The Seventh Angel

“The patient’s real name is Oleg Yurievich Grigoriev,” Ross said. The agent’s voice was flat and atonal, an acoustic match for his undistinguished appearance.

“That information is classified,” he continued. “The patient will be registered in this facility under the cover name of Dmitry Hugo. You will refer to him only by his cover name, and no member of the hospital staff is to be given any information regarding his identity, his medical condition, or his treatment regimen without direct authorization from Agent DuBrul or myself.”

Hogan looked at his commanding officer. “Sir, I don’t understand what’s going on here. We’re a U.S. military facility. We’re prohibited from treating foreign civilians, and we’re not trained or equipped to do cloak and dagger work. In any event, my patient load is already over max allowance. I …”

The captain interrupted. “Dr. Hogan, your other patients will be handed off to other doctors. I’ll take some of them myself, if I have to. As of this moment, you are relieved of all other duties for the duration of this case. Mr. Grigoriev … excuse me, Mr. Hugo … is your only patient. He will remain your sole priority until he leaves this hospital.”

“Captain, I can’t just …”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

“But, sir …”

“Lieutenant!” It was a command.

Hogan nodded once. “Aye-aye, sir.”

The captain’s voice softened. “I don’t like this any more than you do, doctor. But my orders come directly from Vice Admiral Gibson, the Surgeon General of the Navy. Those orders have been countersigned by Commander Naval Forces Japan, and Commander Pacific Fleet. I’ve been ordered to give these agents extreme latitude in the treatment of this patient, and to comply with any and all security protocols they require. That includes enforced secrecy and armed guards, if required.”

He glanced at the agent, and then back to Hogan. “The patient, Mr. Hugo, is suffering from multiple gunshot wounds. His condition is critical, but stable, and I’ve been directed to assign my most experienced gunshot doctor to his case. You did three tours treating combat casualties in Iraq, so that would be you, Dr. Hogan. Do you have any questions?”

Hogan suppressed a huff of incredulity. He had about four thousand questions. In all likelihood, most of them would never be answered. He decided to try an easy one.

“What will I do for staff, Captain?”

“You can hand-select a team of nurses and corpsmen. Get your list to the XO, and we’ll pull them out of the duty rotation and put them at your fulltime disposal.”

“Try to select people who can keep their mouths shut,” Agent Ross said. “Keep your team as small as possible. Use whoever you need to get the job done, but don’t pad the roster. The fewer people we involve, the easier it will be to keep this low-key. And make damned sure they understand that they talk about this to no one. I don’t want to lock up any of your people for talking out of school, but I will if I have to.”

“You can’t arrest people for talking,” Hogan said.

Ross showed him a grim little smile with no amusement in it. “Wrong answer. This is a matter of the utmost national security. A leak could endanger the lives of literally millions of American citizens. If one of your people talks and I find out about it, I’ll shoot him for treason myself, and take my chances with a Federal judge.”

Hogan threw a questioning look at his commanding officer. Was this clown for real?

“I don’t think we need to resort to threats,” Captain Krantz said.

Ross straightened the lapels of his suit jacket. “I just want to make sure everyone understands how serious this is. We all have to be on the same wavelength here.”

“This is crazy,” Hogan said. “I’m a doctor, not a spook, or an operative, or whatever you call it.”

“A doctor is all we want you to be,” Ross said. “Leave the spook stuff to us.”

Hogan said nothing.

“I can’t tell you very much,” Agent Ross said. “You don’t have the clearance, or the need to know. But I’ll tell you what I can, so that you’ll have some idea of why these precautions are necessary. Does that sound reasonable?”

“I guess so,” Hogan said.

“Mr. Hugo,” Ross said, placing emphasis on the cover name, “was — until recently — the go-between in a deal between two foreign powers. I can’t give you details, but the deal involves the transfer and possible employment of weapons of mass destruction. I’m talking the big stuff; not piddly crap like Anthrax or chemical warfare.”

Hogan and his commanding officer watched Agent Ross without speaking.

“Six days ago,” Ross said, “one or both of the foreign powers in question decided that Mr. Hugo’s services were no longer required. They left him in an alley in Manila, with a half-dozen 5.8mm assault rifle bullets as a parting gift. They think he’s dead, and we’ve gone to considerable effort to encourage that belief. If they find out that he is not dead — if, for instance, they should discover that their former associate is recovering in a U.S. military hospital in Japan — they’re going to want to come back and finish the job. Because Mr. Hugo knows things that they cannot allow us to discover. And Mr. Hugo has already indicated that he’s willing to share that information with us, in exchange for political asylum.”

Agent Ross raised his eyebrows. “The guys who tried to murder Mr. Hugo are not nice people, Dr. Hogan. We don’t want those people visiting your hospital. We don’t want them going after you, or your staff, or your collective families. Because — if this slips — they will come after you, doctor. And they prefer to operate with leverage, so they’ll probably go after your families first. Do you understand?”

Hogan nodded. His mouth suddenly felt too dry to speak.

“Excellent,” said Agent Ross. “Your captain has kindly consented to loan us a private room on the fourth deck. I believe you usually reserve them for Flag Officers and government VIPs. Agent DuBrul and the MEDEVAC crew are getting Mr. Hugo settled into the room now, and setting up basic equipment with the help of the fourth deck staff.”

“We know the fourth deck personnel are going to ask some questions,” Captain Krantz said. “So Agents Ross and DuBrul have supplied us with a ready-made cover story. We’re hoping that it will keep questions to a minimum.”

Ross nodded. “Hospital personnel will be informed that Mr. Hugo is a mid-echelon diplomat, attached to the office of the assistant secretary of state for Eastern European Affairs. Further questions will not be encouraged. If people get too nosey, we’ll drop hints that Mr. Hugo was injured by Chechen separatists during a diplomatic mission in the Caucasus mountains. We’ll also let it be known that the incident is under investigation, and that anyone who pokes his nose into an ongoing Federal inquiry will find himself answering some very unpleasant questions.”

Hogan nodded mutely.

“Either Agent DuBrul or I will be within eye contact of your patient at all times,” Ross said. “Security will be supplemented around-the-clock, by an armed Marine guard. The Marines have been briefed. They will not interfere with your duties. Make sure your people don’t interfere with theirs.”

He held out a green cardboard folder. “Here’s the patient’s medical file. It covers his treatment following the shooting. In addition to the paper file, the folder contains digital copies of all x-rays, pre-op and post-op photos, lab results, MRIs, what have you. We need to talk to this patient, doctor. We need to ask him a lot of questions, and he has to be conscious enough and healthy enough to answer. That’s your job.”

Hogan accepted the folder without opening it.

“You can look that over, and start making your list of personnel,” Ross said. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s meet in Mr. Hugo’s room in an hour.”

“Agent Ross?” Hogan’s voice was nearly a croak. “What if your cover story doesn’t keep the lid on?”

Ross shrugged. “Then the guys who shot your patient are going to come knocking. And a lot of innocent people are going to get hurt.”