Seconds later, his response appears.
Got it. Bypassing the system now. As soon as you see the green light, you’re gtg.
“Any second,” I murmur to Ace and Webb. “Tyler’s bypassing security now.”
As promised, the little light on the badge reader shifts from red to green moments later. I grab the door handle and pull on it, letting out a relieved breath once the door opens.
The three of us move inside quickly, then make a quick left down the hallway. While we were on the plane, we studied the blueprints of the hospital, so we know this is the quickest route to the western stairwell.
Thanks to the early hour, the hospital is quiet. We’re not in the patient area, so that helps, but we still run the risk of running into a wandering guard or an employee who asks the wrong questions.
Fortunately, the only hospital employee we see is a custodian pushing a wheeled mop bucket and humming loudly to the tune of whatever song is playing on his headphones. Ace, Webb, and I move into a tight huddle as we pass by the custodian, talking in low tones about the upcoming playoff games.
Once he’s gone, we fall into silence again.
The doorway to the stairwell comes up on our right, and we start moving up the stairs, me in the lead, Webb at my six, and Ace at his. As we proceed upwards, my anticipation builds.
Like my old counselor at the VA hospital used to suggest, I visualize myself during each stage of the mission. First putting on the night vision goggles I have stashed beneath my shirt, then taking out the police officer, unhooking Bea from the monitors I’m sure she’s hooked up to, and finally, sneaking her out of here.
As we near the fourth floor, a ghostly sensation pricks at my missing fingers. My brain still wants the comfort of my gun in my right hand, just as it often was during one of our ops.
But I’m not armed here. And my right hand is gone.
I’m just armed with wits and preparation this time, and it’ll have to be enough.
Before we exit onto the fourth floor, I send Tyler another text.
At the fourth floor. In the stairwell.
I glance back at Ace and Webb. They both lift their chins in wordless acknowledgement. At their signal, I follow up with a second message.
Ready to go when you are.
The three dots blink for several seconds before Tyler’s response appears.
Shutting off the lights now.
I look at the time. It’s six-forty-two.
Placing my hand on the door, I crack it open. The hallway beyond is aglow with fluorescent light. I can’t see anyone from here, but I can hear the distant crackle of an intercom and the faint rattle of wheels rolling across the floor.
Five seconds later, all the lights go out.
A shocked gasp floats towards us, followed by an irritated, “Are youkiddingme?”
I shove on my night vision goggles and push the door the rest of the way open.
First, I do a visual sweep of the hallway, cataloging everything.
The two nurses at the end of it, one looking around in confusion, the other rummaging in her pocket, presumably for her phone.
The supply cart halfway down the hallway, piled high with stacks of folded sheets and blankets.
And there, less than twenty feet from us, the police officer.
He doesn’t appear alarmed. Not yet, not when the lights have been out for less than ten seconds. His hand isn’t even on his holster, let alone holding his weapon.
I need to get to him before he grabs it.
