Page 61 of Thorn

The front guy’s gaze dropped down to Juliette. “Okay, then.”

No introductions were made.

Thorn took the case, which he assumed held the portable X-ray machine, from the guy’s hand and set it on the desk. It was a lot lighter than he’d expected. Thirty pounds maybe. He glanced toward the window but didn’t see Brigitte peeping through the curtain. Still, he positioned himself to block her view, in case she was recording with video or some other such trick.

Nutsbe’s teasing Thorn about Brigitte’s planting a tracker on his body niggled in his mind. He’d showered. He’d changed his clothes and equipment. They were coming up with new technology every day. He’d run a wand over himself later. Right now, he’d just assume that Brigitte had followed them in some conventional way, like putting a targeting square on him and programming her computer to track him via satellite. She was Mossad, they were more than capable of doing that.

The men stripped off their coats and scarfs then donned medical masks and neoprene gloves. Between the two of them, they pulled off Juliette’s night gown. They took copious pictures of her face and body. Thorn watched carefully to make sure that everything they did was professionally methodical. These were the kinds of pictures that were taken and put into a computer to try to suss out an identification. When they got to her feet, the men stalled. They conferred under their breaths, but Thorn knew, by the change of atmosphere in the room, that they’d drawn the same conclusions that Honey and he had drawn. Torture.

After taking photographic evidence of the scars, they inserted a catheter and an I.V. “Electrolytes, and some fever reducer,” the guy said. They were the first words this guy had spoken out loud to Thorn. Obviously American. From the Bronx would be Thorn’s guess.

The urine that started filling the bag was dark brown, and Thorn scowled.

The medic caught Thorn’s eye. “We’re fixing it, okay?” He lifted his chin toward his tote. “You’ve got plenty of supplies for the next twenty-four hours. We’re going to move her, but there’s a border involved, so we need her to get healthy enough to smile pretty at the guards. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Thorn said. He didn’t think twenty-four hours would bring about the results these guys wanted.

They maneuvered Juliette on her bed so that they could set up the X-ray.

He wasn’t sure what this X-ray was about. He’d told the team stateside that he didn’t see any issues from falls or strikes to her head. Maybe this was part of a protocol for her particular disability. He’d be interested to hear what Lynx had to say after these guys got out of here.

Thorn noted their priority list. Photographs number one. Stabilization with the catheter and IV was second. Now, they were on to the X-ray. For Thorn, that was low priority. He’d put blood samples first, so they’d know how to treat her, what antibiotics to introduce.

He had to stand out in the hall when they flashed the X-ray. Hopefully, Brigitte was leaning against the outer wall and not trying to peek through the curtains.

Standing in the hall, looking through the door opening, Thorn watched as they tied a quick band around her upper arm and tapped at her inner elbow to get a vein to come up. She was so dehydrated; their efforts took longer than expected. They must have had an in and out time, because they kept checking their watches. Finally, their last vial filled, they gathered their equipment, pointed one last time at the supply bag, and left without a word.

Thorn decided that Brigitte could hang out on the balcony a little longer while he looked through the duffle. IVs, needles, bandages, tubing. Fluid bags, a couple fresh catheters, nothing like an antibiotic. Lynx had said that the fevers had been unexplained…

Thorn zipped the bag and moved it to the armoire and out of view.

Yanking the curtain to the side, he unlocked the French door, and Brigitte stepped back in.

Her focus was on Juliette, dressed in her nightgown again, the sheets tucked professionally up under her arms, the IV dangling from a stand, still completely oblivious to what was going on around her.

“Fluids,” Brigitte said. “Good.” She turned to Thorn, feet wide, arms folded over her chest. “But more importantly, is there a plan to get her out of France and back on American soil? Because if you don’t move her fast, you might not get to move her at all.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Twenty-one Twenty-two Hours

Thorn tucked the wand back in his case. He’d swept himself and then the room for electronics after Brigitte left. He’d sent her out for some supplies. A fresh set of better-quality sheets, better blankets, more clothes. He’d made the list as comprehensive as he could to keep her busy somewhere else. But he expected her back any time.

Hopefully, Lynx would be back from her meeting by now. Thorn wanted to find out about the X-rays.

After another vitals check on Juliette, Thorn put a cool wash glove on her head and smoothed the covers.

Digging his computer out from the duffle, Thorn sat at the desk in the darkened hotel room and pulled up the encrypted account. “What the hell is going on.”

“You’re unusually testy,” Nutsbe said.

“Strange times, man. Brigitte wants to sit on Juliette like a hen who’s just laid a Fabergé egg. There’s a whole lot of cloak and dagger without a lot of context. I have no real idea of who our allies are, who we work for, who the heck Juliette is, or what’s going on. I had a dream about this.”

“Yeah? What happened?” Nutsbe shoveled up a bite of chocolate cake.

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