I look around. I’m in a hospital room, lying in bed hooked up to a heart monitor. The door on the right is open. I look briefly out the window on the left; it’s dark outside. I turn back to Agent Wallis.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“You’re in San Francisco General Hospital,” he replies. “You’ve been here just over four hours.”
My head’s killing me. I try to turn on my side, but all the wires stuck to my chest restrict my movement. I look at the machine, which is beeping steadily. That’s good—I’m definitely not dead… first bit of good news I’ve had all day.
“Christ. What the hell happened back there?” I ask, remembering the scene outside the Academy. “Is everyone alright?”
“The kids are safe, thanks to you. I don’t know if you’re a hero or just plain stupid, but you were on that bus before any of us even registered that the chopper had exploded. That was some good work, Adrian… Thank you.”
“I’m just glad they’re alright. What about the SWAT guys?”
Wallis purses his lips together and shakes his head solemnly. “All dead,” he says. “I’ve no idea how the sonofabitch managed to rig a bomb to a fucking SWAT truck...”
“Shit. I’m sorry, man.”
“None of us saw it coming. We were too focused on the school bus.”
His voice trails off. I look at him. He’s maybe six months into being a fully trained agent, but nothing you do at Quantico can prepare you for a day like he's just had. He’s probably still in shock.
“How are we all doing?” I ask, feeling compelled to offer some level of comfort to him.
He starts to answer, but Agent Chambers walks in, followed by Agent Johnson, and he stops himself. They both look like they’ve been dragged ass-backward through a trash heap, but they’re in one piece at least.
“Can you give us a minute?” she asks Wallis.
He nods and heads out of the door. Johnson follows him, but stops and turns back to look at me.
“Everything else aside,” he says. “That was a real gutsy move back there, Adrian.”
He walks out without waiting for a reply and closes the door behind him.
I look at Agent Chambers. Grace. She stands next to me, where Wallis had just been. She smiles a weary smile.
“You alright?” I ask.
“I’ve had better days, but I’ll live.”
“I’m just glad we all survived. You might not believe me, but I do genuinely feel for those SWAT guys. I know this is my fault.”
“This isn’t your fault,” she says, putting her hand on mine and squeezing gently. I try to return the gesture, but don’t quite have the strength. “This is The Shark’s fault. And whether I like it or not, we were lucky you were there.”
“Ah, team effort,” I say, smiling. “Hey, where’s Josh? I don’t remember seeing him in the chaos back there.”
Chambers says nothing, but looks down and squeezes my hand again.
“What is it?” I ask, with growing concern.
“Your friend was hit,” she says. “He’s in the ICU now and he’s listed as critical. I’m sorry, Adrian.”
I feel sick to my stomach. Like I’m on a rollercoaster and I’ve just been flipped upside down at a hundred miles an hour. The room starts spinning almost as fast as my mind is. How the hell could Josh have been shot?
I replay the scene in my head as best I can. Parts of it are still blurry to me, thanks to what I can only assume is a fairly significant concussion.
The first blast was over to our left. That was the SWAT van. The second blast was high above, which was the chopper. That crashed down on the school bus, causing a third blast—that was the one that just about got me. So how did Josh get shot?
I close my eyes and rub my temples, trying to make sense of everything.
The gunshots…
There were two gunshots. They were barely audible at the time, but there was no mistaking them. I remember hearing them in the few moments between the first two explosions. I dismissed them as random at the time, but I was wrong. The timing of them was too specific. Two bullets.
The Shark intended to take Josh out.
I don’t have the energy to get angry. I’ll save that for later. I’ll save that for when my hands are around The Shark’s throat.
I look at Chambers. “I need to see him,” I say.
“You need to rest,” she replies.
“I wasn’t asking...”
I sit up, pulling all the leads off me and causing the machine to sound the constant beep of a flatline. I swing my legs over the side of the bed just as the door bursts open and three nurses run in shouting.
“Sir, you must stay in bed!” barks one of them.
I wave them away and stand up slowly, adding weight to my legs gradually to make sure I can actually get out of bed under my own strength.
“Sir, please,” continues the nurse. “You need to rest.”
I look at her. She seems like a nice person. Short brown hair and brown eyes. Probably mid-forties. A career nurse, for sure.
“Where is he?” I ask, calmly.
She looks confused and glances at Agent Chambers for some kind of verification. I see the look on her face as she realizes who I mean.
“Your friend is in critical condition,” she says.
“I know. What happened to him?” I ask.
“He was shot in the center of his chest and at the top of his left thigh. We’ve done our best to remove the bullets, but the damage was extensive. The loss of blood was significant and one of his lungs has collapsed. Luckily, the bullets managed to miss any major arteries, so we were able to stop the bleeding, but he’s still suffered a massive trauma. We’re keeping him in a medically-induced coma until he stabilizes.”
I nod, taking in the information while at the same time barely hearing a word. That’s Josh she’s talking about. My friend. My partner. My brother. And he’s lying in a hospital bed because of me.
“I still need to see him,” I say, standing and staggering over to the door. “Where is he?”
The nurse sighs, giving up the argument. “He’s down the hall to your left, through the double doors and it’s the first room on the right. Let me get you a wheelchair.”
I wave my hand dismissively, refusing the offer, then set off to find him. I realize I’m wearing a hospital gown and underwear and nothing else. But I don’t care. I have to see Josh. Even if he’s in a coma, he’ll hear me.
I need to tell him I’ve just figured out who The Shark really is.
8.
21:18
I’M STANDING AT Josh’s bedside, looking down at him, as he lies there motionless, connected to a heart rate monitor with an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. I notice his machine’s beeping a lot slower than mine was.
The bed sheet is down by his waist. His chest has a bandage across his left pectoral, with a red circle in the center of it over the bullet wound. On his left hand, a clip on his index finger also links to the monitor at the far side of the bed.
I stare at him, feeling an emptiness inside that I haven’t felt since losing my family all those years ago. It feels like a black hole in my stomach, gradually sucking in and crushing every ounce of humanity that I have remaining.
Josh is all I have left. My life doesn’t exactly allow for many friends. My family has already been taken from me and all I know is him, the open road, and me. Josh keeps me grounded; keeps me sane. He rescued me from a very dark place and helped me channel my anger into something positive. Granted, to call killing people for a living a positive thing is arguably dark, but it’s a job with a big market and lots of money to be made. Over the years, I’ve probably accumulated close to thirty million dollars. When the time comes to walk away from this life and retire, we'll be set. But right now I’d trade every cent to get him back.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him quietly. “This is my fault. For every job I take, I make two enemies. I should’ve done a better job keeping you away from this. I’m supposed
to be the one in the line of fire, not you. You’re the one who sits behind the desk and tells me what to do. Why did you even come here, you dumb sonofabitch? Eh? We both have phones—why didn’t you stay away from all this like normal? Now you’re lying here attached to some fucking machine, and it’s all because of me!”
Josh is in a coma and there are no signs of life from him at all, other than the slow, constant beeping of his heartbeat on the machine next to him.
But I know he can hear me.
“I’ve figured out who The Shark is,” I continue. “You’d be so proud of me. I know who he is and why he’s pissed at me. And I’m gonna find him and I’m going to torture him and I’m going to watch him die screaming in pain.”
Still nothing. But he can hear me—I’m sure of it. He’s far too talented to let something simple like a coma stop him from utilizing all of his senses. He can hear me, and if he could reply he’d tell me to watch my back. He’d tell me to remember the FBI are in charge, and that if I wasn’t careful I’d expose myself and risk spending the rest of my life in prison. Or the last three minutes of my life strapped to a chair. He’d say it in his bouncy, happy, optimistic tone of voice that makes me sick and makes me feel at peace, all at the same time.
And I’d look him in the eye, man-to-man, brother-to-brother, and without saying a word, he’d know I was going to ignore him and go right ahead and tear this world apart to have my vengeance anyway. And he’d help me without question.
I take a deep breath, which hurts more than it should, and place my hand on his right shoulder.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything. And when all this is over, and you’ve stopped being a big girl and woken up and got over your little cuts and bruises, we’re gonna go out and buy you a brand new Winnebago, with all the trimmings.”
I wait for the inevitable retort, but it never comes. He just continues to lie there, eyes closed, breathing slowly.
I pat his shoulder and turn to leave the room. Agent Chambers is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“You been there long?” I ask.
“Long enough,” she replies, turning back into the hallway and waiting for me to follow. “You alright?”
I stagger out of the room and we walk slowly down the corridor side by side.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You need to rest up and let us handle this.”
“Well, seeing as you’ve done such a sterling job so far...”
She looks at me with an expression that’s half resentment and half sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” I say, immediately. “That was uncalled for.”
“Damn right it was, asshole,” she replies.
“I deserve that.”
We fall silent for a moment, the sound of her heels echoing down the corridor as we approach the nurse’s station by the elevators on our floor.
She takes an extra step and turns, stopping in front of me. She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head slightly, asking a million unspoken questions. I look her up and down, somewhat obviously. Even with bruises and cuts on her face and neck and hands, she looks amazing. Her fitted trouser suit clings to the body I figure she spends every spare hour working on in the gym.
I shake my head and look away, slightly embarrassed. I haven’t looked at a woman like that in years... Must be the concussion.
“What?” I ask.
“You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on then? You were quick enough to tell your friend, and he can’t do anything to help you. I can.”
“Actually, you can’t. From what I’ve seen, you’re a damn good agent, Grace. But thanks to the Oath of Office you took when you joined the FBI, if I told you anything about this you’d be obligated to arrest me immediately.”
“I can imagine,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a disapproving tone.
“I’m not under arrest, and aside from apparently being a person of interest to everyone, we both know I’m not going to be any time soon. It’s probably best to leave it at that. You have my word I’m going to sort this. I’ll help you with your investigation as much as I can, but please just step back and let me finish this. He won’t stop until he’s got me, so I’m going to give him what he wants.”
“You’re going to turn yourself over to him?”
“I’m going to use myself as bait, yeah. If I can see him with my own eyes, I can stop him.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“Don’t ask me things you don’t wanna know the answer to,” I say with a smile.
“Then don’t do things that make me want to arrest you,” she replies with the same look on her face.
Grace Chambers. I like her. One of the good guys.
I gesture to my gown. “Let me slip into something less revealing, then we’ll talk, okay?”
“I’ll wait for you here,” she says, gesturing to the front desk. “I assume you’ll be doing the stupid thing of checking yourself out of here?”
“The thought had crossed my mind, yeah.”
“Figures,” she says, shaking her head.
She walks off, taking out her cell and dialing a number.
I walk back to my room and sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
I might be a full-time killer and part-time idiot, but I’m not stupid. I need help, and with Josh out of the picture, the list of people willing and able to give me a hand is narrowed down to one.
The FBI.
If I don’t ask for their help, I’ll be flying blind with no clue how to stop The Shark from carrying out more of his attacks. If I do ask for their help, I’m going to implicate myself in more crimes than I care to count, which would quickly lead to my incarceration and still wouldn’t stop The Shark.
Either way, I’m screwed.
21:43
I finish getting dressed, pulling my jacket on as I walk out of the room. I head down the corridor to the waiting area and see Chambers sitting patiently on the end of a row of chairs, among the patients. In addition to the three nurses working behind the desk, there are six patients scattered around the waiting area.
I imagine she’s grateful to get a few minutes to rest—it’s been a hectic day.
As she sees me she stands, and we both walk over to the front desk.
“So you’re definitely checking yourself out?” she asks. “Despite the advice of everyone who works here?”
I smile humorlessly.
“I’m no use to anyone lying in bed in here,” I say, turning to one of the nurses and taking a clipboard from her with some forms attached. “I need to be…”
I trail off as I look across the waiting area toward the lifts at the far end of the floor. The doors have just dinged open and four men have just stepped out and are walking toward us. Three of them are wearing black suits with blood-red shirts and black ties. They’re all oriental guys with jet-black hair in different styles. They’re walking purposefully behind the fourth man. He’s short and wearing a dirty white vest and brown pants that aren’t long enough, finishing just above his ankle. He’s bald on top, with his long, scraggly gray hair starting at the sides and falling down to his shoulders.
It’s the old guy from the pawnshop last night… and these guys with him look…
They open their jackets, revealing guns in shoulder holsters that they immediately draw.
Yeah, they look like trouble!
“Grace, get down!” I shout, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her to the floor.
She doesn’t get chance to respond before gunfire sounds out around the waiting area. People scream and start running and alarm sounds. I duck down in front of the desk, instinctively reaching behind me for my Berettas.
Nothing.
Shit, where are they?
I look over at Chambers, who’s confused but quickly coming to her senses. She reaches for her gun and her badge, preparing to stand.
I grab her wrist and hold her down. She lo
oks at me and I shake my head.
“Grace, that badge isn’t going to do shit besides get you killed. Give me your gun.”
She shakes her head at me as bullets continue to splinter the desk around us.
“No chance, Adrian! If you fire my weapon, it’s a federal crime.”
“Only if I take it from you first,” I counter. “If you hand it to me willingly, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s really not!”
I sigh and peek over the desk. The three men are fanning out across the waiting area, taking it in turns to reload. The old guy is standing with a wicked smile on his face, pointing in my direction.
I have to get them away from here—there are too many innocent people and there’s already been too much loss of life on my account. I won’t accept any more.
I look back at Chambers.
“Fine, if you’re not going to give it to me, will you at least start shooting these bastards?”
She readies herself, straightening her right arm and tightening her grip on her weapon, then clasping her right hand and the butt of the gun with her left hand. She looks at me quickly.
“Are they friends of yours?” she asks, sarcastically.
I shrug. “I’m not sure… only met the old guy once.”
“You sure know how to make a lasting impression, I’ll give you that.”
She stands and fires, hitting one of the three guys in suits in the chest, dropping him instantly. She ducks back down next to me.
“Come on,” I say to her.
I grab her hand and set off running back toward my room, away from the reception area. I glance over my shoulder and see the remaining two guys in suits coming after us, followed by the old guy.
Good—at least they’re not concerned about the innocent civilians in there…
As we near the room, she pushes me away, standing her ground, and turns to face them.
“I’m a federal agent!” she shouts, leveling her gun at them. “Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air, right now!”
They don’t even break step, they just keep coming, firing intermittently at us. Luckily, they’re terrible shots, but that’s not the point.
Without thinking, I step in front of Chambers and hold my hands out to the sides, hoping to God that they don’t shoot me before explaining themselves.
Hunter's Games Page 7
