Seichan sat quietly, her fingertips resting on the bed rail. She didn't say a word. She just sat there, letting Rachel's silent anger wash over her. Slowly Rachel sank back into the bed.
Only then did Seichan whisper, not tearfully, not coldly, just plainly, 'I'm sorry.'
Gray hung back. He suspected that Seichan needed to speak those words as much as Rachel needed to hear them. They spoke haltingly, quietly after that. Gray drifted back toward the door. He knew it was a conversation he had no part in.
He returned to the corridor and found Monk still seated on the bench. Gray joined him and noted that Monk clutched his cell phone between his two palms.
'Did you speak to Kat?'
Monk slowly nodded his head.
'Is she still angry with you for putting yourself in harm's way?'
Monk just kept nodding, not stopping.
They remained quiet for a few breaths.
Gray finally asked because he knew his friend well. 'How are you doing?'
Monk sighed. A longer stretch of silence followed before he spoke. His words were calm but masked a well of pain. 'He was a good kid. I should've been watching over him better.'
'But you couldn't-'
Monk cut him off, not angry, just tired. 'You know, I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet.'
Gray respected that. Instead, they just sat quietly in each other's company. And that was enough for both of them.
After a time, a familiar whistling arose down the hall. Kowalski appeared. Somehow his partner had come through everything without a scratch, but for security reasons he was still restricted to the hospital.
As he sauntered toward them, Gray saw that he held something in one of his large mitts. Once Kowalski spotted them on the bench, he hurriedly shoved his arm behind his back. Gray remembered a certain fixation Kowalski had back in Hawkshead.
As he drew abreast of them, Gray called over. 'So is that a gift for Rachel?'
Kowalski stopped, suddenly sheepish. Caught, he pulled the teddy bear into view. It was white, plushy, and dressed in a nurse's uniform. He stared down at it, over to Rachel's room, then finally glared at Gray and shoved the bear at him.
'Of course it is,' he growled.
Gray took the bear.
Kowalski stomped off heavily, no longer whistling.
'What was that all about?' Monk asked.
Gray leaned back. 'You know, I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet.'
Chapter 33
October 23, 10:14 A.M.
Washington, D.C.
They all met at Senator Gorman's office on Capitol Hill.
Painter was seated next to General Metcalf. On his other side, Dr. Lisa Cummings sat with her legs crossed.
One toe of her shoe lightly brushed Painter's pant leg. It was not done casually. He and Lisa had been apart for too long. And since she had returned from vacation, she had been busy, often red-eyeing out to the Midwest to oversee the medical crisis out there. The two of them captured whatever spare moments they could together.
Metcalf continued reporting on the manufacture of the antifungal compound. Painter had already reviewed the report.
Instead of listening, he watched his girlfriend's reflection in the window behind the senator. Lisa had her hair up in a French twist and wore a conservative suit to match the mood of the meeting. He daydreamed about undoing that twist, unbuttoning that shirt.
'We're spraying all the production fields,' Metcalf continued, 'covering a safety zone of fifteen miles around each site. The EPA has mobilized with the National Guard to monitor and continue testing samples of surrounding vegetation for another thirty miles out.'
Gorman nodded. 'On the international front, all the planted fields have been scraped and sprayed. We can only hope we've stamped this out in time.'
Lisa spoke up. 'If not, we'll be ready. The initial human trials have been successful. Minimal adverse reactions. The early cases have responded well. It will be a boon to medicine across the board. While we have a slew of powerful antibiotics, our arsenal of antifungals, especially for systemic infections, has been limited and is burdened by high toxicity levels. With such a new compound readily available-'
'And free,' Painter added.
She nodded. 'We'll keep this disaster in check.'
'Speaking of free,' Gorman said. 'I dropped in on Ivar Karlsen after visiting the Viatus production plant for the drug.'
Painter drew his attention back. Karlsen was in a Norwegian penal facility, still awaiting trial. He continued to oversee business from his cell. As partial restitution, the man had voluntarily turned over the full resources of his corporation's biotechnology infrastructure to manufacture the compound. It was shocking how quickly they were able to start mass-producing it.
Lisa had tried explaining to Painter that the antifungal compound was derived from a genus of lichen found only in sub-Saharan Africa, that its chemical structure attacked a unique sterol found only in fungal cell membranes, making it both effective and safe for treating both mammals and plants.
Painter glazed out after further details. All he needed to know was that it worked.
'You should have seen his prison cell,' Gorman said. 'It's practically a suite at the Ritz.'
'But it's a suite he won't be checking out of any time soon,' Painter added. If at all, considering the man's age.
Metcalf stood. 'If we're all done here, I still have matters to address back at DARPA headquarters.'
Gorman stood and shook his hand. 'Whatever I can do to help, I'm in your debt.' The words were spoken to Metcalf, but Painter noted Gorman's glance in his direction.
After events in Norway, they'd been forced to reveal Sigma's existence. The senator would have kept digging anyway and only made matters worse. The knowledge also gave them a powerful ally on Capitol Hill. Already Painter had noted a change in sentiment regarding Sigma among the various U.S. intelligence agencies. For once, the wolves at their door had been dragged back. Maybe not leashed completely, but it allowed Painter more freedom to fully secure Sigma.
And he knew they would need it.
The Guild would come gunning for them.
After saying their good-byes, Painter and Lisa walked with General Metcalf through the halls of power. Painter was still waiting for confirmation from the general on one extremely sensitive matter.
'Sir...,' Painter began, meaning only to remind Metcalf.
'She's your problem,' the general said instead. 'I can't countermand the order to have her apprehended. Her crimes are too tangled internationally. She'll have to stay low, and by low, I mean crawling through the sewers.' Metcalf stared over at him. 'But if you think she'll be an asset?'
'I do.'
'So be it. But it's on your head.'
Painter always appreciated such enthusiastic support. With a final few words, Metcalf headed off toward another meeting on the Hill. That left Painter alone with Lisa as they crossed into the morning sunshine.
He checked his watch. The funeral service started in another hour. He had just enough time to shower and change. Despite the bright day, a somberness settled through him. John Creed had died saving his life. Since Painter had sent men and women into harm's way all too often, he had honed a level of detachment. It was the only way to stay sane, to make the hard choices.
He couldn't do it here.
Not with Creed.
