“I know,” Ethan said, letting out a quick breath. “I can’t help but blame myself. I wish I knew what was going on. None of this makes sense.”
Blayne looked at Ethan as tears started welling in his eyes. Blayne gave Ethan’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not your fault, Ethan.”
“Still, you could have died,” Ethan said, his voice barely escaping his throat. “I…I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life than when I saw the Associated Press message saying I’d been assassinated…. Well,youwere assassinated.” Ethan raised Blayne’s hand to his lips and gently pressed them against the back of his hand, just above where the IV needle was placed.
Blayne shifted his body to stare at Ethan, but he winced as a sharp wave of pain shot from his left arm. Without skipping a beat, Ethan put a cylindrical device in his hand with a button on top.
“It’s a patient-controlled analgesia pump for pain management,” Ethan said. “Any time you hurt, push the little button, and you’ll get a dose of medication through your IV.”
Blayne pushed the pump, and within seconds he felt a soothing sensation wash over his body. “Whoa,” Blayne said. “That stuff’s fast.”
“He’s finally awake,” Kira said, entering the room. She pulled back the curtain separating his bed from the other one in the room. He glanced to his right and saw Kira, Dr. Reich and Jamie sitting on the other side.
“Wow,” Blayne said. “I didn’t know anyone else was in the room.”
“We didn’t want to interrupt,” Dr. Reich said. “We knew you two needed some privacy.”
Blayne looked at Jamie, who had a goofy grin on his face. Blayne tilted his head slightly, and Jamie mouthed, “He loves you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dr. Hennigan
Dr. Hennigan listened to the soft clicking sound of her heels as she walked through The Complex’s halls. She’d received a phone call moments earlier from her mother, requesting her immediate presence. Dr. Hennigan had terminated highly skilled operatives who had caused her fewer problems than Ethan Bond and his friends. As she approached the door, she steeled herself for a conversation she knew wouldn’t be pleasant.
She knocked on the door and waited to be buzzed in. She walked into her mother’s office and almost stopped in her tracks. Not only was her mother there, but her grandmother was there as well…and Ms. Brighton.Well, fuck!
“Thank you for joining us so quickly,” Deborah said. “Please sit.” She motioned to an available seat. In this corner of her mother’s office, a couch, a coffee table and two chairs formed a cozy square. Her mother and grandmother were in the chairs, and Ms. Brighton sat on the other end of the couch.
“Let’s start by saying this is not a formal inquest,” Sara Hennigan said. Dr. Hennigan looked at her grandmother’s face for any trace of emotion, but her grandmother’s demeanor was utterly affectless. Sara could just as easily be talking to a wall as her own granddaughter. “Ms. Brighton, if you would.”
Ms. Brighton sat a tablet PC in her lap. “From my initial analysis of this operation, everything has been completed per The Foundation protocols.” Dr. Hennigan wanted to let out a sigh of relief, but she did her best to mirror her grandmother’s countenance. “However, we have clearly run into a series of problems outside the parameters of expected success rates given thenatureof the targets in question.”
“Yes?” Dr. Hennigan asked.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of this situation,” Ms. Brighton admitted, turning to look at Dr. Hennigan directly. “I fully expected to see a glaring flaw in your initial assessment and plan, but I haven’t. Now, this doesn’t mean the audit has concluded. Still, my initial assessment is that what has happened could not have been anticipated.”
“Thank you, Ms. Brighton,” Sara said. “You may leave us now.”
Ms. Brighton got up and left the room. As soon as the door was closed, Dr. Hennigan watched as both her mother and grandmother’s postures relaxed.
“Phillipa,” Sara said, “what the hell is going on here?”
“Grandma,” Dr. Hennigan started, “every move we make has been counteracted by things we could not predict. If I believed in luck or the fates, I’d say they were conspiring against us.”
Sara Hennigan steepled her hands under her chin as she pondered the situation. “Walk me through everything. I’ve read the reports, but I want to know what’s not in them. Off the record, of course.”
Dr. Hennigan told her mother and grandmother about the entirety of the operation from the initial realization that Cynthia Dunning had stolen classified files to Denzili and Richardson’s failed attempt at assassinating Ethan Bond.
“Like Ms. Brighton said,” Deborah started after Dr. Hennigan finished, “you have run a textbook operation. From what I can tell, this has been one giant clusterfuck from the beginning.”
“Deborah, language,” Sara chastised.
“Sorry, Mother,” Deborah apologized.
“Language aside,” Sara said, “the sentiment is accurate.”
“Trust me,” Dr. Hennigan said. “I’ve repeatedly debated every move my team has made, and I would have made the same calls each time.”
