“How’s he doing?”
I raise my forehead from the crisp white sheet pulled tight around Gabe’s motionless body to acknowledge Ethan’s presence. My boss takes the one spare seat, on the other side of the bed.
“He hasn’t regained consciousness yet,” I reply.
“Probably just as well.” Ethan winces as he takes in Gabe’s battered features. “Fuck, what a mess.”
I deliver the preliminary report. “His eye socket is shattered, and his jaw. Most of his ribs, too. And there’s his knee… He’s heavily sedated.”
“The bastards,” Ethan mutters. “Will they be able to reconstruct the knee joint?”
“The orthopaedic consultant will be examining him tomorrow. Thanks for paying for that, by the way.”
“No problem. According to Jack, they got there only just in time.”
I manage a nod. Just a few more seconds, and Christ knows what state he’d have been in. “I…I haven’t seen them yet. I should thank them.”
“No need. They did their job, now it’s time for you to do yours. If anyone can bring him back, it’s you, Doc. I should know.”
“He’s in good hands here.”
“I know. But you’ll be staying, I expect.”
“Yes. If that’s all right.”
“We’ll cope without you. Which reminds me, is there anyone I ought to be getting in touch with? Does he have family? Or a commanding officer?”
I shake my head. “If he does, I don’t know who they are. He’s never mentioned anyone, apart from a wife who never existed.”
“Sounds like an interesting story. I look forward to hearing it sometime. Truly a lone wolf, then?”
“I suppose so. Until now.”
He gets to his feet. “Keep me informed. And give him my best when he does come round.”
It’s two days before I’m able to pass on the message. The sedation has been gradually reduced, and the first stirrings of consciousness are returning. The moment when he opens his one good eye, I break down and weep.
“Hey, that’s some shitty bedside manner you have there.” His voice is thin, barely more than a croak. But his hand reaches for mine across the cotton coverlet.
I need to pull myself together. I swipe my fingers across my face to dash the tears away. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“Honey…?” He takes my hand. “It’s good to see you.”
I chew on my lower lip to hold back the sobbing. I should be happy, right? And I am. Deliriously happy, but I can’t seem to stop crying. “You, too. I thought—”
“I know. So did I.” He pauses, then, “He’s dead. Sokolov.”
“Yes. All of them are.”
He nods. “Good. He would never have given up.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I need to speak to Ethan. Explain what happened, and why it happened.”
“There’ll be time for that. You need to concentrate on recovering. Ethan won’t expect—”
“Would you tell him? Please?”