He turned his head to me. “You must really love her?”
“What?”
“You must really love the red head to kill the LT? Is she worth this?”
I scowled. “Is that enough to do the trick?”
“Seventy-five milligrams of morphine should kill him.”
“I thought you said you needed at least two-hundred milligrams.”
“Right. Well, two-hundred milligrams is almost sure to kill him. But they have already given him some morphine, so I don’t want to give him that much. One-hundred milligrams might still be too much. My mind’s a little fuzzy.” He rubbed his temple before returning his hand to the syringe.
“What the fuck, Wagner. You said you procured two-hundred milligrams. Did you shoot up already?”
“No, Sarge. No way. I’m clean. I swear. They’ve already got him on a small dose of morphine. Giving him too much might look suspicious, so I’m just going to give him 75 milligrams. That should be enough.”
“Just inject the shit already.”
“Fuck, Sarge.” Wagner looked at me. Then at the syringe. He held it delicately in his hand, the needle inserted into the IV feed. His hand shook.
I couldn’t take it any longer. Stepping to the bed quickly, I grasped the syringe and pressed the handle with my thumb, injecting morphine directly into his veins. I had just killed my leader, my boss, and my friend.
“Fuck, Sarge. That was a hundred milligrams.”
“She’s worth it, Wagner.” I said, resolute in my desire to finish this mission.
I glanced down at Baxter as if I expected his soul to leave his body in the next second. My gut tightened. My heart rate increased. Maybe I would feel guilt for this for the rest of my life. I didn’t know.
Focus on the Target.
Baxter’s eyes suddenly shot open. He stared directly at me, then at Wagner. His heart rate monitor started beeping.
“His heart rate shot up, Sarge.” Wagner pulled the syringe out of the IV feed.
“Why is Wagner…” Dirk’s eyes rolled up into his head. His body started shaking. He was convulsing.
A nurse came running in and pushed her way between Wagner and I. She began checking monitors.
“What happened in here?” the nurse asked.
“His vitals were good. He opened his eyes. Heart rate elevated. Then he started convulsing.” Wagner spoke up, his medical training kicking in.
“Get out of here, you two.”
Dirk’s convulsions stopped, and he collapsed like a dead fish on the bed. His heart rate went flat.
The nurse reached for the intercom button and cried out. “Code Blue, Room 430. I need a crash cart.”
Neither Wagner nor I had moved. By the time more nurses and a doctor came rushing in, images of the chaos in medical tents flooded me. I grabbed Wagner by the arm and pulled him out of the room.
Roberts ran up the hallway, coffee spilling out of his cup despite the lid.
“What happened, Boss?”
“The LT went into arrest,” Wagner said, panic in his voice.
“Shit. I thought he was going to be okay.”
