“Fine. I have no real gripe with her,” Luka said.
“Kim, straight ahead to the man in the suit.” Gwen pointed.
“Whoa. Stand up with me, walk me to the other side of the table.” As Luka slipped into the bench beside Gwen, he let Kim go.
Gwen watched her run into Wes’s arms. “Talk to me. You will never get to Mr. Bremen. At least if you’re going to kill me, let me know why.”
“You mustn’t matter to him that much. I figure he’d show his face by now.” Luka looked around.
“He can’t be here. He’s… he’s having surgery,” Gwen said.
“Right, he said it in the interview. Karma got him again.”
“He doesn’t see his injuries as a cosmic punishment; he sees them as the result of terrible acts performed by evil people.” Gwen locked eyes with him.
“I have to say, at first, that was a shock.” Luka’s eyes darted around the cafeteria.
“What was a shock?” Gwen noticed Julian was no longer in the group. He was looking for an area to take a shot.
“It was a fluke. The first time I watched the tapes, I was watching some stupid reality TV show. They gave out the link. He fought so hard to live. They gave him a Medal of Freedom. Then he did that interview, putting himself out there again, trying to save the world.”
“I guess you were also surprised when it didn’t destroy him?” Gwen asked.
“Not really. I should have known. He should have been the company commander. How does he do it?” Luka stayed close to Gwen.
“Do what?” Gwen’s brow rose.
“Get up every morning?” His knife hand lowered.
“He doesn’t like the alternative.” Gwen’s brows knitted. “You aren’t here to kill me or Troy, are you?”
“You’re right: I hurt Kim. I was loaded—my bad choices. I served my time, but I can’t move forward. I can barely get out of bed.” Luka began to dig the knife into the table.
Gwen could see the letter opener was a sharpened piece of either ivory or scrimshaw. “You were attacked in prison?” Gwen put it together.
“Yeah. How does he do it, face himself? There’s not enough soap in the world to get clean.”
“I’m sorry. I understand; I’ve been there too. I see a good therapist. So does Troy. Luka, let me help you,” she pleaded. “When Troy is better, I’m sure he’ll want to help you.”
“Nah, it’s too late for me.” Luka raised the knife. “Tell Troy I forgive him.”
“No, don’t!” she cried as he slit his throat.
Spattered with Luka’s blood, she whispered, “I’m so sorry no one helped you.”
* * *
Troy’s heart,irritable from the surgery, sped up, and the electrical system turned the beats into irregular peaks. As the room grew silent again, Trask watched the anesthesiologists work in tandem to run the right drugs into his system. Hunt and Ethan alternated performing CPR. At the same time, he heard the Epsilon call for a hostage situation in progress. When the announcement named Kim Pesce and Gwen North as the hostages, he locked his knees and said a silent prayer.
“Arrythmia resolving, normal sinus rhythm. Anesthesia being weaned. Waiting for gag reflex and breathing,” Morgan stated.
The wait seemed to be endless. “Breathing returning,” Elaine said.
Tim removed the drape, and two nurses rolled in a fresh stretcher. Troy’s hand tried to reach for the tube, but Elizabeth interlaced her fingers with his. She leaned down, and into his ear, she said, “We’re on the downward slope.”
“Troy, it’s Morgan; tube’s coming out.” The tube came out, and Elaine suctioned him.
His brown eyes, glazed by the anesthesia, fluttered open. “Gwen.” His raspy whisper was golden to the men and women in the room.
