The first problem is Lily. From what I know about her, she’s most likely panicking and reacting to a threat without thinking clearly. Again, it makes me wonder what set her apart from everyone else in our business in the first place, but that’s a question for another day. There’s no denying she’s lethal, but she’s also proving to be very resourceful. She’s managed to hack her way into The Order’s computer network and hijack the tracking signals from the devices implanted in every operative’s neck. She knows exactly where I am at all times, which explains how she found me at Kaitlyn’s office. I have to assume she knows I’m here, too, despite Pierce saying he has people working to block her access.
So that’s my first problem. My second problem is the bomb in my neck. Aside from the fact it’s giving my position away, it’s a fucking bomb… I can literally have my head blown off my shoulders at any moment. It can’t be removed, because any contact with the atmosphere and it detonates…
But given my head is still attached to my shoulders, I think it’s safe to assume that the network she’s hacked into doesn’t control both the GPS tracking signal and the signal linking the explosive to the detonator. This is good, because, if I’m right and the detonator signal is isolated, that means the only people who can blow my head off are the people who physically have one of the detonators in their possession—which, at the moment, is only Horizon and Pierce that I know of.
I need to start—
Kaitlyn groans and stirs in her seat. I glance over as she slowly opens her eyes.
“What time is it?” she asks, groggily.
I look up at the wall clock opposite. “A little after one. You alright?”
She stretches and sits up in the chair, then nods. “I’m fine, I think. How are you? Has the surgeon been to look at your hand yet?”
I shake my head. “No, nothing yet. But yeah, I’m okay. Pain meds are the best…”
She smiles weakly. “Okay, well, seeing as I’m awake, start talking.”
“What about?”
“Everything. What the hell happened to you that made you wind up here, ruining my life?”
“That’s a complicated question, and the answer is very long.”
She shrugs. “Bullet point it for me. You owe me an explanation.”
I sigh. I guess I do. But she’s not going to like it…
“Okay… you remember 4/17, right?”
She nods. “Kinda hard to forget…”
“Right… Well, I was there, in the room at the exact moment the button was pushed to launch the tactical nuclear missiles that went on to ravage a large portion of the planet.”
She leans forward, her eyes wide. “Bullshit…”
“I wish it were.”
“What were you doing there?”
I smile humorlessly. “I’ve been asking myself that same question for months. I’d retired from being an assassin, but a terrorist organization tried to recruit me. I declined their offer and they tried to kill me. Turns out, the government had been keeping an eye on this group for a while, so I agreed to help stop them.”
“Oh my God… I can’t believe this…”
I chuckle. “It gets better. You see, it turns out this terrorist group wasn’t actually behind the attack. They were being used—set up to take the fall in the aftermath of the attack. Me and a few others stumbled across a conspiracy within the U.S. government, and found proof that people working inside the White House were the real ones responsible for it all. It was just the first step in a plan to unite the world and bring around a new era of peace. In a kind of Nazi, genocidal kinda way.”
She frowns, and I can see the cogs turning inside her head as she starts piecing together what I’ve told her. She looks into my eyes. “Was all this… Was this, in any way, related to President Cunningham’s assassination last month?”
I nod slowly, but stay silent. I’ll let her come to it on her own—might make it easier to process.
She stands and puts a hand to her mouth. She paces back and forth for a moment, and then stops to stare at me. “He was involved?”
I nod again. “He was the brains behind it all. But 4/17 was only the first part of his plan, and was designed to hit the reset button on the world. The next part was supposed to unite everyone in fear, so we would all turn to him to save us. See, he had some friends in North Korea…”
She sits down again and rests her head in her hands. “Oh my God… Oh my God… I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Are you saying the president of the United States was working with North Korea when they tried to take over the world? That’s just—”
“Fucking insane? Yes, it is. But, sadly, that doesn’t make it any less true. Luckily for us, Cunningham drastically underestimated GlobaTech’s ability to kick ass, so we were all saved. But…”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and welling with tears. “You… It was you, wasn’t it?”
She catches on quick…
I nod silently.
She puts both hands over her mouth and gasps. “Oh my God! You killed the—”
I hold my good hand up to silence her. “Kaitlyn, will you keep your voice down! Jesus… Yes, I… I killed the president.”
She gets up and starts pacing back and forth in front of me again. Tears are flowing freely down her face and she’s shaking her head, seemingly arguing with herself.
“But… how? They said you were dead… You caused all this… I can’t—”
“Okay, just relax—the guy was a piece of shit and most definitely deserved it.”
She looks at me like I have two heads. “How can anyone deserve to die?”
The anger is burning in her eyes. She’s furious with me. The professional relationship we had is gone. I’m assuming the confidentiality we had between us has, too.
I’m getting frustrated with her again, and angry with myself for doing so. I clench my fist as a gesture to suppress—
Ah!
I wince, because I just clenched my busted right hand! Goddammit!
I take a deep breath through the pain. “You know the missile that hit Texas, during the North Korean invasion?”
She takes some deep breaths of her own, like she’s trying to calm herself. She nods, but says nothing.
“Well, that missile was fired by Cunningham himself, as he stood behind his desk in the Oval Office. I know this, because I was standing opposite him with a gun to my head when he did it. And do you want to know why he did it? He did it to fuck with me. You see, the final stage of his plan was to actually attack the United States and frame North Korea for it. In his twisted wisdom, he had convinced himself that doing so would guarantee that every man, woman, and child on this planet would turn to him for protection. Protection from a war he started. He said it needed doing, but because he wanted to fuck with me personally and make some kind of point, he actually aimed the missile at the small town of Devil’s Spring, which was where I’d been living for the last two years or so. It was where my life away from all this was rooted. Where the woman I loved was… He put a hole in America just to make me suffer, so yes, I think he deserved to die.”
I’ve just realized I’m breathing heavily, like I’ve been running, and I’m grinding my teeth hard enough to make my jaw ache. The anger in Kaitlyn’s eyes has gone, replaced by what looks like sympathy and… understanding.
She walks over to me, stands at the side of the bed, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I… I had no idea. All this time, all our sessions together… you were trying to deal with this incredible burden, and the pain it’s been causing you, without actually telling me what you were going through.”
I shrug. “It’s not exactly something you can go into great detail about…”
She sits on the edge of the bed and smiles. “I’ll do you a deal, Adrian. You get us both out of this in one piece, and I’ll gladly continue being your therapist. And you’ll be free to talk about anything, openly and honestly, in our sessions. Okay? I’m very good at what I do, b
ut I don’t need to be to see when someone really needs help.”
I take a deep breath and calm down. I smile back at her. “That’s… That would be great, thank you.”
Over her shoulder, I see the door to my room open. She looks around as a guy steps inside holding a tablet device. I’ve not seen him before. He’s younger than the first doctor, maybe early forties. He stands at the foot of my bed and presses the screen of the device a few times, looking at it thoughtfully. He has a thick, dark beard, trimmed and styled, and thin-framed glasses resting low on his nose.
He looks up at me. “Mr. Foley?”
Again, the English is impeccable.
I wave at him with my bandaged right hand. “That’s me.”
Kaitlyn turns and smiles at me, and then moves to sit in the chair she was sleeping in.
The new guy looks back at the tablet, taps the screen a few more times, and then looks up from it and holds it down by his side. “Mr. Foley, you have suffered some moderate damage to the flexor tendons in your right hand.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound good…?”
He shrugs. “It’s not really a case of it being good or bad, it’s just something that can happen. Obviously, the circumstances surrounding your injury are quite extreme. I understand you’ve also suffered some minor injuries to your back?”
“Yeah, cuts and bruises mostly, I think. Nothing to worry about.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem awfully calm and collected considering you were very recently in a building that was blown up?”
I glance over at Kaitlyn, and then look back at him. “I’m just… It’s over, and I’m alive… that’s all that matters, y’know?”
He smiles professionally. “Of course. It’s not really my place or area of expertise, but there are services available if you want to talk. Sometimes the onset of shock can come about after the events have transpired.”
I nod. “I appreciate that, thanks, but I’m okay.”
“Okay then. So I’ve taken a look at your x-ray, and you’re going to need surgery to repair the damaged tendons.”
Surgery? Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
He smiles, as if he’s trying to offer some comfort. I’m guessing because of the look I undoubtedly have on my face. He’ll have taken it as fear at the idea of surgery, but it’s not. I’m not scared of the surgery. I’m not scared at all. What I am, is very concerned about the fact I’m going to be incapacitated and completely defenseless when there’s someone trying to kill me.
“It’s a simple procedure and nothing at all to worry about,” he says.
“Yeah… that’s fine. Listen, is this surgery possible with a local or regional anesthetic by any chance?”
He shakes his head. “No, you will need to go fully under for the procedure. Recovery time, all told, is usually around three months, give or take, depending on the individual. Your hand will need to be fully splinted for the first few weeks. We can then start looking at rehabilitation. I see no reason why you won’t be able to fully recover from this, but it will take time to regain the strength and movement in your hand that you had before this.”
I lock eyes with Kaitlyn, and her expression very much mirrors how I’m feeling right now.
Like we’re in deep shit.
20
08:44 AST
I open my eyes slowly. My vision’s blurry, obscured by a fog that only ever follows an unexpectedly deep sleep. I blink hard to clear it and wait for my surroundings to morph into focus. I’m lying on my side, staring at a wall. Sunlight is streaming in through the nearby window. I frown and squint as I try to remember where I am.
What—
I widen my eyes as everything comes flooding back.
Shit! I can’t believe I fell asleep!
I turn and sit bolt upright, immediately alert. I instinctively scan the room for any hint of a threat. The door’s still closed, which is a good sign. But I’m alone, which isn’t so good…
Where’s Kaitlyn?
Shit.
I look down at my right hand. The bandage is slightly discolored from the blood that’s still seeping from the wound. I try to clench my fist, but don’t even get halfway. The pain itself is manageable. The thing I’m struggling with is that it feels like I’m making a fist when I’m not. Like, it’s clenched as much as possible, when, in fact, my palm is practically open.
Shit.
Shit!
I can’t believe I need surgery on my shooting hand. I’m alright with my left, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t say I’m proficient enough with it to confidently use it instead of my right. That’s going to take some practice.
Not exactly the best time to handicap an assassin, either…
The door opens and Kaitlyn walks in holding two cups of coffee. She smiles. “Morning.”
I flick my head up. “Hey. You scared the shit outta me. Where’ve you been?”
She frowns, confused. “I… only went for coffee, Adrian…”
I look away for a moment. I need to pull my head out of my ass, stop myself from turning into an over-protective parent, and remember who I am, and start focusing on the goddamn problem at hand.
…
…
…
Okay—head’s removed, focus resumed.
I turn back to her. “Yeah… sorry. This whole thing with Lily has put me on edge, and now I’m basically one-handed, I’m worried about my ability to keep you safe.”
She smiles again, warm and friendly, confident. “And what about you? Who’s keeping you safe?”
I frown. “Well… me, I guess. But I’m not really concerned about my own safety—I can handle myself. I need to protect you. You’ve already been affected by problems… I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. I need to—”
She’s raised both eyebrows and is looking at me somewhat bemused.
“What?”
She shakes her head, walks over to me, sets my coffee down on the table beside my bed, and then moves over to her chair at the far end of the room. She sits down gracefully and crosses her legs, then blows the coffee to cool it and takes a sip. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“The big brother thing. You’re putting more pressure on yourself, putting more weight on your already overworked shoulders. You need to focus on dealing with Lily, right?”
“Well, yeah… but—”
“Then focus on her.” She leans forward, clasping her drink in both hands. “I spent a lot of last night sat in this chair, wide awake.”
I absently scratch the back of my neck and smile sheepishly. “I… wasn’t snoring, was I?”
She grins. “No… I was trying to process all the information you gave me last night. See, the problem is, I believe you. It would actually be easier to wrap my head around what you were saying if I knew it was a lie. But the fact you were telling the truth makes it more difficult to comprehend. But, by the time the sun had risen, I had come to one conclusion.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Which was?”
“The safest place I can be right now is with you. I’ve seen what you can do—how you handled yourself in my office when we were attacked… And I’m guessing I know better than most how your mind works. I’m not some stupid, scared little girl, alright? I’m actually very smart. And I’ve been on my own for a long time, which has made me very independent. I’ve done plenty of self-defense classes and I feel confident looking after myself. Now all that might not sound impressive to someone like you, and it might not make me some badass assassin, but what it does mean is that you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll do whatever you say without question. All I ask in return is that you focus on getting us out of this in one piece. Sound fair?”
I lean back and rest against the pillows in bed.
Huh… Talk about being put in your place…
I stare at her. She’s relaxed back into her chair, holding my gaze in a practiced, professional way—app
roachable and open, but respectfully distant. Right now, she’s working. She’s not Kaitlyn the target, or Kaitlyn the victim. She’s not even Kaitlyn my friend. She’s Kaitlyn the therapist, and I’m simply one of her patients.
Under these extenuating circumstances, I’m impressed she still has the strength to try to fix me. To still work, and forget everything else.
She reminds me of me.
I nod and smile. “That’s fair. Thank you.” I reach over and pick up my coffee. I move it toward my mouth to take a sip, but stop as I catch a glimpse inside the cup. I frown and look back over at her. “You say you’ll do whatever I say, without question, right?”
She nods.
“Good.” I hold the cup out to her. “Then take this shit away and get me a real drink! Seriously, what the fuck is this?”
She frowns and laughs at the same time. “It’s coffee!”
“Alright, listen… this isn’t coffee. For a start, it’s not black. It looks like an old lady’s diarrhea or something.”
She was just taking a sip of her own coffee when I said that. She stops mid-mouthful and puts the drink down on the table beside her chair. “And I’m no longer thirsty…”
I set my drink back down next to me. “I’m just saying, if we’re gonna be hanging out together, you need to learn what real coffee is. You see—”
The surgical consultant who came to see me last night just walked in. His eyes are red, and he looks very tired. Poor bastard must be on a long-ass shift if he’s been working through the night.
He smiles weakly at me. “Mr. Foley, how are you today?”
I shrug. “I’m okay.”
“Good. We’ve got you booked in for surgery in a couple hours. It’ll be myself performing the procedure. A nurse will be along in a few moments to fit the cannula. Do you have any questions?”
“How long am I gonna be out for?”
He thinks about it. “Hard to say exactly, but your x-ray suggests the damage is moderate at best, so barring any complications, I’d say the procedure shouldn’t last any longer than an hour.”
Good Intentions - Adrian Hell #6 (Adrian Hell Series) Page 19
