Evelyn spoke slowly. ‘‘We won’t know until the doctor can assess his internal injuries. If that assessment goes well, then our biggest concern is the concussion and the potential brain damage. He should be out of surgery soon. If he wakes up within a few hours . . . then that’s a good sign. But the longer he remains unconscious . . .’’
Lisa choked back her tears and sat back in her seat.
‘‘Ms. Hazelton, why don’t you come on back and I’ll have the attending take a look at your injuries,’’ Evelyn said.
Slowly and carefully, Lisa rose to her feet. She didn’t follow Evelyn, however, just crossed the lobby to a restroom on wobbly legs and found an empty stall.
Stepping inside, Lisa locked the door behind her.
She turned around and threw up.
‘‘The General is not available at this time, sir.’’
‘‘General?’’ Grant said, then moved the phone’s receiver away from his mouth. ‘‘He’s a general?’’
Julie shrugged but watched with tremendous interest.
‘‘Perhaps you could tell the General that the son of Frank Boyd, his best friend, would very much like to talk with him.’’
A pause. ‘‘Hold, please, sir.’’
Grant smirked at his sister as he waited. She rose from the sofa and opened the window blinds. They were high enough that she could see the sun struggling to cut through the morning’s haze over the sprawl of the L.A. valley.
There was a knock at the apartment door. Grant and Julie eyed one another quizzically; no one had ever visited them here before.
Julie opened the door.
‘‘Hannah!’’ Grant called out in surprise. ‘‘Um, come on in.’’
She slipped through the room, dropping a tiny purse on the kitchen counter and seating herself across from Grant in the living room without preamble.
‘‘Thought I’d pop by and see if you needed any help,’’ she said, flashing that gorgeous smile and crossing her legs. ‘‘Figured you’d be planning your big re-infiltration of Inveo Technologies about now.’’
Grant couldn’t form a coherent thought in response. He’d never in his life met anyone who flirted as casually as most people breathe.
‘‘How’d you know where we live?’’ Julie asked accusingly, still standing at the front door but now her arms were crossed.
‘‘I’m a thief, cupcake. And I know your names,’’ Hannah paused, tossing her long blond locks out of her face. ‘‘Work it out.’’
Julie opened her mouth, a sarcastic retort prepped and ready, but Grant waved a hand when the gentleman at the military base returned to the phone.
‘‘Sir, I’m sorry, but General Evers says he has no memory of a Frank Boyd.’’
‘‘That’s impossible,’’ Grant replied, his heart rate rising.
‘‘I’m sorry, sir.’’
‘‘Tell him,’’ Grant said, ‘‘he’s going to help me whether he wants to or not.’’ He hung up.
‘‘That probably wasn’t smart,’’ Julie said, warningly.
Grant placed the phone onto its cradle. ‘‘He’s stonewalling me,’’ his disappointed voice intoned.
‘‘Who is?’’ Hannah asked.
‘‘Evers. Harlan Evers. We found out who he is. You up for a little cloak-and-dagger?’’
She smiled. ‘‘Always.’’
27
Lisa rubbed her eyes, fighting fatigue. She was in the middle of filling out her fourth form of the morning—or was it afternoon now? or evening?— having been questioned by the police at length about the car wreck and then patched up by a P.A.
‘‘Dr. Cossick’s been taken down to Intensive Care,’’ Evelyn called out softly.
Lisa sprung from her seat and hurried to the counter where the admittance clerk stood. ‘‘Can I see him?’’
‘‘Follow me.’’
Evelyn led her down a long, white hall to the left, through a set of locked doors that buzzed before she could open them. Down another hall and inside a door to the right, they came upon eight neat rooms, cloistered about a busy nurses’ station. Evelyn led her inside the first one on the right, where a short, squat nurse stood fussing over a gurney.
Lisa’s hand flew up to cover her mouth and she felt weak in the knees. The tears came again, but she blinked them back.
‘‘This is Grace,’’ Evelyn said. ‘‘She’ll be watching over Dr. Cossick until he’s moved to his own room.’’ And with that, she swept silently back down the hall.
‘‘How is he?’’ Lisa stammered, carefully lowering herself into a chair beside the bed. ‘‘Will he make it?’’
Grace smiled. ‘‘He’s a fighter. Most folks in his state wouldn’t have made it down here at all.’’
Despite herself, Lisa let out a small, quick laugh. She wiped her eyes and looked at him again. If she hadn’t had assurance this was Daniel, she would never have known. There were bandages wrapped around his forehead and his entire face looked like one big, grayish-blue swollen egg. Casts had been applied to his left wrist and both lower legs. A cylindrical metal contraption with needle-like pins sticking out of it enclosed his right ankle. White tape was strapped all across his chest. And everywhere skin was visible, she saw discolorations and scabs.
It was so quiet here. She thought she detected the sound of rain outside, though there were no windows nearby to see out.
‘‘What’s that?’’ she said, pointing. Red stains were seeping through the tape over his chest.
The nurse frowned, knowing the answer would only upset Lisa more. ‘‘It’s okay, the blood’s dried. It’s from his incision. They had to explore to make sure everything was okay,’’ she said gently. ‘‘They were able to repair the lung, but I’m afraid they had to remove his spleen.’’
‘‘But he’s going to make it, right?’’
Grace looked back at Daniel and adjusted his breathing tube. ‘‘He’ll tell us the answer to that when he’s ready.’’
Rain soaked through Grant’s clothes in the night’s heavy darkness as his feet pounded the muddy earth and his concentration was focused on only one thing:
Keep going.
Have to keep going.
Grant had never run this hard in his life. Even trying to escape Konrad was nothing like this. He’d been running as fast as his leg would allow for fifteen minutes and even with his new and improved physique, he was nearing exhaustion. It was all he could do not to trip over his own feet.
He tasted dirt when he stumbled and landed face-first while rounding a corner. Staggering back up, he made his way around another building and stopped for a second, leaning over, gasping for air.
There he listened.
The dogs were still barking but it sounded like they’d stopped moving. Then he saw the glow of flashlights from around the corner, and he realized they were closing fast.
That got him moving again.
‘‘Hannah?’’ he whispered into his earpiece. ‘‘Need a little help here!’’
‘‘There!’’ a voice from behind shouted, and Grant ducked into a supply bunker. He heard his pursuer’s footfalls come and then go. He breathed a sigh of relief.
The door to the bunker was ratcheted open and his heart skipped a beat.
Hannah stood there, grinning. ‘‘Sent those boys an image of you runnin’ the other way. That’ll keep them for a bit. I think I found the headquarters building, but it ain’t gonna be easy to reach. You ready to let loose with the big whammy?’’
‘‘The only way I know to unleash it,’’ he replied, ‘‘is to panic. I don’t think I’ll have too hard a time with that tonight.’’
For an army base that bordered on dilapidated and was rumored to be in danger of closing down, its military police had proven surprisingly severe. The three that were chasing him had brought along two very angry-sounding attack dogs. Grant and Hannah had been forced to split up once inside the compound.
‘‘Here we go,’’ Hannah said, eagerly opening the door.
Rounding a corner, Hannah pointed out a three-story building about five hundred yards away.
A vivid white floodlight blinked into existence from somewhere high above, illuminating their movements like dancers on stage. They ducked around another building just as they heard shouts of ‘‘Hold it!’’
Grant yelped when a loud gunshot went off and chunks of the corner behind him chipped away.
‘‘Warnin’ shot!’’ Hannah shouted.
Which meant only one thing: he wouldn’t be so lucky next time.
Already his legs were weary again, but he poured on the speed, doing his best to keep up with Hannah, who barely seemed to be breaking a sweat.
Another gunshot was fired and he instinctively ducked. The action made him lose his balance and slip in the mud, toppling onto his back. Something hot and wet was running down his right arm, but there was no time to examine it; Hannah was already pulling him to his feet.
‘‘No time to rest, big boy,’’ she said.
I’ve been shot, he thought, struggling to stand. Again.
The headquarters building was only a few hundred meters away now, but more troops were pouring out upon them from all directions. Hannah dragged him further, though he felt like giving up. Their pursuers were close enough that he could hear the dogs breathing.
Have I lost my mind? Trying to storm a military base? I’m not Rambo.
Ahead, dozens of troops were massing in front of the headquarters building, forming a line they would never be able to cross. Still they didn’t stop running. More gunshots went off from behind as they approached the ranks of the soldiers ahead, all with automatic weapons trained on them . . .
‘‘DON’T MOVE!’’ one of them shouted. ‘‘Stop or be killed!!’’
‘‘You’re up,’’ Hannah remarked.
He thought of the building ahead, wondering which window might be Evers’ office . . .
Panic flooded his heart just as another shot went off and he let out a primal, terrified scream . . .
Blinding pain shot through his head . . .
He stumbled again . . .
When he opened his eyes, the soldiers had vanished.
No, they weren’t gone. They were slumped on the ground, backs against the headquarters building. Unconscious.
‘‘What happened?’’ he whispered.
‘‘I think ya swatted ’em,’’ Hannah replied.
A dozen more MPs appeared and surrounded them in a circle, fingers hair-triggered on their rifles. They were screaming at the intruders to get their hands up and get down on the ground.
‘‘That’ll do, boys,’’ said a new player, approaching from the front of the building. He was broad-shouldered and hard-nosed. Though he must’ve been in his midsixties, he looked as though he could eat a box of cigars for breakfast. ‘‘Return to your posts,’’ he barked.
The men lowered their weapons and turned away, some stopping to help the unconscious soldiers at the foot of the building.
‘‘You’re Frank’s boy?’’ Evers asked, throwing Grant a stern look.
‘‘I am.’’
‘‘You better be,’’ Evers growled. ‘‘Because if you’re not, then that means you stole that bracelet you’re wearing, and I’ll have to kill you myself.’’
Grant glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist.
‘‘You come with me,’’ Evers ordered. ‘‘Your girlfriend’ll have to wait out here.’’
‘‘She’s not—’’
‘‘It’s all right,’’ Hannah spoke up, and he got the distinct impression she’d interrupted what he was about to say on purpose. ‘‘Go on. I’ll be fine.’’
28
Evers led the way up two flights of stairs to his office. It was smaller than Grant would’ve thought and smelled stale.
‘‘Find a seat, if you can,’’ Evers said, rounding on his desk. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth spoke of his long years of service to his country. He had a gruff and menacing manner, but there was a look in his eyes that was almost . . . resigned.
Grant looked about and saw the problem. Files, papers, manuals, and other assorted trinkets were filling most of the spaces throughout the room.
‘‘D.C.’s putting me out to pasture as soon as they close us down here,’’ Evers muttered. ‘‘Assuming I make it till then.’’
What does that mean?
Grant moved aside a large stack of folders and sat in the chair they had been occupying. ‘‘So you recognize my granddad’s bracelet?’’
‘‘’Course. Your dad treasured it. I don’t remember Frank without it. It wasn’t military protocol of course, but he was the best at what he did, so I let him get away with it. His father had made it by hand during double-u double-u two.’’
‘‘So you were his superior officer?’’ Grant probed.
‘‘That’s right. For oh . . . about sixteen years or so. I considered him my protégé. I was grooming him to take my place one day, but that didn’t happen.’’
‘‘Did you know my mother too?’’
Evers nodded, his beady eyes trained calmly on Grant. ‘‘I was best man at their wedding. Your father was very laid-back; I didn’t think he was capable of getting nervous. He proved me wrong that day.’’
‘‘Were they colleagues? Was my mother in the Army, too? Is that how they met?’’
Evers studied him, a trace of a scowl on his lips. ‘‘Quit beating around the bush, Grant.’’ Grant’s eyes grew as Evers emphasized a name he’d never told him. ‘‘Yes, I know what’s happened to you, and I know you didn’t Battle-of-Normandy your way in here just to get a play-by-play on your parents’ courtship. Ask me what you came here for.’’
But Grant was too stunned to go forward just yet. ‘‘How do you know that name? How could you possibly know what’s happened to me?’’
‘‘It was my business at one time to keep tabs on these things. You can’t tell from looking around this place, but I’ve spent most of my life keeping secrets. Trust me when I say I’ve gotten good at it.’’
‘‘Tell me about Inveo Technologies.’’
Evers hesitated, visibly surprised. ‘‘Inveo is a dead end. That’s not what you really came here for.’’
Grant was undeterred. ‘‘Did you or did you not hire a man named Carl MacDugall at Inveo Technologies to research ways of enhancing the capabilities of the human body?’’
Evers sighed. ‘‘I did.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Did MacDugall bother telling you when I placed that order?’’
‘‘No . . . What difference does it make?’’
‘‘All the difference in the world, son. It was right about the same time your father tested your mental acuity.’’ Evers leaned forward. ‘‘You see, the bioengineering research at Inveo—I placed the order, yes. But it was done at your father’s request.’’
Nine hours passed after Daniel was admitted to the ICU before he stirred.
Lisa let out an enormous sigh of relief when he started twitching his head. She shot out of her seat to stand right next to him.
He tried licking his lips, but the breathing tube was in the way. ‘‘Mmm-mm,’’ he moaned.
‘‘It’s about time, sleepyhead,’’ she said. She was trying to be cheerful but couldn’t quite pull it off. Seeing him this way was overwhelming.
Daniel tried to open his eyes, but they were swollen too badly and he found he couldn’t.
Grace, the nurse, left to find the doctor and a few moments later rushed back in, Daniel’s surgeon right behind.
‘‘Go ahead,’’ the doctor nodded to Grace.
‘‘Take a deep breath in . . .’’ she grabbed the tube as Daniel complied, ‘‘and blow it out.’’ As he did, she pulled out the tube.
He coughed and gagged then settled.
For a moment, Lisa thought he might have fallen back to sleep. She carefully pushed his mussed hair out of his face.
‘‘Amehgunnalif
f?’’ Daniel mumbled.
The doctor turned to Lisa quizzically.
‘‘Is he going to live?’’ she whispered.
The doctor smiled. ‘‘Yes,’’ he said, carefully checking Grant’s vitals, ‘‘we think you’ll recover just fine. You have a long road ahead, I’m afraid. And you may never get full use of that ankle back. We’re going to take good care of you.’’
‘‘Imalife?’’ Daniel asked deliriously, as though he hadn’t understood the doctor’s report.
The doctor smiled. ‘‘Yes, you’re alive. And we’re going to keep you that way.’’ He turned to Lisa and said quietly, ‘‘We’ve asked that a patrolman be posted outside your door, just to be safe.’’
‘‘Thanks,’’ Lisa said quietly. Then, turning to Daniel, ‘‘You hear that? You’re going to be okay,’’ she said, a little louder than necessary.
Daniel managed a weak nod.
The doctor told Lisa he’d be back to check in another hour. She returned to her chair beside the bed.
‘‘Do you remember what happened?’’ she said softly into his ear.
He nodded weakly, and his breath suddenly caught in his throat, before he released it and breathed normally again. Lisa detected a trace of clear fluid around his puffed-up eyes.
‘‘Good thing you’re too stubborn and curious to give in to this sort of thing,’’ she tried joking. But she quickly bit her lip as she watched his battered, unrecognizable body inhale and exhale with difficulty. She stretched out a hand to grasp his, but then thought better of it and rested her hand very gently on top of his instead.
She started when his hand came to life and grabbed hers. She had thought he had no strength left in his body, but he was holding frightfully tight.
Lisa looked at his face, and his eyes were still unable to open, but his lips moved. She leaned in closer to hear.
‘‘Don’ leaf me,’’ he whispered. ‘‘Don’ go anywhere, okay?’’
Lisa couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions pouring into and out of her heart. How often had she wanted to take his hand in hers?
But never like this . . .
Her tears came, and she was glad he couldn’t see them or her own injuries.
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