Good Intentions - Adrian Hell #6 (Adrian Hell Series) (23 page)

Kaitlyn and I are sitting side by side, leaning forward, and resting on the bar in a small restaurant. It’s a discreet little place just off the main strip running through the center of Doha. The décor is shiny black, with a blood-red trim all around. It’s filled with the low noise of multiple conversations from the modest crowd as they finish their meals. Families, couples, large parties… all sitting together, laughing without a care in the world.

We got here about ten minutes ago. As soon as we hit the city limits, we found an underground parking lot and ditched the Suburban. They’re not exactly the subtlest of vehicles, and from this point on, we need to be keeping a low profile. We both loaded up with as much weaponry and ammunition as we could carry between us without it looking obvious, and set off on foot through the center of the city. This is the first place we came across that looked quiet. We told the waiter who greeted us that we weren’t hungry, but needed a drink. I ordered a beer and Kaitlyn a large glass of red wine.

I glance sideways at her. She’s vacantly staring at the counter. She hasn’t said anything since we sat down. We didn’t speak much on the journey here, either. We chased the sunset all the way along E11 until we reached Qatar. Credit where it’s due, she’s been a real trooper—she drove all the way here without any questions or hesitation, and we only stopped once for a bathroom break. We were pretty lucky with traffic, and it took a little over five hours.

I take a sip of my beer. “How you doing?”

She doesn’t reply.

I let out a long, heavy breath, which hurts more than it should. “Look, I know you’re angry. I know you’re afraid. But we need to be on the same page if we’re going to survive this. I can protect you. I can take Lily out. But I need your help. I need you—”

She snaps her head round to look at me. “You need
my
help? How can
I
help
you
, exactly? By carrying around your…” She pauses and leans in closer to whisper. “…your guns? Or maybe you need my help making someone disappear, or whatever you people call it? Or how about…”

She trails off. She’s breathing fast and not blinking. I can see the resentment in her eyes, which I completely understand.

I nod. “It’s okay, Kaitlyn. You have every right to be mad at me. I blame myself for everything that’s happened to you.”

“Good. I blame
your
self, too.”

I look away for a moment. This is turning into one of those times where, despite agreeing with the person who’s pissed at me, I’m starting to lose my patience with the whole ‘blame Adrian’ thing. I’m trying to remember that she’s not like me. She’s… normal. She won’t understand my frustrations. She won’t think I’m entitled to them.

I look back at her. “Okay, look. I understand you need to be angry at me. But you need to start moving past that. Now. We have bigger problems to deal with than whose fault this is. Do you get that? We have somebody…” I lower my voice. “…We have somebody trying to kill us. Normally, that wouldn’t bother me all that much, but this person knows exactly where we are at all times, which means we don’t get to rest. We don’t get to recharge and regroup. It means we have to keep running until we’re in a position to fight back.” I hold up my right hand, which I crudely bandaged using the medikit from the SUV on the way here. “Which might be a while… And it’s not just anyone who’s after us, either. Lily’s an assassin good enough to be recruited by the organization responsible for recruiting the deadliest killers the world has ever known. The same organization that recruited me.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes grow wide as my words slowly start to sink in. “I don’t understand… What do you mean? What does
any
of this mean?”

I sigh. “I know this is a lot to process. But I need you to understand the very real danger we’re both in right now. I’m essentially one-handed, and I have to focus on protecting you as well as figuring out how to take someone down who has the distinct advantage of knowing where I am at all times. We’re pretty much swimming into a shit tsunami, and I don’t need you being mad at me while I’m trying to save your ass, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything. She stares at me for a moment and then looks away. She’s quiet for a few, long minutes, then she picks up her drink, downs it in one, and slams the glass back down on the bar.

She takes a few deep breaths and then looks back at me. “I want answers. I need to understand what’s happened that could lead me here, to this moment, sat with you.”

If she was anyone else, I have no doubt she would’ve crumbled under the pressure of this long before now. I guess it’s her training as a therapist that’s given her the ability to remain mentally strong and focused, almost detached… despite the dire circumstances she’s in.

I nod. “I know you do, and I promise, I’ll tell you everything. But now isn’t the time. What I will say, is that I’ve never lied to you. I admit I… substituted certain elements of the things we discussed with metaphors to gloss over the more morally questionable parts, but I never lied. And I never will.”

She looks away and catches the eye of the barman. She holds a hand up to signal she wants a drink, and then points to her empty glass. The barman nods and sets about preparing another for her. He walks over and places a full glass of red wine in front of her, with a small napkin beneath it. She picks it up and empties it in another, quite impressive, gulp. She slams it down again and pushes it away.

Man, this woman can drink! Josh would love her.

Goddammit. There I go again!

I silently curse myself for the observation and re-focus on Kaitlyn. She’s staring at the surface of the bar, and I can see her trying to control her breathing. After a few moments, she finally looks back at me. “Okay. So, what’s our next move?”

I smile. “As much as I hate to admit it, I could do with getting to a hospital. I’m worried about my hand, and I’ve not even thought about the state my back’s probably in from all that glass. Plus, it’ll be somewhere we can rest and be relatively safe, at least for a little while. It’ll give us chance to get you up to speed and think about what comes next.”

She stands and looks across at the barman again. He smiles and moves over to us. “Yes, ma’am?”

He’s a well-dressed, well-groomed man with impeccable English.

Kaitlyn smiles. “Can you please call us a cab?”

He nods. “But of course.”

He disappears around a corner that leads into the back, presumably where the kitchen is.

Kaitlyn looks back at me and nods to my beer. “C’mon, drink up.”

I raise an eyebrow and smile.

June 4, 2017

01:09
AST

One of the benefits of unlimited wealth is that you rarely have to wait around for anything. Money will always buy priority.

The cab dropped us at the main entrance to Rumailah Hospital, which is a short walk from the semicircular bay that makes up the coastline of Qatar, overlooking Old Palm Tree Island. It’s a large, low building made of clean, beige brick, and reminds me of something from the seventies.

However, despite its somewhat humble exterior, inside tells a very different story. It’s actually a state-of-the-art facility, clinically immaculate and mostly white throughout. The front desk that faces the entrance looks as if it belongs on the deck of the USS Enterprise. There’s a large screen hanging behind it, displaying information about the hospital. On the desk itself, there’s an array of monitors and touchscreen equipment.

To the left of the entrance is a waiting area, which was mostly deserted, given the time we got here. Opposite, on the right, the area was blocked off. I think this place has undergone some major transformations in the last six months, and a lot of the work seems to be still ongoing.

Another shining example of what can be done by the governments of the world that found themselves thriving in the aftermath of 4/17. Over here in the East, they’ve invested heavily in transportation and healthcare, which is creating jobs and, ultimately, a better way of life for not only the people who already live here, but also the people seeking refuge.

I acted out the part of a victim a little, figuring my injuries were of the extent that, if I looked as if there was nothing wrong with me, it would probably raise more questions than I would like. But I soon realized any acting was unnecessary—I’m actually in a
lot
of pain! The act had been me ignoring it all night, but getting to the hospital allowed me to relax a little, and the agony had quickly taken over.

The woman behind the counter took one look at me as Kaitlyn and I approached and immediately called for two orderlies to come and assist. I refused the wheelchair they offered, and they walked me through the facility and straight into my own room, which was one of many lining both sides of a wide hallway.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and asked Kaitlyn to take the cover off the bottom pillow. We were each carrying a handgun with two spare mags, so we stashed them in the pillowcase and hid it under the bed. About thirty seconds later, a doctor appeared. He was probably no more than a couple years my senior, but because his long beard was mostly gray, it made him look much older.

He had closed the door behind him and set about asking me a whole bunch of routine questions about how I sustained my injuries. Kaitlyn had taken a seat in one of the chairs facing the bed and remained quiet as I explained what had happened to me, using as many facts as I could without implicating myself in anything.

I then peeled my T-shirt off to show the doctor my back, which was an unpleasant experience. I just figured, with everything that had happened, and the climate being what it was anyway, the fact my T-shirt was sticking to me was just sweat.

It wasn’t.

Prior to getting here, I had no idea what the extent of the damage was after absorbing most of the RPG blast, but my first clue came when the doctor took one look at my injuries and muttered “Holy mother of God…” under his breath.

You don’t need a medical degree to know
that’s
never a good sign!

He patched up as many of the wounds as he could, carried out a full assessment to see if I had any other injuries, and then arranged an x-ray for my right hand. I was in and out and back in bed within thirty minutes, and he advised me a surgical consult would come and look at my right hand soon.

That was almost two hours ago, so I’m hoping they’ll be here any time now.

The meds he gave me have kicked in, and right now, I’m sitting up in bed enjoying the reprieve from the pain that’s been coursing through my upper body for half the goddamn day.

Kaitlyn’s asleep on the chair, curled up in a ball. I don’t think I’ll be getting any rest anytime soon, despite being in dire need of a few hours’ sleep. My mind’s far too busy trying to figure out how to stop Lily without killing her.

I know, I know…

But I don’t like being manipulated, and that’s exactly what Horizon’s doing, which makes me not want to kill her just to piss him off. That’s not the only reason, obviously, but it helps.

Don’t get me wrong, I get
why
The Order’s pissed at Lily, and despite everything that’s happened—everything I’ve done… I kind of agree with them, to a point. I mean, I’ve been doing the whole ‘killer for hire’ thing for a long time. I know what it takes to survive in this world, and I know what it takes to be the best. There’s no way I would’ve made the mistakes Lily did, and the fact she made them at all makes me wonder what it was she brought to the table in the first place that made The Order interested in her.

That said, mistakes do happen. Whether it’s directly or indirectly, sometimes shit just goes sideways, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Your only option is to react in the best way you see fit to try to rectify whatever the situation is. Which is exactly what Lily’s done. She knew she couldn’t fail The Order, so she came to me and asked for help.

If I’m being completely honest, the cynic in me thinks this is nothing more than the excuse Horizon’s been waiting for to justify getting rid of her. This whole thing seems to be a very disproportionate response to Lily’s mistake, especially given she didn’t technically break any of The Order’s precious little rules. This seems very personal. I might be way off, but that’s what my gut’s telling me. I mean, I quite brazenly broke one of their rules, and all I got was a stern talking to and an opportunity to redeem myself.

On top of that, given my almost genetic reflex to rebel against any kind of authority, I’m not blind to the fact I’ve been pissing Horizon off more and more each time we speak. Him giving me the contract on Lily’s life is probably just his way of putting me in my place and exerting his authority over me. He most likely knows Lily and I were growing close, and he knows there’s nothing I can
really
do about it because of the fucking bomb in my head…

I sigh heavily and lean back against the pillow.

I need to focus. I’m letting my mind run away with itself, letting it worry about too many worst-case scenarios. I need to make a list of my problems and tackle one at a time.

The first problem is Lily. From what I know about her, she’s most likely panicking and reacting to a threat without thinking clearly. Again, it makes me wonder what set her apart from everyone else in our business in the first place, but that’s a question for another day. There’s no denying she’s lethal, but she’s also proving to be very resourceful. She’s managed to hack her way into The Order’s computer network and hijack the tracking signals from the devices implanted in every operative’s neck. She knows exactly where I am at all times, which explains how she found me at Kaitlyn’s office. I have to assume she knows I’m here, too, despite Pierce saying he has people working to block her access.

So that’s my first problem. My second problem is the bomb in my neck. Aside from the fact it’s giving my position away, it’s a fucking bomb… I can literally have my head blown off my shoulders at any moment. It can’t be removed, because any contact with the atmosphere and it detonates…