by Cat Connor
“Intensive care probably, she won’t come back here.”
“Thanks.”
I started to walk down the long corridor to the elevators at the end. She called after me, “They won’t have her things.”
I turned back. “Who will?”
“They would’ve gone to theater with her. They’ll be there until they move her.”
Simon thanked her. I couldn’t. I walked away.
He caught me up by the elevators. “Theater Suite?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Silence descended. A welcome silence. I needed to hear Ellie’s voice in my head. The darkness lifted for a few moments and I heard her. Her voice was clear and light.
I breathed.
The elevator stopped. We stepped out into a quiet place. A reception desk was the first thing I saw; behind it a woman in scrubs. Beyond her, to the left were double sliding glass doors. The theater suites.
“Can I help?” she asked.
Simon stepped forward. “My daughter, Ellie Conway, is having surgery. I need to pick up her belongings.”
“Sure. Mr. Conway. If you could show me some identification.”
Simon fished his wallet out of his pocket and produced a card. I smiled as I caught sight of it. NCIS. Retired.
Nice touch. Could’ve gone with his driver’s license.
She took three large paper bags from under the desk and stacked them on the top of the counter. Simon scooped them up. We retreated to chairs that lined the wall behind us. She called out, “There is a waiting room. Coffee and tea are available.” I followed her line of sight to a door that said ‘waiting room’, all too obvious for us to see.
“Thanks,” I replied with a smile.
Simon and I entered the room. The smell of institutional coffee filled the space. I poured coffee into Styrofoam cups and Simon went through the paper bags. He carefully laid things on the table.
Her Glock still in its holster. Handcuff case. Identification. Badge. Wallet. Business card holder. Jeans. Boots. Shirt. Underwear. Socks. Jacket. A small plastic bag containing jewelry. Her laptop, still in its sleeve. He tipped the last bag upside down and shook it. The silicone flash band fell to the floor and bounced.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Any chance the laptop fared better than her clothes?” I asked as Simon held up her jeans. They’d been cut off.
“It didn’t have to be cut it off her so you might be lucky.”
I reached for the laptop. In the zip pocket on the outside of the sleeve, I felt the power cord. Helpful.
I slid off the case and inspected the laptop.
“Seems okay. No cracks.” I opened the lid and powered it up while I unraveled the cord and looked for a wall outlet. There was one right behind my chair.
“It goes,” Simon said on hearing the Windows music. He handed me the flash band. “Cross something.”
While the laptop finished powering up, I thought about other ways to get information that might help the case.
Prism.
NSA.
If the women were really involved in something, we could get information both recent and stored by using Prism. I plugged the flash band into the USB port on the laptop and searched for the case files. It took me a few minutes to figure out the password Ellie assigned to the files. My name.
Thirty minutes later I’d read through the case notes and found out exactly what Ellie thought. I wasn’t happy about her notes regarding Troy. Looked like the right decision to suspend him and pull his security clearance. No mention of trying NSA. Notes at the bottom of one page told me she thought the bombings were distractions, she also considered the case in New Zealand was a distraction, a way of removing Delta A from D.C. There was some mention of her feelings regarding POTUS being a target. Ellie had added with careful notation that she had no proof yet. She’d had executable roving bugs installed on the women’s cell phones. She’d also made notes about the possibility of the Voxer app on their phones having a virus that makes the GPS controllable remotely.
That would explain why the roving bugs recorded one location but the GPS within Voxer recorded another. Ideas rolled around. Is it possible to deconstruct the Voxer program and locate the altered program components or extra components? That idea was worth pursuing. I shelved it for a moment and thought again about Prism. Who did I know who could help with that?
I took my phone from my pocket and scrolled through the contacts list. Had to be someone.
Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Bam. Nigel.
Gotcha.
I gave him a call. “Hey, it’s Mitch. How’s your day?”
“Good. Bit crazy in the city. You heard?”
“Yes. Crazy. Good description.”
“What do you need, Mitch?”
“Information for the FBI.”
“For?”
“Yeah, for. My girlfriend is …”
“Supervisory Special Agent Ellie Conway,” he said with a small laugh. “We all put two and two together. The whole gang.”
“Great. I still need some information.”
“Give me names, email addresses, and phone numbers.”
“I’ll email the information to you. How long will it take?”
“A few hours.”
“Thanks, Nigel. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” I hung up.
Simon was smiling. “You’re pretty good at this,” he said.
“We’ll see.”
I was smiling. I knew it. I liked the challenge. This was new. New is exciting. I was being useful. I liked that.
“Now what?” Simon asked.
“Now I need someone who can pull the apps on their phones apart and look for extra program lines.”
“Bet there is someone in that phone of yours who can do that.”
“Probably, but doesn’t Ellie know someone?” Outsourcing would be a security risk. If she knew someone, it would be better. I had no choice but to outsource information gleaned via Prism but deemed NSA trustworthy. Nigel was an old friend.
Simon thought for a few minutes. Someone knocked lightly on the door. We looked up at the same time. Simon smiled.
“Speak of the devil. Come on in, Sean.”
“Hello, Simon. I heard. Thought I’d come on in and see how it was going.” Simon started to stand. “Stay where you are.”
“This is Mitch Iverson. Mitch, Sean O’Hare. He’s the man you need.”
I was already on my feet reaching for his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Sean smiled. “So you’re Mitch. Heard about you.”
“Have a seat,” I said. “You’re a friend of Ellie’s?”
“Yes.” Sean sat on the sofa opposite me.
“O’Hare? Like the Director?”
“Uh huh. She’s my twin.”
“Ah, yes, Ellie has talked about you.” Focus. “Ellie thinks someone planted some code inside an app on the phones of the three women she’s investigating.”
“This has something to do with the bombings?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get me the phone number of one of the phones?”
“Got those right here.”
I wrote Danni’s number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
“Cheers, I’ll see if I can access the phone and the apps.”
“There is an FBI roving bug in there. Ellie noted it was disguised as a Facebook update.”
Sean nodded. “Good, I won’t go near that.”
So that was done. Ticking things off the list. I leaned back a little bit and scanned more notes. Sean talked to Simon about Ellie. No one knew anything. It was a short conversation that ended in silence. The waiting drove me crazy. I buried myself in the case files again. Hoping that something else would jump out and wave a flag, so I’d know where to go next. It didn’t but I had a feeling she was on the right track. We needed to know why and we needed to stop any more explosions.
I shut the laptop, slid it to the coffee table and
stretched.
“Anyone need anything from anywhere?” I asked. “I need to walk a bit.”
“No, thanks,” Simon said. “Go, I’ll call you if I hear anything.”
“Won’t be long.”
I wanted to go for a run but I knew that would take me too far away and I needed to be close. Close but useful. The elevators were in front of me as I walked down the corridor but on the right was a stairwell door.
With a small smile, I pulled the door open. I ran down the stairs to the ground floor, then back up. On my third descent, a phone rang in my pocket. Not my ringtone. It was Ellie’s phone. I stopped running and answered the call.
“Mitch Iverson.”
“Looking for Special Agent Conway?” A male voice said.
“You reached her phone. She is unavailable at the moment. Can I help?”
The call dropped.
Interesting. I made a mental note to do a reverse search on the number when I got the chance. I resumed running and the phone rang again. This time it was Simon on my phone.
“She’s in recovery. Kurt is here. We’re waiting for you.”
“I’m on my way,” I checked the number above the landing. I ran up. At the door to the intensive care floor, I paused to collect my thoughts.
Positive. Positive. Positive.
I opened the door and stepped into chaos.
What the hell?
People in various colored scrubs swarmed like ants. Gurneys moved. People talked. Machines beeped. The nurse on the desk was frantic. I scanned the room looking for a way through the madness to the room we’d been using. An opening appeared. I took it. Dodging people who stepped into my path.
“Excuse me. Sorry, just trying to get to the waiting room.”
I walked through the open door still looking over my shoulder at the scene behind me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Another bombing,” Simon replied.
I shook my head. Not good news. Kurt sat with a coffee, still in green scrubs. Sean had gone.
“Ellie?” I asked. “How is she?”
Part of me didn’t want to hear what he said next and the rest of me focused so hard on the positive that I almost missed it.
“We repaired a tear in her spleen. She’ll make a good recovery from the laparoscopic surgery.”
I could feel the but hovering there.
“But?”
“She’s not waking.”
My heart twisted in my chest. Positive. Think. Remember. And I did. A memory surfaced. Not something from Ellie but something I remembered Aidan telling my mom about Ellie and a head injury she suffered during a case. It pointed to why he wasn’t here now. In my opinion, he still needed to man up and be here for his dad and Ellie. No excuses. It’s not about him.
“This has happened before, yes?” Kurt nodded. “How low was her GCS last time … it was a while ago? Four years or more back?”
“That’s about right.” He picked up a thick folder that was on the ground next to him and flipped through the pages. “Four. She scored a four out of fifteen.”
“You said she’s a six this time?”
“Yep.” Kurt looked at me. “I know where you’re going with this. She survived a four but Mitch, since then she’s had a couple of moderate head injuries … they compound.” Kurt sighed. “You need to be realistic and prepare for the worst.”
All the air rushed out of my lungs. I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. No air. Just crushing pain. It won’t be like that. She’ll be okay.
She’ll be okay.
The door opened and a familiar face entered the room. Mom.
I met her half way across the room and hugged her.
“I brought sandwiches, you and Simon need to eat,” Mom said. She looked past me at Simon and Kurt. “Took us a long while to get here. The world has gone mad. Where’s Aidan?”
“No one knows, Mom. He hasn’t shown up.”
Simon greeted Mom, “Joan. Thank you for coming all this way.” He kissed her cheek.
Mom smiled. “Someone needs to make sure you boys eat,” she replied. I took the basket she carried and set it on the sideboard that held the coffee maker and electric kettle.
Simon ushered Mom to a seat. Dad appeared moments later, looking harried. I met him in the middle of the room. We had a brief hug.
“All right?” Dad asked me and joined Mom.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
He turned his attention to Simon, then back to me and Mom.
Dad talked about the drive over and the crazy traffic and how hard it was to find a parking space.
I could hear Simon and Kurt talking but I didn’t know what they were saying. My mind filled once more with images of Ellie laughing. Amidst the laughter, a curtain parted and light flooded in. What was I seeing? She was waking up. Ellie called my name so strongly and so loudly I expected to see her walk into the room.
I interrupted Kurt and Simon, “Where is Ellie?”
“Recovery,” Kurt replied.
“I need … she needs …” Words failed me. I could see her. I could hear her. She needed me. Mom was on her feet.
“Mitch?”
“Mom, please just stay with Dad. I need to see her.”
Kurt stood up. “I’ll take you in.”
I glanced at my parents. “I’ll be back soon. We’ll eat then.”
I didn’t even ask if Simon was coming. I assumed he would and he did. Kurt led the way through the craziness outside our small sterile sanctuary. People and pain. Not good. Outside a set of large glass doors, Kurt stopped.
“Turn off your cell phones. Usually, I wouldn’t care but this area is super sensitive. She’s in the fifth bay on the right,” Kurt said, leading the way. “She’s on a ventilator. We’re giving her a break. Hard work breathing when your brain isn’t functioning like it should.”
The word ventilator hung in the air.
Kurt entered the bay first. I paused, took a breath, forced a smile onto my face and followed him. He indicated I should go to the left of her bed, away from the machinery.
So still and pale. Intubation tube in her throat hooked to a machine that breathed for her. An IV tube running from a pump to her arm. Heart monitors. Wires. Sensors. Finding somewhere that didn’t have wires or tubes to touch wasn’t easy.
I lifted her hand, careful to avoid a cannula in the back of it. Cool. Unresponsive.
“El, I’m here.” I forced the words through my tight throat as I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You need to open your eyes. I’ll be right here until you do.”
Her hand moved. I felt a slight pressure from her fingers.
“My mom and dad are in the waiting room. They brought sandwiches. I know you love my mom’s ham sandwiches.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“El? You in there?”
She responded with a strangled groan.
Kurt leaned over. “You’re okay, Conway. Intubated and on a ventilator but you’re okay. Gimme a minute, I’ll turn the machine off.”
Her eyes opened.
Twenty-Three
Victim Of Changes
I looked up at Mitch. His eyes glistened. A tear escaped and dripped onto my face as he kissed my forehead.
“Welcome back, El,” he said, his voice clouded with emotion.
I wanted the tube out. I couldn’t even smile properly. So annoying. My mind darted about, trying to piece things together. I was pretty sure he’d said his parents were here and there were ham sandwiches. He looked amazing. Felt like I’d been away for a week. Where had I been?
Talking was impossible, I could barely make any sounds at all. Struggling to let Kurt know I wanted the tube out wasn’t working for me.
Kurt’s hand touched my shoulder. “Come on, Conway, relax. You know the drill. I need to check your oxygen level after you’ve been breathing by yourself for a little bit.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take the intubation tube out once I know you’re capable of breathing thr
ough it unaided.”
Relax. Sure. Easy.
Idiot.
It felt like forever before Kurt said he was ready to take out the damn tube.
Kurt told me to cough, carefully. It hurt and I couldn’t. Total muscle weakness. What the hell? He pressed gently on my upper abdomen and told me to cough again. As I did, he pulled the tube from my throat. Gagging. So attractive. Right up there with drooling, pretty sure I did that too.
Mitch smiled. I smiled.
Kurt shook his head in wonderment. “Don’t try talking,” he warned. “Ice chips first.”
I remembered from last time I was intubated. Sucked that I had that memory at all but at that point, I was just pleased to have memory. It could’ve gone again. And it didn’t. Which felt like a very good thing. I sucked ice and watched Mitch’s face. He looked …
I’d never seen that look before.
What was it?
All my memories of Mitch’s facial expressions paraded past. I decided I was looking at a combination of happy, relieved, and still a little concerned.
He wasn’t the only one. I could think, I knew that. But could I talk? Could I still communicate with the world? I swallowed the cold ice. My throat felt raw.
Time to give the speaking thing a whirl.
“Mmmm … itch.”
Not great, but hey, a word. I’ll take that.
“Right here,” he replied.
Good, a recognizable word. Even better. Bit early to celebrate.
“I … know. Not … blind.”
Mitch smiled. “Glad you’re not blind. I like the way you look at me.”
Kurt groaned.
And I was back and the words kept coming.
“Can I … sit up more?” I asked, knowing Kurt could hear me.
“A little bit. Go easy. Fractured ribs are not fun. And you had surgery on your spleen. You will be in bed a couple of days.”
No, that wasn’t going to work.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
“In about half an hour we’re going to take you up to a ward. It is in intensive care.”
“Intensive care? I’m fine.”
Mitch smiled. Kurt laughed.
“Yeah, we know,” Kurt replied. “Intensive care for thirty-six hours unless Leon clears you sooner.”
“Leon is a neurologist,” I said.
