footsteps approaching.
I was eager to turn back, but something in me was nervous. Could this kid really give me the answers I need? After all, he was connected to Dr. Oliver Thomas himself.
I inhaled deeply and turned, noticing immediately that something seemed off. It could’ve been the way four uniformed soldiers were escorting Mr. Wilson as if he was a flight risk. Or it could’ve been the aura he gave off. As they walked toward me, the four soldiers were hunched over, defensively fighting off the same bitter breeze that surrounded me. But Mr. Wilson was walking upright, seemingly unbothered by the icy air swirling around us.
For a moment it made him appear angelic, even immune to nature’s angry weapons as he so impressively rose above them.
Actually, impressive was the wrong word. He was mesmerizing, giving off a sense that no education in the world could help me save the patients inside, but that strangely . . . he could. And he was there to meet with me. My insides swelled with curiosity.
I fought the cold wind and advanced toward them.
“Gentlemen!”
“Doctor.”
Three soldiers, along with Staff Sergeant John Peirce stopped just short of running into me.
“Shall we go?” I questioned, hoping for a return to warmth.
“Certainly.” It was then that I noticed Peirce had hold of Mr. Wilson’s elbow.
Without giving the gesture further thought, I turned and hastily made my way indoors.
Once we were all inside, I turned to greet my guest more formally. To my surprise, Wilson’s eyes were locked on me. I almost had the urge to look away as an unknown feeling of guilt crept through me. I couldn’t grasp the source, because I was the one called from the warmth of my home to meet him at this hour.
Blinking away possible answers to the whens and whys, I extended my hand.
“Mr. Wilson. I’m Dr. Carter, head physician on board here. It’s nice of you to visit.”
His brows rose while his gaze traveled to my outstretched hand. He appeared completely confused by my greeting and even hesitant to shake my hand.
After a pause, he looked down to his own hand, which was covered in heavy-duty specialty gloves as if he had just finished climbing Mount Everest.
Shaking hands with such a thick glove would have been awkward, so I was relieved when he decided to take it off, even if it was more slowly than I appreciated. Locking palms, his handshake was firm and warm. Very warm, and with my cold hands, I became jealous.
“Weston,” he said.
Fighting distracting thoughts of where I could get a pair of those gloves, I stood mute for a few seconds before realizing he was waiting for a response. “Excuse me?” I asked, feeling like I’d missed a question.
“You can call me Weston,” he repeated, pulling back his hand.
“Certainly. Weston. Well, I’m glad to finally meet with you and hear about your discoveries.”
With a slight narrowing of his eyes, he nodded.
“Please. Let’s meet in my office.”
I opened my palm toward the direction of my study, and once again, the group of five traveled huddled together. Sergeant Pierce’s hand was still on Weston’s arm.
Following them allowed me more time to digest my feelings. On one hand, I felt as if I were meeting a celebrity. He was the flesh and blood of Dr. Thomas andcurrent owner of the California Blood Research Lab. He could have the answers we needed. The answer to a huge breakthrough for the United States military. This was well worth meeting at this hour, but beneath a very shallow surface was the feeling that I was the only one actually looking forward to this.
When we reached my study, Sergeant Pierce turned and informed me in a near whisper that he’d need to come in with us.
“Why?” I asked, confused that the sergeant would want to listen in on a medical discussion.
“It’s the sergeant major’s orders.”
“Orders?”
“Those are my instructions. You’re more than welcome to call him.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I didn’t anticipate getting into anything heavy at such a late hour anyway, and if we did, it would go right over Sergeant Pierce’s head. “Alright. Let’s begin.”
I held the door open and watched as Sergeant Pierce tried to squeeze through the door, still beside Weston.
“Would you like something to drink?” I offered, before heading to my desk.
Weston nearly laughed and shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
Between him not wanting to shake my hand and his aloofness, I was beginning to need a cup of coffee.
Pulling my gaze away from the empty pot on my mini bar, I refocused and attempted more hospitality. “Mr. Wilson. I’m sorry, I mean Weston, I want to thank you for this opportunity.”
Another muffled sound.
Studying him closely and fighting the thick air between us, I cut right to it. “Look, I’m a little confused as to the timing of your visit.”
Taking a long pause, he gathered his breath and leaned forward. “Dr. Carter, I’m afraid I don’t know why I’m here at this hour either.”
I jerked my head back and bounced my gaze from him to Sergeant Pierce, waiting for some clarification.
Sergeant Pierce cleared his throat. “Alright. It’s late and I think Mr. Wilson needs rest. Tomorrow would probably be a more appropriate time to meet with him. After all, he’s just flown in.”
Although Weston said nothing, he shook his head slightly as if he could not believe we had the audacity to wake him at this hour. Needless to say, this was not how I imagined our first encounter.
“Certainly. That is probably best.” I turned my attention to Weston. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?”
“It appears so,” he answered.
“Good then. Where are you staying? Would you like a ride?”
Before he could reply, Sergeant Pierce spoke up, “Mr. Wilson is staying here tonight.”
“Here?” I countered quickly.
“Yes. Here. Orders again.”
“But it’s a hospital.”
“It also has a top secret facility that no one has access to. He needs to stay here until he’s permitted to leave.”
Something about the way he said permitted rubbed me the wrong way, but he was right. No one was allowed on this level without special clearance. Not even family members of the patients. It only seemed natural that they not allow Mr. Wilson to come and go freely.
“Do you need me to find a room?” I offered.
Sergeant Pierce answered again. “Negative. One has already been set aside.”
Following that, he motioned for Weston to follow him without as much as a goodnight.
With the last of my time wasted, I returned home for the night, suddenly not wanting to hear anything Mr. Wilson had to offer. That was my emotions talking, because in reality, I yearned to know everything hidden inside that mind of his.
The following morning I called the sergeant major. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Sergeant Major, Dr. Carter here.”
“Yes. What can I do for you this morning, Doctor?”
“Well actually, Sir, I was hoping you could fill me in on Mr. Wilson’s visit. I was called to meet him last night, but frankly it was a waste of my time. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do with him today.”
He nearly laughed. “Doctor, you’ll get the information you need.”
The way he said “get” made me wonder exactly what my role was. As far as I knew, my job was to find, discover, learn, hypothesize, solve, create . . .
Those were familiar words. “Get” was new to me, but I wasn’t about to argue with the sergeant major.
“Alright, Sir, but in order for me to get the information we need, can you tell me exactly why Mr. Wilson is here?” I prodded.
“He’s here to give you whatever you need to advance your research, so do your job and get it. The lives of many loyal men depend on it.”
With that he hung up, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
As I arrived at the hospital, another helicopter was touching down. I sighed, remembering the day ahead. The intel I’d received on Friday was that more patients would be arriving this week. How could I tend to them and meet with Mr. Wilson at the same time?
The idea was giving me a migraine and I strongly hoped that my assistant, Larry, would have coffee ready, and to my satisfaction, he did. The calming aroma met me as soon as I approached the office door.
“Dr. Carter?” Larry greeted me hesitantly outside the entrance.
“Yes?”
“Sergeant Pierce, Sir.”
“In my office?”
He nodded. Unbelievable.
I walked in, greeted again by the three men who had flanked Mr. Wilson last night. Feeling encroached upon, I really wanted to speak about it but decided to look around for Mr. Wilson first. After coming up empty on a complete scan of my office, my gaze settled on John.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
He stepped forward, squaring himself to me, still wearing his stealth fatigues. All of them were, and it made me wonder what sort of special ops mission they were on. Certainly standing, unwelcome in my office, didn’t qualify.
“Dr. Carter, I’m going to get straight to the point, since we don’t have much time. The kid was brought here upon our request. Not his. He would prefer not to be here, but our superiors have convinced him otherwise.”
“Convinced him otherwise how?”
“Let’s just say the government has decided not to fund this ‘research’ grant much longer. They want answers and are convinced Mr. Wilson’s lab has them.”
My stomach twisted, understanding the attire, the confusion last night, the way I handled the situation.
“You mean to tell me he is here against his will?”
“That’s not your area of concern. Your task is to find the remedy. And you have two days to get it from him. Tops. Understood?”
“What happens after two days?”
“We can’t keep him longer than that. He has agreed to talk to you so use the time you have wisely. Don’t blow it.”
Don’t blow it? What is wrong with these people? “What makes you think he is going to share anything with us now?”
“Just get what you need, Doctor.”
They all filed toward the door.
“Well, where is he?” I called after.
“He’s in the debriefing room.”
Chapter 3
THE SHARP EDGE OF PATIENCE
I was lying on Wes’ couch with my eyes closed when my phone rang, causing me to jump and nearly drop it.
“Hello?” I answered eagerly.
“Hello Ms. Slone. This is Dr. Lyon.”
My one and only ally. The doctor who worked at Wes’ medical lab. The one who, according to Wes, Dr. Thomas had entrusted with caring for things after his death. I had no idea if I could trust this man, but something he had said made me believe he knew Wes’ real identity and also wanted him home nearly as much as I did.
I sat up and cleared my throat. “Yes?”
“I don’t have much yet, but wanted to let you know that I did make contact.”
“You did? With who?”
“With Tim Walters.”
Agh. I winced at hearing the name. The guy who was my attempted murderer’s grandson. The one who’d used Danny and Chase to get to me. The one who surely hates me.
“And?” I shot back a little too quickly.
“He’s not giving up much.”
“Well, what does that mean?”
“It means he’s not cooperating, but we were able to determine that he’s hiding something and that means we’re very confident that the secret ops group, Unit 86, has Wes, but we don’t have a location. We’ve made a call to someone we believe is connected to them.”
“And.”
He was quiet for a moment. “And they’re denying it.”
“Dr. Lyon. I think I should call the police.”
Nearly cutting me off, “I wouldn’t do that. Not yet.”
I was getting impatient and confused as to whether to listen to Wes or Dr. Lyon. Forty-eight hours had passed and, as Wes had told me, I could call the police.
“Please, Dr. Lyon, you don’t know anything for sure, and if Tim is not telling you anything, how can you be—”
“Ms. Slone. Please. Give it one more day.”
“Why?” I half pleaded, half demanded.
“Because the gentleman I spoke with from Unit 86 assured me that he’d call with any information if he came across it.”
“So?”
“So, he wouldn’t offer any help if they didn’t have him. They’re stalling and that’s their way of buying time before they turn him over.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“One more day, Ms. Slone. If we make a media headline out of it now, any deal they’re planning to make will disappear. They’re now aware that we know where he is and they’re accountable. Give them time to come up with a solution.”
I wasn’t sure of anything when it came to secret operation recovery missions. I was clueless, alone, and afraid.
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Just wait.”
That was the last thing I wanted. “And what about you? What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to talk to Tim again and let him know we made contact with Unit 86 and see if he starts talking. Then we’ll call the Unit again to follow up. At that time, if they don’t give Wes back, safe and unharmed, we’ll threaten to expose their whole operation.”
“This is killing me. Wes said forty-eight hours.”
“Give us one more day. We’re close. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we are. They won’t harm him.”
The rest of the call was a blur. My mind was twirling and my heart was hurting. I just wanted it to end.
Without an ounce of energy to think or move, I let myself fall back on the couch and pulled a throw pillow to my chest. Like a baby, I curled up and cried, again.
After lying around for the afternoon, I decided that I’d had enough tearful episodes for one lifetime. Then it hit me, this is my lifetime, and I don’t know how long it’s going to last. Six months ago, I had no worries. At least not any real ones.
Before, I’d considered moving too many times as an actual hardship. Now, I knew what it felt like to have something perfect, only to fear losing it every minute of every day.
The more I thought about what I had gained by knowing Wes, the more angry I got at Andy and Tim for their selfish, misguided plans to bring someone down for their own gain.
How dare they?
I sat up and wiped my face and began to think about what needed to be done. Chase knew something, but was too much of a coward to say anything. What had happened to his mojo? He had no problem intimidating me and beating that guy at the fight club to a pulp. Even if he was on some sort of cold-blood drug concoction, his instincts were still there. He was fearless and had no problem picking fights before. So why couldn’t he channel that energy at the real bad guys? Ugh, I wished so badly that he would wise up and help me.
Even though I hoped for that, I didn’t count on it. That meant I needed to come up with my own plan. This Tim person wasn’t talking to Dr. Lyon, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get him to talk.
Surely, he hated my guts and no doubt blamed me for his grandfather Andy’s death, but like Andy, he needed me. He wanted to be like Wes, and if I could convince him that I’d give him that, then maybe, just maybe he’d help m
e and not those military people.
A feeling of purpose started to build within me. It’s not that I didn’t feel worth before, it’s just that when you watch a helicopter come down and scoop up your loved one, you feel pretty useless. But now, I felt like I could actually play a role in getting him back.
Who else could get close enough to Tim and actually ruffle his feathers? Sure, the whole idea was dangerous and even insane, and Wes would probably FREAK if he thought for a second that I would go and confront Andy’s grandson, but I saw no choice.
The longer I thought about it, the more courage I built up. I could do it. Find out where he is, talk to him, promise him what he wants in return for making sure Wes comes home. What could he do to me? I doubted he would kill me on the spot.
It was decided. I perked up a little and began making my plans. As I forced my brain into overdrive, a headache began to brew. Then, my stomach growled and for the first time since Wes was taken, I wanted to eat.
I went into the kitchen and everything reminded me of him. Yes, it was his house, but the kitchen conjured up the strongest memories. So many times I’d watched him walk around this room making something as simple as a sandwich, with chopped veggies on the side. I used to roll my eyes at his health kicks, but now, I only wished to hug him from behind while he chopped away. I’d even eat the broccoli.
I stood there, looking at the cherry cabinets and black countertops. It was so clean and uncluttered. It almost didn’t look lived in, and staring at it in its emptiness made it feel so cold. I was so used to Wes, always dressed warmly, and always giving me that perfect half smile. His presence alone heated up the space.
Trying to keep it together, I fixed myself a sandwich and lemonade, eating it by myself in the dining room. The same room where Wes had first told me his secret.
I was alone, but felt whole somehow. As if everything we’d gone through boiled down to this moment. This place and time, where I decided not to let fate win. The first time I had been in this room was on the tour of the house. I had noticed that huge painting hanging on the wall. Vibrant, in every color imaginable, depicting the image of a couple with outstretched arms. When I first saw it, I tried to decide whether the arms were reaching for each other or being pulled apart.
The Iron Quill Page 2