“Yes, ma’am. Err, Dr. King.”
“As for you, Mallory,” she said, a wry smile on her face. “I would like for you to prep the patient for surgery. See to it that he can’t move unexpectedly.” Though she didn’t come right out and say it, King was hoping to have Sheridan’s arms and legs bound to the surgical table. His was a procedure which would be minimally invasive, but rare was the operation devoid of risk.
King’s had been tasked with surgically implanting nodes throughout Sheridan’s body. She would start with some relatively low-tech pieces implanted in his wrists. They could display a real-time account of his health metrics. Blood pressure, temperature, the works. Whoever was monitoring Sheridan’s vitals would know he was sick before he showed any symptoms. Some other nodes were more rudimentary, existing solely to track his location.
Standing above all the rest like an Olympic gold medalist on the podium, the pair of nodes King would implant inside Sheridan’s brain served as the proverbial cherries on top. They existed on another playing field entirely, not just compared to the other nodes laid out on the surgical table. The pair of nodes meant for his brain would allow for OrCA to step into uncharted territory with Sheridan. Once they calibrated the nodes, nothing in Sheridan’s world would be off limits. The system for making sense of the way synapses within Sheridan’s mind fired relative to what happened as a result would communicate to the nodes. Eventually, the systems could sift through the noise and discern not only what Sheridan was saying, or what someone was saying to him, but whoever monitored him could even register a passing idea on what he was thinking in the moment.
He was to be one of the first subjects they had tested this procedure on, and most agreed the benefits outweighed the risk. No more concern with wearing wires while undercover, or how to send and receive compromising phone calls. They could complete all communication on a near telepathic level.
Sheridan lay rigid on a surgical table near his gurney. They had bound his legs without his knowledge—though Sheridan was far too gone on the sedatives to care. When the nurse named Mallory walked over to him and tightened the support around his wrist, he tried in vain to lift his arm up. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was feeling panicked. “Let… me… out. Please.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Sheridan,” Mallory said in her most genuine bless-your-heart tone. “Not to worry, dear. This will all be over shortly.”
Sheridan watched as a stranger walked into the room. Watched as the man approached him with a strange gas mask, the kind he had seen on scientists exploring the wreckage of Chernobyl. Laid there helplessly as the man placed the mask over his face and the world disappeared amid a cloud of green.
Chapter 22
Micah sat in a corner booth at a diner near Las Olas, staring absentmindedly out of recently cleaned window. A cup of coffee in front of him, he tried to wait for his company, but his desire for caffeine eventually beat out his manners. If not for the harsh, almost plastic, sound of the faux-leather seats creaking, he wouldn’t have noticed Castillo sitting down across from him.
“You did good out there,” Castillo said. He grabbed an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Take this.”
“Thanks,” Micah said. He glanced at the stacks of green within and placed the envelope out of the sight of prying eyes. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yea, I had to pay you.”
“Could’ve just sent it to Perez. He’d make sure I was square.”
“I’m busting your balls, man,” Castillo said with a smile. He ordered a cup of coffee and took a long look at the menu before deciding he’d rather eat something at home. “You’ve been making moves for us lately. Taking out a lot of trash. But I need you to work a different angle for me.”
“Different, how?”
“I need you to collect some money that is owed to me.”
“You’re asking me to be the muscle?”
“Look, if I wanted muscle, you wouldn’t be the first person to pop into my mind.” Both men chuckled at the jab.
“You’re a funny guy, Jimmy. Ever think of doing standup?”
“I tried this one time, but the idiots only understood half of what I was saying. Had some gringo yelling at me to ‘speak English in America!’” Castillo took a sip of his coffee and the smile disappeared from his face. “In all seriousness, this guy Christensen bet 30 stacks on a horse to win some big race. The favorite too, so he thought he had a sure thing.”
“You’d think someone with that kind of cash to throw around betting on anything would know better than to bet dollars just to win dimes,” Micah wondered aloud.
“What fucked it all up for him is the horse went down on the first leg. Freak accident,” Castillo said. “They had to put the damn thing out of its misery. Anyway, this dope, Christensen, has been a ghost ever since. Normally, this is something I would let my bookie take care of, but he hasn’t been able to talk sense into the guy.”
“And that’s where I come in,” Micah said.
“Exactly. Doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Just pay him a visit at work and let him know that it ain’t fun and games no more. Do whatever you have to do to make the bastard realize he fucked with the wrong hombre. Get the cash, and I’ll split a third of the cut with you.”
“Consider it done.”
Chapter 23
Micah drove along the Rickenbacker Causeway with his windows down, relishing in the cool breeze flowing freely through the immaculate interior of the classic Impala. The sun gradually disappeared behind him as he drove further away from the mainland. He watched in awe as the sky warped between shades of orange and purple and red, coalescing into
