Eoin winced at Hermes’s comparison of Troy to his mother’s body at her funeral.
“Let’s try to wake him,” Eoin said.
Eoin gave Hector James and Hermes each an ampoule.
“Squish it, and put it under his nose,” Eoin said.
Hector James pressed his between his fingers and waved it under Troy’s nose. Hermes waved his under his own nose.
“That smells pretty bad,” Hermes coughed and sputtered.
“Don’t do it on yourself!” Hector James said.
“Move over,” Hermes said.
“Boys?” Troy asked. “What . . . ?”
He shook his head. Hermes put his ampoule under Troy’s nose. Troy pushed it away.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” Troy said. Sitting up, he noticed Eoin. “What happened?”
“A lot,” Eoin said. “Boys? Where are Max and Wyatt?”
“In their bedroom,” Hector James said. “We peeked in. Mr. Wyatt is lying on the floor. We didn’t see Mr. Max, but their bathroom door is closed.”
“They don’t usually keep their bathroom door closed,” Hermes nodded.
“How would you know that?” Troy asked.
Eoin pointed upstairs. Troy nodded, and Eoin took off.
“They have a big bath tub,” Hermes said.
The conversation continued behind him.
“It’s no funny business, promise,” Hector James said. “We use their bathtub when you’re gone.”
“They have manly stuff in their bathroom,” Hermes said. “We’re going to be men someday.”
“Yeah,” Hector James said. “We need to know how to be men.”
“I’m a man!” Troy said.
Smiling, Eoin started up the stairs to the second floor. He jogged along the second floor and turned up the stairs to the third floor.
He found Wyatt lying on the floor with his right arm under him. Eoin turned him over. Wyatt’s wrist was smashed, and it looked like his arm was broken. Eoin dug around in his pocket until he came up with a bottle of coconut suntan lotion. He opened the bottle and put it under Wyatt’s nose.
“Come on, Wyatt,” Eoin said. “You can make it back. Come on man.”
Wyatt opened his eyes. Seeing Eoin, he squinted.
“What do you remember?” Eoin asked.
“Something . . . I . . . bathroom,” Wyatt said. “Oh my God, Max!”
Wyatt rolled over and ran to the bathroom. He yanked the chair out from under the door knob. Max was lying on his side next to the toilet.
“Max!” Wyatt yelled. “Oh God! Max!”
Wyatt dropped down on one knee to check Max. With his left hand, he felt Max’s pulse at his neck and his wrist.
“You’re a doctor,” Eoin said. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s his heart,” Wyatt said. “The shock and . . . Oh Max . . .”
Max opened his eyes and looked at Wyatt.
“Did you pass out?” Wyatt asked.
Max nodded.
“I’m so sorry,” Wyatt hugged him.
“Alex?” Max whispered. “She’s . . . not good.”
“MJ’s with her,” Eoin said. “The medics are on their way.”
Eoin pulled Wyatt away.
“Are you clear? Is there anything else in there?” Eoin asked.
Wyatt shrugged. Eoin snapped his fingers once and then twice. Wyatt gave a slight shake of his head. As Eoin had seen before, Wyatt shifted to a kind of hypnotic neutral.
“You’ll take care of Max,” Eoin said.
“I’ll never receive another instruction,” Wyatt repeated what they had worked on.
“All instruction is over and done,” Eoin said. He’d tried this before, but it hadn’t worked. It was the only thing he could think of doing now.
“All assignments received so far are over and done,” Wyatt repeated. “Over and done.”
Wyatt nodded. His face started to smile when he gave a slight shake of his head.
“Death is the only conclusion,” Wyatt said in a guttural tone.
“No,” Eoin said. “That plan washed away. I want it washed away. Wash it away.”
Eoin held his hands up to Wyatt’s ears. He snapped his left fingers and then his right. He continued snapping his fingers in a slight rhythm.
“I want it washed . . . away . . . ,” Wyatt’s eyes flicked from side to side with the rhythm. “Done.”
“Good,” Eoin said. “Wake up now.”
“Awaken,” Wyatt gave a slight shake of his head. “What just happened? God, what happened to my arm?”
Wyatt’s right arm lay limp at his side.
“We washed everything away,” Eoin said. “You’re not dressed.”
“Where’s Max?” Wyatt asked.
“Bathroom,” Eoin said. “The paramedics are on their way. You need to get dressed.”
“I need Max,” Wyatt held out his left hand to Eoin. “Thank you.”
Eoin shook his hand. Wyatt nodded, and Eoin left their bathroom. He was down the stairs when he heard Max laugh. Eoin smiled.
Now he had to make one of the most difficult calls he’d ever made in his entire life.
“Go,” Patrick Hargreaves said.
“Sir, Alex and Max are dire,” Eoin said.
“From the situation we discussed?”
“Each person passed out afterwards,” Eoin said.
A host of sirens wailed toward the house. Eoin looked out the second-floor landing window to firefighters running toward the building with the Jaws of Life.
“Thank you,” Patrick said. “And my children?”
“They’ll be on their way to the hospital very soon.”
“I’ll tell their mother,” Patrick said.
“Yes, sir,” Eoin said.
“Would you like to go with us?” Patrick asked.
“To see the bastard that did this?” Eoin asked. “Yes, sir.”
“Tomorrow or Monday, depending . . .”
“Yes, sir,” Eoin said.
The phone went dead. Eoin looked at the phone to make sure he hadn’t lost the connection. Patrick Hargreaves had hung up on him. Eoin closed his eyes for a moment and called John. He had just finished his conversation when he heard someone coming toward him.
“Eoin?” Leena asked. “Neev is awake.”
“Thank you,” Eoin said. “Max needs a medic. Heart trouble.”
“Shit,” Leena said. “The LC is touch and go.”
Eoin nodded and followed her back to the basement.
F
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Thursday morning
November 25 – 5:39 a.m. MST
Denver, CO
John stood just outside of the entrance to the emergency department at Denver Health. Over the last few years, this emergency department had become a kind of home away from home. In this ED, he was a well-liked, capable surgeon. He usually zipped in, did his work, and went home to his life.
This morning was different.
This morning, the people he loved most were in surgery.
This morning, his best friend Max was in the middle of emergency open heart surgery. The man he’d come to love like a brother, Arthur Rasmussen, was being evaluated for surgery to relieve the pressure on his swelling brain. Samantha was in surgery for her broken chin and jaw. Wyatt was in surgery for his shattered wrist and arm. The ever-mysterious Steve Pershing had torn his deep stitches and was in surgery getting it repaired. His running mate and friend Troy had suffered an allergic reaction to whatever Neev had given him, and was fighting for his life in the ICU.
And his Alex.
He couldn’t bear to think on it. He’d told himself that Alex was stabbed; she was fortunate to have been stabbed on her right side; and she was lucky to have been given the coagulant by the ever unflappable Hector James. This morning, she was in surgery to clean out pieces of body armor, shards of the knife blade, and find the bleeding vessels.
This might be the morning that she didn’t recover.
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They’d told him not to get his hopes up. She’d already been through the ten pints of whole blood they kept stored for her. They couldn’t find the leaking vessel.
“It would take a surgeon of your skill to find it,” the ED doctor had told him over the phone. “Know anyone like that?”
“I could . . . ,” he’d tried.
“We don’t dare. Insurance liability and all that. Why don’t you go to the waiting area? We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.”
He rubbed his face with his hands.
What if Alex and Max died?
He’d never survive. He took a step toward the ED and stopped.
What was he going to do?
A man walked into him. He hit John so hard that John stumbled forward.
“Get out of the way,” the man said in a stiff London accent.
Walking fast, the man turned to look at him. The man was his MI-6 shadow. He raised an eyebrow at John and disappeared into the hospital.
The left pocket of John’s white doctor’s coat felt heavier. John put his hand into the pocket. His fingers wrapped around a cell phone. Dazed, he held the phone up to his ear.
“Listen and don’t talk,” James Kelly, his brother and MI-6 operative, said. “The knife was covered with microspheres of the anticoagulant, heparin. This particular wound, although more effective on the left side, is designed to be unsurvivable because the wound itself pushes the microspheres further into the body, where they release the heparin. Standard coagulant seals the heparin inside the body and proper surgical procedure hastens the spread of the heparin.”
“It’s our understanding that there’s been excessive bleeding,” James said. “They’re calling for another surgeon.”
Not wanting to respond, John nodded. That’s what he’d do if he was the surgeon in charge.
“We caught a gal on the way into Max’s party,” James said. “We believe her when she says that someone asked her to bring a coagulant, but you know, that would kill him. We’ve adjusted his surgical team.”
Horrified, John took a swift breath.
“Exactly,” James said. “Here’s our question: can you save her?”
John nodded.
“Johnny, can you save our girl?” James repeated. “Why aren’t you answering?”
“You told me not to talk!”
“You were always so literal,” James chuckled. “Thanks. That’s the first laugh I’ve had all day. Can you save her?”
“Of course,” John said.
“Are you good enough, Johnny?” James said. “No ego or tough guy here. The hospital says you’ve done it before.”
“A half-dozen times,” John said. “Car accident on the way home from a hip-replacement, cardiac patient meets his radial saw – that sort of thing. I have a team that works on this type of case quite effectively.”
“Fine,” James said. John heard James breathe.
“You okay?”
“Just . . . well, you know,” James said. “We’re not willing to lose Pershing or the Fey or her twin or Rasmussen.”
“What about Troy?” John asked.
“Fuck’s sake, Johnny, you know what I mean!”
“I do,” John said.
“Are you willing to risk everything?”
“Yes.” John answered without hesitation. He was ready to do anything to save them.
“You’ll need to check in on Pershing and Max,” James said. “Rasmussen and, hell, all of them. Any funny business and you rotate in.”
“Of course,” John said.
“Do exactly as I tell you,” James said. “Go through the doors.”
John walked into the hospital.
“Turn right and then make an immediate left into the surgeons’ locker room,” James said.
“I’m going in right now,” John said.
“There should be a man standing right in front of you,” James said. “You will take his identification and use the names through the surgery. You won’t be paid, but what do you care?”
The man held out an identification tag and card key. John took the identification from this stranger and the man left the locker area.
“Any news on Neev?” John asked.
“They’re moving her from the Denver Police out to the FBI as we speak,” James said. “Some people are coming to speak with her.”
“What has she said?” John asked.
“Nothing,” James said. “Keep the phone. I’ll be in touch.”
James clicked off the phone. John turned in place when he heard someone come in the room. His MI-6 shadow stood in front of him.
The man didn’t say anything.
He never did.
He simply held out his hand.
John’s original gold wedding ring lay in his hand. John picked up the ring. The man gave a slight nod and left the room.
John’s hand closed around the ring. They’d used their old rings for their ceremony in Scotland. When he was finally a genuine, well-paid, non-mooching vascular surgeon, he’d asked Alex for a new ring. They’d gone together and bought the ring he now wore every day. It had a row of small black diamonds set in the center of a brushed platinum band. It was stunning. It reminded him that all the darkness that had been his life was now surrounded by shining light. The ring reminded him of Alex.
John opened his locker. He pulled off his new ring and set it on the bottom of the locker. He slipped on his old ring and smiled. His old ring felt like home. He changed quickly.
“Doctor?” said his surgical nurse, Trish, in a tense voice. “Are you here to work on the Hargreaves case?”
When she realized it was John, she smiled.
“Doctor . . . ,” She leaned forward to look at the identification tag. “Kelly.”
John looked down at the tag. Sure enough, Jimmy had changed him name from John Kelly Drayson to Shane John Kelly. John gave a rueful shake of his head. Shane was the Irish rendition of John. His brother had changed his name to his baby name – John-John.
“Trish, she’s been given a high dose of heparin,” John said. “On the knife. Some kind of microspheres full of the stuff sealed in by the coagulant.”
“Followed by coagulant?” Trish’s eyebrows shot up with concern.
“Yes,” John said. “Do you remember . . . ?”
“Yes, doctor, I believe Dr. Drayson has done quite few of those surgeries,” Trish smiled. “He’s truly an expert, as is his team. Should I call in his team?”
“Please do,” John smiled.
“I’ll get what we need,” Trish nodded. “I will also round up our team. You may scrub. We’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”
“Thank you,” John said.
“But you’re coming?” Trish asked.
“I’m on my way,” John followed her out the door.
FFFFFF
Thursday afternoon
November 25 – 3:51 p.m. MST
Denver, CO
Alex woke in a Colorado high mountain meadow filled with wildflowers. A tiny bright-red bugler penstemon tickled her nose. Leaning her hand on a patch of baby blue eyes, she sat up to look around. Her cricket was waiting for her among the evergreen trees that edged the meadow. He waved to her with his red umbrella, and she waved back. Looking across the meadow, she saw another indentation in the flowers.
Max.
She pushed herself onto her hands and knees. She had to rest for a moment to catch her breath, before finally getting to her feet.
She took a step and stumbled. She felt oddly weak. Her entire body screamed with pain.
Something moved. She turned to see Jesse.
“Jesse!” Alex waved.
When he was close, she tried to hug his solid body, but her right arm wouldn’t move. Her left arm caught his neck. She slumped against him. She hung on for a while.
“I’m so weak,” Alex said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Let me help.”
Jesse put his arm around her and helped carry her. A
brilliant-white snowy owl took off from a tall lodgepole pine on the edge of the meadow. The owl circled the meadow, before landing a few feet from them. The owl transformed.
“Hey look! It’s Yvonne!” Alex said. “Y!”
Alex wasn’t sure if she could hug her, but Yvonne held out her arms. Jesse helped her stay upright, and Alex held her dear friend close.
Alex weaved.
“Let me help,” Yvonne said.
Yvonne took Alex’s other side. Together, they staggered across the flowers and rich earth. Her cold bare feet felt the green tendrils of sage bend against her weight. Her foot caught on a small purple aster and they almost fell. Jesse kept them upright.
“Pick up your feet,” Jesse said.
A cold wind blew up her back. The green grass tickled her toes. She tripped forward.
Nothing was going to stop her from reaching Max. They continued their weaving, stumbling journey across the meadow.
A few feet away, Alex saw him.
She tried to run, but pitched forward onto the ground. She crawled on her hands and knees to Max’s body.
“Still warm,” she whispered.
Alex curled up around her twin’s body. She put her chin on his shoulder and her nose right next to his neck.
Max sighed.
The weight of his body pressed into hers and they seemed to merge.
She felt a sense of deep relief. She was exactly where she should be, where she belonged.
“Alex?” Max whispered.
“I’m here,” Alex said.
“Good,” he said.
They fell into a sound sleep.
FFFFFF
Thursday afternoon
November 25 – 4:11 p.m. MST
Denver, CO
“Doctor . . . uh . . . Kelly, sir,” Trish ran into the private room where John, Alex’s family and team were waiting. John looked up from his conversation with Patrick and Mrs. Harris. “You need to come now.”
John followed Trish into the ICU where he heard the sound of a loud argument coming from the area near Max’s bed. John’s heart squeezed with anxiety. He ran faster.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” the head of the ICU said.
“We did not do this,” John’s favorite ICU nurse, Eloisa, said. A sixty-four-year-old Vietnam War nurse veteran, Eloisa suffered no fools and no arrogant doctors.
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