Page 41 of Heston
Alex jerked his new TEAM satellite phone up from his jeans pocket and thumb-dialed the secure line to TEAM HQ, which, right then, Mark Houston was carrying on his hip. Mark was somewhere on the hospital grounds, or inside, hunting Kelsey’s killers. Many TEAM agents were. Most had come to Kelsey’s aid. But things still happened and Alex was done taking chances.
“Houston here,” Mark replied.
“Activate TEAM protocol Spirit One.”
“About time. Consider it done. You take care of our lady. We’ll do the heavy lifting.”
Alex pursed his lips at the outright loyalty he’d come to expect from his TEAM. There were none better. None more loyal. None more dedicated.
Spirit One was the covert transfer of precious intelligence, high-level resources, or cargo. In this case, Kelsey. The heavy lifting would be his TEAM getting her safely out of this hospital and securely into the TEAM jet waiting for her on the same private landing strip she’d been flown in on.
Alex should feel better than he did, but the lump in his throat made it difficult to tell Mark thanks. “You—ahh—”
“Stow it, Boss. We’ve all been through crap before. Know what it’s doing to you now. Take a breath and chill. Order a beer. Relax. Put your feet up on the back porch. Kelsey’s tough. She’ll breeze through this next surgery like a champ. You’ll see.”
Mark’s words were what any good friend would say to a worried husband. In this case,back porchwas code for TEAM HQ, where Kelsey would soon be safely ensconced below ground in the TEAM’s high-tech on-site hospital.Next surgerywas code for the covert operation to get Kelsey out of the hospital, sightunseen, as efficiently and quickly as possible. She was Spirit One, and Alex meant to spirit her out from under the noses of hospital staff and that damned Irishman. Whoever the son of a bitch was.
The decompressive craniectomy Dr. Drake Kang had performed on Kelsey was no simple operation. Which was why Alex had called the acclaimed neurosurgeon and his team of experts from the East Coast to handle it. Kang’s team included reconstructive surgeons, anesthesiologists, critical care experts, radiologists, and rehab experts, to name a few. Once the initial surgery was completed, the swelling in Kelsey’s brain had reduced significantly. Alex would forever be thankful for that early sign she’d survive.
Until Dr. Kang had expressed his concern the day after the first surgery that Kelsey was doing too well, that she didn’t seem to be experiencing any pain or distress, both expected aftereffects of a decompressive craniectomy. Especially after the pounding her poor skull had endured in the river. Her blood pressure should have spiked. She shouldn’t have been as quiet as she’d been. She certainly shouldn’t have been a model patient. She should’ve been in pain. Should’ve tossed and turned in some sort of agony. He’d expected she’d at least be nauseous. Maybe have thrown up. Instead her BP remained low, signifying a total lack of stress after the hours-long surgery.
“Either your little wife’s stronger than she looks, or I’m missing something, Alex,” Dr. Kang had told Alex privately the morning after the second surgery. “I’ve run more diagnostics. There’s no indication of stroke, seizures, or intracranial bleeding, and that’s good news. But she’s too—too placid. Too calm. I’ve seen miracles before, Alex, but my gut’s telling me the sooner you get her back East where I can monitor her progress without someone looking over my shoulder, the better.”
“You don’t trust this hospital?”
Dr. Kang had shaken his head. “I didn’t say that, but I’m OCD like you. The helo you’ve got waiting on her is already equipped to transport critical care patients. I’ll be with her every step of the way. I suggest you get her out of here, and do it fast.”
“See you soon, Mark,” was all Alex could come up with.
“Copy that.”
Only when Kelsey was safely at TEAM HQ would he be able to chill. It’d be better if she woke up and smiled. But Alex had a feeling that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
Chapter Twenty
“Yes, sir, I’ll be sure and let you know.”When pigs fly. No way am I working for this obnoxious guy. Who does he think he is?
“I’ll take that as a definite yes. See you Monday morning, bright and early.” Director Chase grinned. Then, as if that wasn’t enough of a lame come-on, he shot London a cocky wink. He still hadn’t let go of her hand. Was he flirting with her? Seriously? A man his age? He had to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties. Yeah, he was okay looking, but too damned old to think he was, in any way, impressing her. There was at least ten years difference in their ages.Eww.
‘Take it any way you want,’she thought, but said, “Monday, yeah. I’ll let you know by then.”Like I said.
“Great! You’ve got my card.”
“I sure do,” London answered as she pulled her fingers out of his big, warm grip.And I’ve got your number.The man acted like he already owned her.Gross.
“I’ll get your workspace ready,” he called out even as she turned and walked away from him. “Ever had an office to yourself?”No, and I don’t want one now.“Well, I’m the guy who can make it happen.”
“I’ll call you,” she repeated, more firmly this time, then kicked up her gait and speed-walked to the one-story brick building Heston, Asher, and Renner had disappeared into.
“Bye now!” Director Chase yelled.
Oh, for the love of God, give it up!London didn’t look over her shoulder this time. Didn’t wave. Didn’t answer. Uh-uh. No sense in saying anything to this obnoxious guy. Man, was he pushy.
She’d learned a few things working for the government. Most government agencies were inefficient, bogged down by redundant regulations, ROEs, and a shit ton of lessons they hadn’t yet learned from their prior errors. Add to that the fact that all federal data systems were outdated, some as old as World War Two. The very socialist nature of government employment, which had to have been the harbinger for today’s woke generation’s rule that everyone gets a participation prize, prevented hardworking civilians from excelling. Which stood to reason. Corrupt politicians created those agencies, and the only thing politicians ever excelled at was covering their asses.
Case in point: the Federal Bureau of Investigation had enough rules to choke a twenty-mule team, like the ones that had once hauled tons of borax out on the Mojave Desert! And the Bureau’s egregious errors were legendary. Yet they kept making the same ones. Over and over again they’d proved how partisan and corrupt they were. Why she’d ever wanted to work for the FBI boggled her brain now. And that Tucker Chase guy?
No. Just no!
