Clara looked away from her little shining star for a moment, looking back to Sam. Behind his light smile, concern was lurking. There must have been so much he hadn’t yet told her about what happened that morning. Clara had questions of her own. But she was okay with enjoying the moment.
“Ohhh, I see you’ve got some visitors.” It was the high and sing-songy voice of a nurse. She walked in holding a clipboard, tapping a pen against it and saying, “We were hoping someone would come around and claim you.”
“Yeah,” Clara said, clearing her throat again. “Lost and found, huh?”
“That’s correct, Jane Doe Number Forty.”
Gosh . . . Had there really been forty unidentified victims? Just at this hospital alone?
The nurse scratched something out at the top of her clipboard and said, “I mean, Clara Miles.” And then she wrote something else in its place.
Sam had been smiling down at Clara the whole time. “And just like that,” he said. “Back from dead.”
15
Sam
It was nice to see Molly in better spirits. She had gone from struggling to comprehend what had happened, to probably just wondering—as she swam laps in the pool—how long Mommy would be sick for. From biological terror attack, to the common flu. It amazed Sam to see how mentally rugged children could be. How they could shrug things off with so little effort, a sleepwalk compared to the neuroticisms which came with maturity.
Before leaving the Grand Marais, Sam swung by the pool one last time to give Bren a key card to a room of her and Molly’s own. A seventeenth-floor double-queen suite—with what he’d presumed would be a sorely needed mini bar. More snacks for Molly, and perhaps some liquid stress relief for good ol’ Bren. Sam had come to like her very much, and was consistently amazed at not only how good of a friend she’d been to Clara, but how authentically bonded she and Molly were. Without Bren—and with Molly’s grandparents all the way in Chicago—it was hard to imagine how the little girl would have gotten through it. Her “sitter” was certainly well worth the hundred dollars, although Bren deserved a heck of a raise today, on top of however many extra nights she’d like to stay at the luxury hotel and however many bottles of Dom Perignon she’d like to polish off while there.
The hotel was also a quick drive from the hospital. Sam had raced back, hoping to catch another window of consciousness from Clara. She had been drifting in and out all day, partly from the fatigue of her body waging war against the virus, and partly from the medication she’d been receiving ’round the clock. But it was good that she was sleeping. He was glad she was resting. Short little naps were a lot better than one long, final one.
Though it would be nice to see her once more before visiting hours ended for the day, it would be even nicer to have some alone time, or as alone as one could get in a heavily monitored care unit in the hospital. There would be opportunities for other types of alone time, in other, more private settings, and in more comfortable beds. Once she was feeling better, the possibilities were endless.
This was only the start, a rocky one, but a start to those big changes he’d been waiting for all his life. A reason to get out of the ruts of academia, the bog of Washington. Although he’d enjoyed working for Jackson, D.C. was really a nasty, despicable place.
New Orleans, on the other hand, was nasty in an entirely different way. An authentic, even fun way. And although it had its downsides, its rough and dangerous edges, at least New Orleans never lied about itself. He thought about his new town while standing in the hospital elevator, wondering about the possibility of his staying on a more permanent basis.
It would be mostly done for Clara and Molly. He couldn’t kid himself about that. But he had already established a little social group in New Orleans. His good friend Dave was here. He’d potentially made another good friend in Bren. And he’d also potentially joined a family with Clara and Molly.
Sam thought about that word, family, as he stepped off the elevator. It was a big jump, and probably presuming a little too much about his and Clara’s relationship. But this event with the attack seemed to have sped things up in his mind. In his heart, too. And now, with Clara recovering so speedily, maybe they could ride the wave of momentum. They had been riding it a little recklessly, perhaps. But after the attack, where lives could have been lost, and possibilities snuffed out prematurely, he was willing to take some risks.
“You really sure I can’t go in there?”
The nurse had physically stationed herself between him and the door. “Yes, Mr. Hyde. I’m very sure.”
“She’s sleeping?”
“Quite peacefully, as long as there’s no more visitors.”
“And she’s still doing well?”
The nurse smiled, still not moving an inch from the door. “As long as she gets her rest, yes. Hours open up again tomorrow at nine a.m.”
Damn. It would be a long night. Sam backed away from the door and from the professionally stubborn nurse. “You sure I can’t spend the night outside her room?”
“In the hallway?”
“On a chair,” he said, as if it was a normal, dignified request. “Just in case she wakes up.”
“Well, that’s why we’re here,” the nurse said with a smile. “In case she wakes up.”
There was pause, and then a smirk formed across her lips. “Okay. What can I do to convince you that she’s in good hands?”
“Oh, I know she’s in good hands.”
The truth of it, that little irrational truth in the back of his mind, was his concern that whoever had done this to Clara would somehow return to finish the job. It was utterly illogical, another example of his prior overly-logical brain somehow corroding with syrupy, nonsensical emotions. But he was sure he’d seen Kurt. The fuzzy image wouldn’t leave his mind.
‘“If you’d like to stay overnight in the hospital,” she said. “There are chairs downstairs in the ER triage . . .”
He could well imagine those hard plastic scoop-chairs, the horror of having to spend an entire night in one of them. He had done that before back in D.C. Those damn hard chairs were all the same everywhere. And they were also ten floors away from Clara.
“We could also put you in the psyche ward on a 5150 hold, if you feel there’s a pressing need for it.”
Sam quickly decided that he might have to settle for a night in the memory foam opulence of his five-star suite in the Grand Marais. How dreadful.
On his way back down in the elevator, he wondered if he should stop in one last time to see Bren and Molly. He’d felt, somehow, that they were now his responsibility. But would they even be okay with that?
And then he thought of Kurt, wherever he was, creeping around somewhere in the darkened streets of New Orleans.
Sam checked the time. It was late enough for Bren and Molly to be safely passed out behind a sturdy, locked door. Molly’s swimming should have guaranteed an early bedtime. That plus her emotional crashes, and subsequent sugar crash, plus Bren’s mini-bar excursion.
He might have to get a drink, himself. It had been a truly torturous day. Easily one of his worst. Sam was used to high-stakes danger, but none of it had ever directly concerned his family—or whatever label he’d have to figure out to use for Clara and Molly.
When his elevator opened on the main floor, he was shocked to see another member of his family staring back at him. His Washington family.
Jasper grinned. “Going up or down?”
Sam leapt off the elevator to shake his hand, and then pulled him in for big a hug.
“Whoa,” Jasper said in a clumsy, mannish giggle. “Okay, a hug.”
Sam slapped him hard on the back a few times, and then pulled away and said, “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Warn you?”
“I could have set something up for you guys, if I knew.”
“Well, it’s just me,” Jasper said. “And I already set up my hotel. Not much else to it.”
“I meant, set up a plan of actio
n.” Sam looked over Jasper’s clothing. He was dressed neat casual. Nothing special or tactical or DARC-ish, just the jeans and sweater of a dude flying direct from Washington to New Orleans. “There’s a lot to do,” Sam said. “And I mean, a lot.”
“Alright, well, let’s just relax first.”
“We’re probably not sleeping tonight.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Jasper, we’ve got to—”
“Hold up.” Jasper was staring into his eyes, inspecting him. “Just hold up. Are you okay?”
“What?”
“I know you’re probably riding some real crazy emotions right now.”
“So?”
“Have you eaten anything all day?”
It surprised Sam how hard it was to remember. Had he?
“You didn’t,” Jasper said, patting his shoulder and directing him to start walking down the hall. “So, that’s step one. Food.”
“Alright,” Sam said quietly, still trying to think back. How could he not have eaten anything?
“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” Jasper said. “If you want to take care of anyone else. That’s the first thing I learned.”
Sam nodded, listening to the medic.
“Let’s get some Jell-O.”
“Jell-O?” Now Sam wasn’t willing to listen so intently.
“We’re in a hospital, aren’t we?”
“So? Just because we’re in a hospital doesn’t mean we need to eat like we’re actually in a fucking hospital.”
“Trust me,” Jasper said. “I’ve worked in a lot of hospitals. Hospital Jell-O is the best you can get.”
Sam was still under the impression that all gelatin was the same, that it was equally weird and gross everywhere. But he was too tired to put up a fight.
The kitchen was closed, but the cafeteria still had cold menu options lined up in little plastic trays. At the end of the line was a sleepy-looking kid at a cash register.
“On me,” Jasper said, buying two plastics trays of jiggling red Jell-O.
“So this is your idea of nourishment?” Sam said. “Boiled horse hooves and red dye number forty?”
“It’s for the sugar, mainly. Look at you, you’re ready to collapse.”
They sat a small table with fixed stools, cracking their trays open together.
“A pitcher of beer has sugar in it,” Sam said.
“They don’t serve beer here. Bon appétit.”
Sam stared at the shining, glass-like substance. He touched it with his fork and it and it kept wobbling like a perpetual-motion device. “So, Jackson sent you check up on me?”
“No,” Jasper said. “He was sending Tansy for that.”
Now that was interesting.
Tansy and Jackson didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. They were the kind of friends who’d die for each other, and yet through the years, there had also been some bristling between them. Maybe that was why Jackson preferred to send Tansy out on these types of internal bounty-hunting missions. Good cop/bad cop.
“So how is she doing?” Jasper asked, his voice finally matching the somber atmosphere of the hospital. It seemed like once he’d had his Jell-O, he was ready to get down to business.
“Clara’s recovering really well. She might even get out tomorrow. Feel free to tell me what the hell happened, by the way.”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Jasper said.
“I can’t. I was too much in the thick of it. Too close to see what was even going on.”
“And you had Clara to worry about.”
Sam gave him a glance, wanting to check how his face looked when he’d said it. But Jasper was just busy eating his dessert. “So tell me about it. What do you know?”
“I know they’ve got two suspects in custody.”
Now that was huge news. He’d been trying to catch the news reports where he could, but even on there they hadn’t released this type of immediate, insider information. In fact, they had kept everyone in the dark more than usual. It was partly why Sam felt so nervous about it.
“A third suspect was shot trying to hijack a car on Edson Street. They caught the other two guys at an abandoned house in the lower Ninth Ward. If you don’t remember, that’s where Katrina made a lot of abandoned houses.”
“I thought they knocked them all down.”
Jasper looked amused. “How long have you been out here?”
“I dunno,” Sam said with a shrug. “A few weeks.”
“You haven’t gone out too far from the French Quarter, huh?”
“No.”
“You’ve spent so much time here, wanting to stay here, I thought you would actually know the place.”
“I know the place.”
“You know what you want to know.”
“Jasper, we have some real serious problems here.”
Jasper took another bite and said, “I know.”
“I’m talking about the terrorist attack. I’m not interested in a social-cultural lecture about—”
“Alright, alright. Just keep eating your Jell-O. You’ve barely touched it.”
Sam looked down at it. It was still wiggling.
“Go ahead,” Jasper said, “for your blood sugar.”
Sam popped a chunk of Jell-O in his mouth, breaking it up into two pieces against the roof his mouth and then swallowing them down whole. It wasn’t actually that bad. “So tell me about these guys. These suspects.”
“Two Somalian immigrants.”
“Oh,” Sam said, “the media’s gonna love that.”
“Yeah, just your typical, cookie-cutter terrorist. Young, uneducated, fanatical.”
“Educated in biological weapons?”
“No. Not even close.”
“So how’d they get it? And what are we even talking about? Sarin? Ricin?”
“They’re not sure yet. All we know is that it’s a form of chlorine. It’s actually not even that harmful. The FBI is still running tests, but, given their initial findings, and the fact that no one died today, I think it’s safe to say that this biological attack was a dud.”
It didn’t feel like a dud to Sam. Or, as he imagined, to Clara. She had lost consciousness for five hours, running an insanely high fever. She was lucky there was no brain damage.
Jasper cleared his throat. “When I say dud, I mean . . .”
“I know what you mean.”
“And I mean it with all due respect. I’m sure your friend went through hell in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Her daughter, too.”
“And you,” Jasper said, looking down at his bowl and taking another bite.
Sam didn’t feel like getting into it about Clara. He took a bite of his own and silently squished it in his mouth.
“So, I’m here to help you,” Jasper said. “First to make sure you’re healthy. Clara, too. I’ll want to see her for sure. And I’ll also be working on some sampling tomorrow with the bio unit.”
“Jasper, you can say it.”
“Say what?”
“Jackson wants you to bring me back. I know he does.”
Jasper finished his dish, pushing the tray away and sighing heavily as if savoring the sweet gelatinous taste. “Jackson . . . is . . . concerned. I’ll say that.”
“Okay.”
“He just wants to be involved in any decision-making you’ll be doing.”
“Of course,” Sam said. “He can be involved up to a point. But I also have a personal life.”
“Of course.”
“When I joined with you guys, I never knew it was a bleed-in, bleed-out scenario.”
Jasper laughed. “It feels like that, huh?”
“And some of us actually have bled out.”
“Yeah,” Jasper said. “Matthias mostly, but even he’s still sticking around.”
“Jasper, I’m sticking around.”
“Okay.”
Sam stared at him. “Okay?”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
&nb
sp; They sat in silence for moment, Sam getting a little sick of the red stuff. He pushed it out of the way, the tray sliding up against the other.
“So where do we go from here?” Sam asked.
“I’m taking you out for dinner.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “This wasn’t dinner?”
“And then you should probably get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“I’m coming straight back.”
“After you visit the Feds with me. Jackson convinced the guys to have you sit in on the interview.”
“With the two Somalis?”
Jasper nodded. “They’re claiming that they’re innocent.”
A mental image flipped through Sam’s head, the sight of Kurt walking amongst the bodies.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Jasper asked. “An interview?”
Sam had initially wanted to interview the bikers, partly to help establish the scope of his case, his follow-up, a slow retreat back to Washington. But since that morning, he hadn’t even thought about it once. He should’ve been careful what he wished for. Sam was looking for a convenient excuse to stay in the south for as long as he could. And now he had it.
“I know you don’t speak Somali, but . . .”
“That’s doesn’t matter. The language of deception is the same.” He pointed at his gelatin, the half-eaten mound of it. “You want to finish that?”
Jasper, who had already been staring at the available Jell-O, smiled and shrugged. And then looked sort of meek. “Yeah.”
16
Sam
One at a time, Sam watched the two Somali men squirming around in their fixed wooden chairs on a closed-circuit TV monitor. That’s how they would start, leaving the suspects alone for the first hour in a tactically cold and bare interrogation cell. That was the first step in weakening their minds and breaking their will, disorienting their sense of time while emphasizing their vulnerability. Their complete lack of control of any of their new stimuli, of anything in their situation. It was to also emphasize their disadvantage facing the entire unimaginably gigantic force of the FBI, and the futility in fighting against it.
Dark Threat - A DARC Ops Christmas Novel Page 10