Steven Hanson moved to the table and laid a leather folder before each man. Inside the folders were orders that gave Trident a Green Light Package, pre-authorized permission to do whatever was necessary.
20
ENGLAND
SYBELLE SUMMERS ENTERED THE clinic dressed for success: blue silk blouse beneath a cream jacket, a single gold locket and matching earrings, black high heels, and her long legs striding beneath a black skirt cut several inches above her knees. Her eyes were startlingly clear. Her hair had been freshly trimmed, with a few touches of gold offsetting the black sheen. Light makeup. Men turned for another look as she went through the hospital doors, unaware that a large caliber pistol rested near her manicured fingernails in the leather purse over her shoulder. She pulled a small black suitcase behind her. A Green Light Package had come in from Washington, so she would not be returning to the hotel.
The repair and cleanup of the damage from the terrorist attack was well underway, the smell of fresh paint lingered on the hallway walls and the destroyed door had been replaced. As Sybelle entered Sir Jeff’s room, she took in a scene that reminded her of old, melancholy Dutch paintings. Muted sunlight reluctantly illuminated three tired people seated in chairs near the bed, where Jeff lay thoroughly still, sedated, and sound asleep. His head was swathed in bandages and an array of medical devices monitored his condition, constantly reporting electronic readings. A clear plastic oxygen mask was on his face, but no breathing tube was down the throat.
“Hey, everybody,” she said quietly and took a knee between Lady Pat and Delara Tabrizi, kissing both on their cheeks and taking their hands. “How’s our boy?”
“Hey,” Kyle said. “What’s with the fashion show?”
“None of your business.”
“You went out on a date, didn’t you?” His head was cocked to one side as he took in the outfit, head to toe, and mischief played in his eyes. He was used to seeing her in casual jeans or battle dress camo, but he thought that Sybelle could make a burlap sack look good.
“There was no date, so drop it, Kyle.” Her voice was soft but with a hard edge. “We have some urgent business to discuss.”
Lady Pat shushed them both. She had long grown used to special ops warriors exiting suddenly and reappearing just as quickly, never offering an explanation for anything. If Sybelle had not been around, there was a good reason. “Jeff made it,” Pat said. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Yes.” Pat glanced at Kyle, then gave Sybelle a tired smile. “Just ignore Kyle. You look lovely today.”
Sybelle padded over to the bed, slid a hip onto the mattress, then reached out and stroked Jeff’s mussed hair. Leaned close and kissed him on the forehead, then closer and whispered for a time, so quietly that the others could not hear a word. She smoothed the sheet around his shoulders and went back to Lady Pat, stood behind her and massaged her shoulders.
Delara got up and walked toward the door, motioning Sybelle to follow, and the two women went silently down the hallway, past the nurses’ station, to gain some distance from the room.
“What’s the prognosis, Delara?”
“Sir Jeff has a long recovery ahead. The spinal injury will confine him to a wheelchair during physical therapy, but should heal enough that he eventually might walk again.” She exhaled and her shoulders slumped, as if she was carrying a heavy weight. “The concern is that his brain sustained some damage and the neurosurgeon says that only time will tell whether Sir Jeff will ever come back 100 percent. We’ve seen it already. His thoughts can be totally normal one moment, then just fade out like a bad radio signal. The doctor says some of that is the sedation at work, but that the brain is so complicated that he cannot predict the future with certainty.”
“Oh, my God! How is Pat taking that?”
“She’s just happy that he’s still alive. Oh, Sybelle, what a tragic thing to happen to such a nice man.”
The two of them embraced, then Sybelle held her at arm’s length and looked squarely in her eyes. “I’m going to need your help now, Delara. I have to take Kyle away, and he won’t want to go. You and Pat have to help to push him out the door. Believe me, Delara; it is a true emergency.”
Delara composed herself. “I know. That trouble in Saudi Arabia is drawing you two like a magnet pulling a paper clip,” she said, crossing her arms. “There’s really nothing else Kyle can do right now to help Jeff, and I will make sure that Pat does not slide into depression. She hasn’t fully come to grips with what the future may hold for them.”
She looked at Sybelle, at the warrior steel behind the pretty face. “Promise that you will send Kyle back to me safe and sound? I hate that he has to be gone so often.”
“You know I can’t make that promise, Delara. These are dangerous times and his focus has to be total. He is going to be in a quiet rage when we make him leave here, then when he gets on the scene, he will become scarily unemotional and normal on the surface. Once into the fight, he will be burning. My job is to point that fury in the right direction.”
Delara nodded in understanding and they walked back to the room. “So why
“I just like to get out of my work clothes from time to time. Remind myself that I’m still an attractive woman who likes bubble baths and candlelight.”
“He must be a special guy.”
“It’s nothing serious. I just have to keep him separate from my professional life. He thinks I work for a real estate trust.”
Delara gave a small laugh. “Real estate trust, huh? Married?”
Sybelle changed the subject. “How are things with you and Kyle?”
“We’re getting there. Sometimes I feel like a lion tamer in a circus. He’s so strong and determined, but with a very tender side that he keeps under wraps most of the time. Terrible memories haunt his subconscious.”
Sybelle said, “He’s a very complex individual who operates on several different levels at one time, like he is playing three games of chess simultaneously. His mental computer is always humming, especially in combat. Since he cannot talk about what we do, he deals with his actions only after the fact, when the dust has settled.”
“How do you deal with it?”
“I’m smart enough to take some time off and go back to my fictional job in commercial real estate for a while. Go places and do fun things and hang out with normal people. Don’t read newspapers or watch the news. Oh, by the way. I’m sorry about wrecking your pretty car,” Sybelle said, with a gentle hint of sarcasm.
Delara kept her voice low. “Jeff bought it for me. I would have preferred a little sedan, but he insisted on that big beast. I couldn’t handle it and even programmed the talking map thingie on the dashboard to remind me if I exceeded the speed limit.”
“Ah. Our friend Linda. That’s why she got so bitchy when I was speeding.”
“Linda has issues.”
“Not any more.”
NOTHING HAD CHANGED IN the room, where tension hung like a curtain because Kyle knew what was coming. A potential war was brewing out in the real world and he would have to play a part. The decision on whether he would have to get involved in Excalibur Enterprises had been lifted with the prospect that Jeff would recover. Postponed, not decided.
Sybelle took an envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “Read it,” she said.
Kyle only held the folded sheet. Did not open it. Tried to give it back. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not moving. I’ve got plenty of built-up leave time.”
“Read the damned thing, Kyle.”
He looked over at Pat, who gave a slight nod, and he reluctantly unfolded a single sheet of paper. The jaw
