Authors: Vicki Hinze
It wouldn’t take long for the lab attendant to draw blood and get back. She spotted the computer terminal on a small desk in the back of the lab. At least being distant from the door, she would have a little warning if the attendant returned.
Fingers of guilt clenched down on her stomach. This wasn’t right. Her feelings for Joe weren’t right. And Shank had called it on the nose. As soon as Sara gained access to those files, Fontaine would be notified. He would be antagonized. And he would retaliate.
You’re risking your life, Sara. And the lives of your patients.
True, damn it, but what choice did she have? Either she found the common bond between the patients, found out what the acronym “I wept” meant, or helping the men was impossible, and whatever was happening to them would continue to happen to others.
This was her only chance at helping them, her only prayer of protecting them.
She keyed in patient number ADR-17, and then watched the screen.
RECORDS SEALED. CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET.
One after the other, she keyed in all five patient numbers and then ADR-40’s. The message on the screen remained the same.
Think Sara. Think. Where’s the back door?
Minutes ticked by. Frustrated minutes of failed attempts. With each of them, Sara felt more upset and urgent and hopeless. At the end of her rope with nothing left to try, she glared at the screen.
Help me help them, damn it. Please!
Nothing. No luck. More failures. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Still stymied, she began to sweat, to see Foster’s face in the reflection on the screen, chiding her for failing the people who had sacrificed for her. She squeezed her eyes shut, forked her hands through her hair, swallowing a lump of bitter frustration and defeat from her throat. What in the name of God did she do now?
She sat staring at the clock, agonizing. She had failed them.
Make it personal. Hell, it is personal. Every day of his life, this operative sacrifices for you in ways you can’t begin to fathom.
Foster. Yes. Yes. The thought struck and held, and an idea formed. It was extremely risky, but the only thing left she knew to try. Her fingers trembling, hovering above the keys, she took in a deep breath and keyed in the phrase that gave her shivers. “Shadow Watchers.”
A box appeared on the screen, and Sara broke into a cold sweat.
Now what?
Obviously, if she were a Shadow Watcher, she would know what to do. She wasn’t, and she didn’t.
Wait. What had Foster said? The creed. Yes, the creed. What was it?
She knew it. She’d repeated it to Joe. But she was so nervous, she couldn’t remember it. She darted her gaze to the clock. Twenty-five minutes. Panic struck her stomach. She pressed a hand over it.
Calm down. Just calm down and think.
She swiped her hands down her slacks, concentrated hard. Finally, the memory came, and she typed it in, suffering a volatile mixture of elation and dread. “Accomplish the mission. Whatever, whenever, wherever.”
The box disappeared. The screen flickered, went blank, and then a message appeared. ACCESS APPROVED.
Certain she was pressing it on time, she quickly keyed in the patient numbers. The files appeared, except for Fred’s. It was blocked. ACCESS DENIED. But the others gave her access, and Sara examined each of them quickly. No printer was attached to the terminal, damn it. She pulled up Joe’s file. “Major Jarrod Brandt.” He
had
been lucid.
She scanned down the page, and her gaze grabbed “Date of Death: Fifteen June—”
Date of Death?
Oh, no. No. She browsed back to the other files. Michael, Ray, Lou, ADR-40, and then again looked at Jarrod’s. Her stomach soured, spots formed before her eyes, and she feared she might be sick.
They all had been declared legally dead.
Appalled, outraged, stunned, Sara shoved the emotions down. She couldn’t afford them now. Any moment, she would be caught in the lab. Fontaine couldn’t kick her out of Braxton, but he definitely could make her miserable and her efforts futile. And, over this, he would.
God, but it was hard to not feel. Their poor families had no idea. They had no idea
. . .
Why couldn’t she find any reference to David? And why was Fred’s file blocked and not the others? That made no sense. None at—Scanning Joe’s admission form, she felt her gaze grab and jerk to a dead halt. “Patient transferred from Intelligence Warfare Psychological Training Center.”
Sara ran a quick check on the other patient files. All read the same. Chills sweeping up her backbone, she gasped. “IWPT.”
“What are you doing here?” a man Sara didn’t know demanded from the doorway.
She signed off the system and shut down the computer. He wasn’t Mick Bush, and he was carrying a tray for drawing blood. She pressed her hand to her chest and drew in an exaggerated breath. “You scared me.”
“Who are you?” His solemn expression didn’t waver.
“Dr. Sara West,” she said with a smile. “I was running a check on ADR-36. He’s a diabetic. I’m watching him pretty closely.”
His expression cleared. “It’s normal,” he said. “Ran it myself earlier this morning. Didn’t you check with Shank?”
“She was busy with a patient. I checked the file. Must have missed it.” Sara made her way to the door. “Thanks.” Before he could stop her, she left the lab.
Midway down the hallway, she heard footsteps and ducked into a darkened room. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she watched through a crack in the door. Mick Bush strode down the hall, his boots thundering on the tile.
She held her breath and waited for him to pass. When he did, and she estimated he’d had enough time to get into the lab, she ran for the stairs. She should have thought of it before going to the lab, but she hadn’t. She desperately needed an alibi.
Joe. She’d go to—No, no. The monitors.
Where, then?
She charged up the stairs, scraping her knuckles against the rough wall. Not to the second floor. Shank would cover for her, but Beth wouldn’t. Isolation. She had nowhere else to go but to Joe. And she would pray hard that William wasn’t pulling a double shift.
Koloski, bless him, sat at the desk. On the run, Sara ordered, “Buzz me through.”
“Yes, ma’am, Major. Glad to hear your voice is back—”
“Thanks.” Sara shoved through the door, and then knocked on Joe’s. Her chest was heaving. As soon as the buzzer sounded, she opened the door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He was lucid. Alert and coloring. Green. “Sara, what’s wrong with you?”
“I need your help.” She whispered to keep Koloski from hearing her. “I need to know that you trust me. I realize with betrayal being one of your issues—”
“You’re digressing.” He squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”
She turned her back to the camera. “It involves helping David, Brenda, and Lisa. It involves all of my patients, Joe, including you.”
He frowned, stared hard into her eyes. “Sara, what have you done?”
“I—” Mick Bush’s face appeared at the Plexiglas window. In a cold sweat, she stiffened and her voice faded to a wisp of sound. “Oh, God.”
Mick looked inside. Sara glimpsed him in her peripheral vision and started shaking. “Show me what you’ve been doing.”
“Tell me what you’ve done.” Joe noticed Mick, but gave no sign of it other than to let Sara know with a slow blink.
The door opened. Mick stepped inside. “Dr. West, were you just on the computer in the lab?”
Joe stepped between them. “Dr. West has been in here with me for over an hour.” He looked up at the camera. “Ask Koloski.”
Mick Bush didn’t look convinced. He looked angry, and doubtful. Still, he left the room and went out to the desk.
Sara’s heart thudded hard, threatening to rocket through her chest wall. “Joe, a man saw me down there.”
“I know. His name is Hal.” Joe clasped her arm, showed her the bend in his elbow, covered with gauze and tape. “It’s okay, Sara. You’re covered.”
Joe had been the blood donor. “But the computer.”
“You’re covered,” he repeated, cutting his gaze toward the camera. “Outside.”
Sara looked at the camera. “Koloski, get the door. I’m taking Joe outside.”
The door alarm sounded. Sara moved toward it. Joe didn’t. “What?”
“No jacket or chair?”
“No.” If he was well enough to cover for her, he was thinking more clearly than she was and didn’t need them. She opened the door. “Come on.”
Mick stood at the end of the desk. “So she was here for an hour?”
“Right here,” Koloski said. “Been watching her on the monitor.”
Sara couldn’t believe it. Koloski was helping her, too. Shank had galvanized the friendlies—the Braxton underground. That startled her. Braxton had factions
and
an
underground.
“Mick, did you need me for something?” Sara paused beside him.
Joe stopped at her side.
“Someone tapped into the computer in the lab using your code,” Mick said, scrawling a note on his clipboard.
Sara frowned. “How could anyone get my code?”
“I’ll let you know when I’ve concluded my investigation.” Mick looked up from his clipboard. “Security will issue you a new password within fifteen minutes. Don’t attempt to use your old one.”
“Okay.” Sara feigned concern. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, ma’am. Koloski’s verified your whereabouts. That’ll do it.”
Sara sent Koloski a warm look of appreciation, which he wisely ignored. She turned her gaze to Joe. “Are you ready to go outside?”
“Yes. I like it outside. Where are my crayons?”
Sara had forgotten them, but absently patted her pocket. They were there. Joe had covered her on that, too. “They’re right here.”
They took the elevator to the first floor and then walked down to the pond.
“Stay away from trees,” Joe said. “Some have cameras in them. And the hedge maze is sixty percent wired.”
“What?” Sara stilled, looked out on the sun-spangled water. “How can you know all of this?”
“I told you,” he said softly. “I remember who I am. Which also means I remember what I do, and how to do it.”
“Then you know you’re a victim of psychological warfare.”
“I deduced it, but didn’t know it for fact.”
“Did you go to IWPT for training?”
“I think so. There are gaps, Sara. I remember a lot, but some things are hazy. Others, well, they’re just blank. That’s one of the blanks.”
“Joe.” She stepped closer. “I’m certain you were tortured. Almost certain you suffered sensory deprivation. I know specific things trigger the rage. Colors, like white and red, and certain words.”
“Don’t mention them. Not now.”
“Okay.” She smoothed back her hair and squinted up against the sun at him. “I’m convinced that whatever happened to you and the others happened at IWPT.” God, how she hated to have to tell him this. “I don’t think it was accidental, Joe. I’m not sure it was deliberate, but I think the results were expected.”
“Betrayed.” He’d known it, had felt it down to the marrow of his bones. And he felt the same sense of outrage and disbelief now that he had felt the first time he had been betrayed by his wife and best friend, Miranda and Royce.
“It all fits, Joe.” Sara watched him closely, terrified she would say too much too soon and he would regress.