“Yes, any remaining members of the CLA were apprehended. Most of the remaining were low-level ideologues who weren’t privy to what their leadership was up to.”
“I suppose I should inquire… What about me?”
“Oh, yes, my apologies. You sustained quite a blow to the head. You were unconscious for about twelve hours. Thankfully, there was no internal bleeding or swelling. The doctors say you’ll make a full recovery. We were just waiting for your body to heal and decide to wake up.”
Ethan let a breath out through his nose. “You know I love you, right?”
“I love you, too.”
“Great, make me a promise that we’ll never do this again.”
“That is a promise I’m more than happy to make. My days of running toward danger are officially over.”
Having said that, Blayne leaned in to kiss Ethan.
“Excuse me,” a voice piped up from the other side of the curtain, punctuating the room’s silence.”
Blayne stood up and pulled the curtain back. Lucas lay in the bed next to Ethan.
“What happened to you?” Ethan asked.
“That woman shot me!”
“What woman?” Ethan asked.
“That crazy assassin friend of yours.”
“Agent Murphy told me they needed a clear shot at Lizzy Cleburne. Unfortunately, Lucas was being used as a human shield. Dr. Hennigan did what Dr. Hennigan does. She made a decision,” Blayne said, then gestured to Lucas.
“Oh, man,” Ethan said, “I’m so sorry to hear that. What about the bullet?”
“It went through him with no significant damage,” Blayne explained.
“No significant damage?” Lucas retorted. “I’m confined to a hospital bed. How can this not be significant?”
“Trust me,” Blayne said. “If Dr. Hennigan had wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
Epilogue
Dr. Hennigan
A week had passed since the incident at the Capitol. The initial shock had faded, replaced by the steely determination that comes with picking up the pieces. Dr. Hennigan was gratified to witness the country finally uniting to seriously address homegrown extremist groups for the first time. Even right-wing politicians, who typically relied on these groups for votes, had put forth only a few of their customary “but what about the left” arguments.
Once again, she found herself having tea in her mother’s personal quarters. Her mother and grandmother sat in ornate chairs on the other side of the coffee table while Hennigan sat on the couch, flanked by Ms. Wilson and Ms. Brighton. The room was chilly and quiet, with each woman lost in her own thoughts.
Hennigan cleared her throat, straightened her notes and began the post-operation report. The numbers were daunting. While the casualties were not nearly on the scale of 9/11, they were significant enough to elicit grim expressions around the table.
“Cleo Barnes is safe, and her cover remains secure,” Hennigan reported, offering some good news.
“And what about the CLA?” asked the eldest Hennigan.
“Permanently disbanded. The FBI had made quick work of rounding up anyone with connections.”
“What about links between Elizabeth Cleburne and The Foundation?” Hennigan’s mother, Deborah, asked.
“I’ve eradicated any records showing any connection between Cleburne and anyone from The Foundation, apart from Cleo Barnes.”
“Why didn’t you scrub any connection with Cleo?” Deborah Hennigan asked.
