by Matthew Rief
“No!” he said, jumping to his feet.
He broke for the room’s sliding glass door, but it was locked, and the inside was dark and appeared vacant. Without hesitating, Jason picked up one of the metal outdoor chairs and hurled it into the glass. The door shattered, and he flew inside, shards crunching under his shoes. His first call wasn’t to 9-1-1, but to the front desk.
“I need an AED in room eleven oh two,” he said, his words rushed but articulate.
“There’s one in the hallway,” the woman said. “I’m sending up help.”
“And call nine-one-one. We need an ambulance.”
Jason dropped the handset and exited out to the corridor, where he found the AED mounted to the wall beside an extinguisher and an encased axe. He grabbed hold of the lifesaving device, knowing that every second Charlotte lay there on the balcony in cardiac arrest, the chances of her survival would grow slimmer and slimmer. She’d already been out for a few minutes since Zhao had pulled the trigger and sent her freefalling. There was no way of knowing how much longer she had or if she could be revived at all.
Back on the balcony, Jason knelt down beside Charlotte and cracked open the defibrillator. Familiar with the model, he merely glanced at the brief instructions while powering it on. Grabbing the sides of her shirt, he yanked his hands apart, ripping the buttons from the thread and revealing Charlotte’s chest and bra.
A level of intense focus taking over, he grabbed a plastic packet from inside the unit and slid out the two electrode pads. After peeling the plastic liner off the first pad, he pressed it against the upper right corner of Charlotte’s chest. Removing the liner from the second pad, he pressed it to the lower left part of her chest.
Jason hovered his hand over the discharge button, waiting for the device to give him the all clear. When the button flashed red, Jason pressed it down, sending three-thousand volts into her body. Charlotte jolted, then she went motionless again.
An eerie silence followed. Jason pressed his fingers to her neck once more, then cursed again. No pulsating vein indicated that Charlotte’s heart was doing its job. With hope running thin, he retained his focus, knowing that it wasn’t over yet. He powered up the machine for another go. Footsteps and voices filtered out from the room as onsite security and staff entered. They stepped out through the broken glass and surrounded Jason just as the light flashed red once more. Letting go of her hand, Jason held his breath and pressed the button again.
Like the first time, Charlotte jolted then went motionless. His mouth open and dread taking over, Jason leaned forward and extended his arm, feeling again for a pulse. His own heart nearly stopped as he felt the soft pulsation of a vein transporting blood. He removed his hand and kissed her on the cheek.
The security team joined in to help, doing everything they could, but by the time the paramedics arrived with a stretcher five minutes later, Charlotte still wasn’t conscious. And though her heart was back to doing its job, her pulse was dangerously weak.
Jason helped the first responders ease her onto the stretcher, then followed as she was wheeled out. Giving brief information regarding what had happened to CIA agents and police officers as they rushed on the scene from the parking lot, Jason climbed into the ambulance. He kept his hand in Charlotte’s for the short ride to George Washington University Hospital, tears streaking down his face and pain tearing at his soul.
FORTY-SEVEN
Washington, DC
Five Days Later
Jason ran among flowing patches of fog, the first rays of sunlight breaking over the horizon and sparkling over the Potomac. He pushed across the Memorial Bridge and entered Arlington National Cemetery, not slowing until he reached the heart of the hallowed grounds. The sight was powerful and moving, punctuated by the early morning quiet. He gazed upon the tens of thousands of headstones marking those who’d sacrificed their lives for the sake of the country.
With his emotions running high, Jason thought back to the events leading up to the confrontation in room 1104 of the Watergate Hotel.
Having seen the first two samples recovered, Jason had assured his team that the third remaining sample was useless. That the virus would’ve been killed off by the bleach he’d managed to administer into the vial just moments before he was captured in the Azores. But knowing that there was an inside man feeding intelligence from within the UN and giving aid to the vile organization, they’d kept the information close to the chest. They also didn’t want Kang to catch wind that his final sample was useless and then react to the news by doing something foolish.
They’d kept the vital piece of the puzzle to themselves until the whole thing was wrapped up. The plan had worked, and though Dr. Chang-Nam, the last surviving member of Kang’s team, managed to release the third sample onto the main platform of Union Station, not one of the hundreds of nearby civilians had caught the virus. Chang-Nam had been captured and was being detained by the CIA. The virus sample had been studied and proven dead.
With Kang gone, and with Zhao exposed and done away with, it should’ve been an exciting moment for Jason and his team. After all, they’d managed to hunt down and thwart the secret operation, despite the odds stacked so highly against them. Aside from the archeological team who discovered the Viking wreck, not a single person caught the mysterious virus.
But all Jason could think about was Charlotte and the representative from Iceland.
Pushing back across Arlington Bridge, he picked up his speed, pushing his body to its limits as he arced around the Lincoln Memorial and past the reflection pond. He veered away from the lake, approaching the black granite wall with 58,318 names etched into its polished surface. They were the names of every armed service member who’d perished in Vietnam.
After walking past the monument in silent reverence, he spotted a familiar face. Scott was wearing a loose tracksuit and jogging straight for him. The two stopped where three paths intersected.
“I thought I might run into you at this hour,” Scott said. “We missed you at the meeting last night.”
“I was at the hospital,” Jason said, planting his hands on his knees and catching his breath.
“I figured as much.” Scott sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about Charlotte. It’s terrible what happened, but this mission was a success, Jase. By far the biggest one we’ve had. We’re leaving tomorrow night and motoring the Valiant back down south to warmer waters. There’s still a lot of work to be done and still a lot of evil out there looking for the right moment to make a move. But if you need time, I understand. Take what you need.”
“Why not leave today?”
“We received an invitation for this evening that we couldn’t refuse. President Martin has invited us to the White House so he can personally thank our group for all that we’ve done. It would be nice for him to thank the member of our group who’s most responsible for making it happen.”
“I’m not much for gatherings. Or pats on the back.”
“No, you’re not. And I figured as much.”
Scott patted Jason on the back, causing them both to crack a smile. “You’re just gonna have to suck that one up, kid. Keep in touch. We need you, but we need you right. Understand? Demons have a way of clawing their way back into our lives. However you need to fend them off, do that. We’re here to help, however we can.”
Jason nodded, then Scott took off, continuing at his pace.
“You’re not running with me?” Jason said.
“You couldn’t keep up with me. Oh, and if you don’t come tonight, make sure you stop by and see the team before we set sail.”
Jason felt newfound vigor after the talk and pushed himself hard for the last mile to his hotel. After a quick shower and change, he walked four blocks to George Washington Hospital. In the ICU, he stepped into a room with a fleet of medical equipment, a lone hospital bed, and screens displaying vital signs. Charlotte was resting on the b
ed.
Jason settled into his usual spot in a chair off her left side, a wave of emotions crashing back into him as he observed her.
Frank Murchison, Charlotte’s father, stepped inside with two cups of coffee. Jason had first met the man weeks before, when the professor was taken hostage by a sadistic Russian criminal in order to blackmail Charlotte into betraying Jason and his team. After dealing Nikolai Reznikov a fatally crushing blow, Jason flew across the Virgin Islands and rescued Frank from the hands of the remaining criminals.
The doctor had said that Charlotte was in a coma, and the outlook as to whether she’d ever awake from it was bleak. Seeing that Jason was a wreck but trying to keep it together, Frank sat down beside him.
“This is all my fault,” Jason said.
“Charlotte made a decision.” Frank struggled to keep his own emotions at bay. “Faced with either doing nothing or trying to help, she helped. You did everything you could, Jason. You can’t blame yourself for this. You’re not the one who pulled the trigger. And if it weren’t for you, the paramedics say she’d never have made it.”
Powerful thoughts and emotions took over. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be with someone. Every time his heart drew close to another’s, that person got hurt. If he and Charlotte had never met, then she’d be back in Boston doing what she loved, and none of it would’ve happened. He’d tried his best to keep her away from the action—to distance her from the line of fire. In the end, it hadn’t mattered.
“Please, take a break for today,” Frank said. “I’d like to be alone with my daughter.”
Jason nodded and willed himself to step away. He’d been utterly destroyed by what happened in Paris nearly two years earlier, watching helplessly as the love of his life died in a fiery explosion. Now, he was right back there. Just as his heart had begun to open again, she was taken away, and as before, he was powerless to do anything but watch.
FORTY-EIGHT
That evening, Jason walked without a destination in mind, strolling along the eastern side of the National Mall. It was a clear night and a comfortable sixty-five degrees as he unconsciously followed the line he and Charlotte walked the previous week.
After passing the Smithsonian, he continued along for another half hour, ambling around the Library of Congress before following the long stretch of Pennsylvania Avenue. Cutting through Seward Square, he saw light trickling out through the piles of paperbacks stacked inside the windows at Capitol Hill Books.
Gravitating toward the entrance, he stopped momentarily, having a strange feeling that he was being followed. He swept his peripherals for anything suspicious, but there was nothing but a woman walking her dog, a well-dressed couple walking arm in arm, and the occasional car coming and going.
He wondered how much he’d slept the previous night and questioned the quality of that sleep as he pushed into the bright store, the smell of old books welcoming him inside. The place was cozy, like a maze with everything from classic first editions to the latest bestsellers stacked floor to ceiling.
After asking the man behind the counter where the archeology section was, he headed up a creaky staircase and weaved his way through, trying his best to follow the instructions. He didn’t know what he was looking for as he gazed across the titles and author names, but he figured Charlotte would appreciate a new read when she woke up. Optimism or borderline delusion, he believed she’d pull through, despite the odds.
“X Marks the Spot,” he said, tilting his head and reading the spine as he slid out a black book with a red X on the cover. He held the book out in front of him and read the subtitle: “The Archeology of Piracy.” He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of their recent escapade in the Caribbean, where they discovered Captain Kidd’s lost treasure.
Jason leafed through the table of contents, then stowed it in his mind’s “maybe pile” before reaching for another. Though he’d spent most of his time the past few years outside, pushing his body or tracking down evildoers in some corner of the Caribbean, he appreciated academia. The sights and smells and sounds of the bookstore brought him back to his years at Columbia and the late nights poring over text and delving into other worlds filled with varying perspectives and unique experiences.
As he continued to scan the books, a tall, wide-shouldered man in a black suit seemed to materialize out of thin air. He took post to Jason’s right at the end of the row and looked toward him instead of the stacks of books. Another man appeared to Jason’s left, standing stoically with his arms at his sides and watching Jason intently.
“Archeology has always fascinated me, as well,” said a man at Jason’s back in a confident, clear voice that he recognized instantly. “The hands-on study of our past.”
Jason turned around and saw President Elijah Martin standing with his hands in his pockets, the usual American flag pin attached to the left lapel of his suit.
The charismatic middle-aged man extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Jason Wake.”
“The honor’s mine, sir.” Jason eyed his watch. “Don’t you have a dinner tonight?”
He gazed upon the shelves packed with books. “Don’t you? I heard you don’t like attention or recognition, so I thought I’d come to you.” He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I wanted to thank you personally. If it weren’t for you, there’s no doubt in my mind that mankind would, at this moment, be dealing with one of the worst epidemics in history.”
“It was a joint effort, Mr. President. Our team—”
“And I’ve already expressed my gratitude to the rest of your team. Now, as commander in chief, as a husband, and as a father, thank you. I don’t say this often, at least not anymore, but I owe you one.”
Jason fell silent, looking past the president, then down to the floor.
“I was saddened by the loss of Miss Johannsdottir,” President Martin said. “She was a shining light in the political arena, and her body has been transported home for a ceremony befitting her life of service. And I’m sorry about your friend, Charlotte Murchison. My people have informed me of her role and what happened to her. We’re pulling for her.”
“Thank you.”
“Adventure takes its toll on heroes and villains, and from what I’ve read about her, she’s just about as heroic as they come. And so are you.” When Jason fell silent again, the president cleared his throat and leaned against the nearby shelf. “I know you’re dealing with a lot, but I want you to know that this won’t be the last time I’m going to call on you and your group. Of course, you’re private. You can choose to answer my call or not. In the meantime, what will you do now? Mr. Cooper tells me your group’s heading back south. I must say I’m envious. It’s been a long time since I went someplace tropical.”
“Given your status, I’m sure you could work in a trip now and then.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
Jason sighed. “I need to clear my head.”
“A vacation?”
“Something like that.”
Jason thought back to his run that morning and the rows of white tombstones set among the deep green, stretching on and on in fields of flanking trees.
“Sir, you call, and we’ll be there.”
The president patted Jason on the back. “I knew your father. I’ve heard you’re nothing like him, and I’m glad to see first-hand that everything I heard was true.”
Gazing back over the books, Jason said, “This doesn’t feel over, Mr. President.”
“What do you mean?”
“We managed to prevent the release of the virus, yes, but”—he paused a moment, collecting his thoughts—“do you believe the statement from the Chinese government? That they had no idea what Zhao Song was up to, and that the diplomat acted on his own and in secret?”
The president rubbed the back of his neck. “I think this conversation is far too classified for Capitol H
ill Books. But let’s just say that those are the types of questions that cause me to lose sleep at night.”
It wasn’t a straightforward answer, but in a way, it was. The president’s body language hinted that there was far more to the tale—that a trove of baggage and backstory lay beneath the surface. It was no secret that China was making moves on the United States. Not traditional ones, but slow and steady, unconventional moves. Dominance through economics, trade, and resources.
A member of the president’s security detail approached and whispered something into his ear.
President Martin nodded, then shook Jason’s hand again. “Until we meet again, Jason Wake. Godspeed.”
–––
Jason spent three more days by Charlotte’s side, then boarded a flight. He couldn’t just sit there and watch her any longer. It was tearing him apart inside. The powerful internal blow was beginning to take over, his demons gaining far too much steam, so he decided to go back to the place where he once met them head-on and beat them to a pulp.
When his plane landed in the desert, he climbed aboard a helicopter. The bird touched down seemingly in the middle of nowhere, the rotors gusting back waves of dust as they slowed. Jason stepped out, feeling the blistering Texas sun on his face and breathing in the desert air.
Turning toward a deep gorge with a winding river at the bottom, he followed a barely noticeable footpath to a concrete structure set among the rocks, its roof covered in dirt and foliage. The place was in the middle of nowhere, nearly impossible to spot from overhead, and according to most official documents, it didn’t even exist.
While trekking along the rim of the canyon, he heard the sound of trainees running and heaving, mixed with the occasional barking order from one of the instructors. It was the sound of sheer exhaustion—the sound of people being pushed to their max.
