“Thank you,” I replied. “For fixing me and for the laughs.”
Their humor wasn’t an indication of carelessness, it was a common trait in the Marine Corps and at Private. It was the mark of professionals who had confidence in their abilities and were trying take the heat out of what might have otherwise been a stressful experience for everyone involved, especially me. They’d given me exactly what I needed, and spending some time with people who took joy in everyday life was the perfect way to adjust back to normality. I was no longer facing immediate danger and needed to get myself out of the habit of viewing everyone as a potential threat.
I had my arm put into a sling and was wheeled out of surgery where I found Justine in the waiting area. Her expression was strained, but she smiled when she saw me looking so cheerful, and the tension melted out of her face.
“Jack,” she said, hurrying over.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Much better.”
I offered her my good hand, and she took it and squeezed it. We held each other as I was wheeled to my private room.
Justine stayed with me as I regained my strength, but we passed much of the time in silence, simply enjoying one another’s company and the joy of being alive.
At 8 p.m. Christos came to check my dressing.
“It looks good. Sutures are holding well,” he said. “You can spend the night here or I can discharge you, provided you promise there’ll be no exertion.”
“It would be nice to go to the apartment,” I replied. “Okay, no exertion.”
“And if you notice any discharge or feel unwell in any way, you come straight back,” he instructed.
I nodded.
“Okay. I’ll write you a script for antibiotics and pain relief,” he said. “You should be able to leave in twenty minutes.”
The pain relief I’d had pre-surgery had reduced the agony in my shoulder to a dull ache and the sling restricted my movement to reduce the chance of my hurting myself. I felt confident I’d be comfortable out of hospital.
Half an hour later, once my discharge paperwork was complete and a nurse had given me a prescription, Justine and I left my room and took an elevator to the fifth floor.
We walked slowly, Justine giving me sidelong looks of concern as though I was made of glass and might shatter at any moment.
We rounded the corner and entered the private ward where I saw the police officer who was supposed to be protecting our friends was missing. My instinct for danger hadn’t died in the operating theater and I felt a flush of adrenalin as I hurried to Sci’s room and peered through the observation window.
His bed was empty and neatly made.
Had something happened to him? My heart sank. I couldn’t take a loss like that.
Justine tapped my good arm and I turned to see her pointing at Mo-bot’s room.
Sci sat on the side of her bed, playing cards with her. There was a mobile IV stand by his side, the bag hanging from it feeding a line into a canula in his left arm.
The cop was at the end of the bed, joining in the fun, clasping a run of cards tightly so no one could see them.
I smiled with relief and Justine and I went inside.
“Jack,” Mo-bot said enthusiastically. “I see you’ve been making use of the facilities.” She indicated my sling. “Come in. Sci has already lost his house to me. He’s such a bad gambler.”
“We’re not gambling. This is just for fun,” he replied.
“This is Officer Jean-Louis,” Mo-bot said, and the young cop shifted uncomfortably.
“I need to return to my post,” he said, shamefaced.
He sidled past us and shut the door on his way out.
“What happened?” Sci asked, gesturing to my injured arm.
“Roman Verde shot me,” I replied. “He’s not a problem anymore.”
There was a moment of silent reflection, which Mo-bot finally broke with a single word.
“Good.”
“I’m glad to see you up and around,” Justine told Sci.
“Yeah, I don’t do bed rest,” he replied. “And you can imagine what this one is like stuck in here.” He nodded at Mo-bot.
“Hey,” she protested. “I can’t help it if I feel fine and they want to drive me out of my mind with boredom by keeping me for another five days.”
“They reckon it will be at least a week for me,” Sci said. “Not quite the Riviera vacation I’d dreamed of.”
“But you’re alive,” I said, “and that’s better than any vacation.”
“True,” Sci replied.
“Do you need anything?” I asked.
“My computer,” Mo-bot replied instantly. “Just the baby one so I can hack this place and bring my discharge forward.”
I smiled and shook my head. “No chance. You’re not doing any work until the docs sign you off as fully recovered.”
“Killjoy,” she countered.
“I think we’re good,” Sci said. “You should get some rest. You look pretty pale.”
I nodded. “We’ll check on you tomorrow. And we’ll fill you in on exactly what happened with Carver and Roman Verde.”
Justine and I headed for the door.
“Jack,” Mo-bot said, and I paused. “Thanks for taking care of him.”
I glanced back at her. “Wasn’t going to end any other way,” I said before leaving.
Chapter 94
I slept through a long, dreamless night and woke at noon the following day when the sound of banging roused me. Justine stirred beside me. I groaned as I rolled out of bed, aware the painkillers had worn off. My shoulder felt raw and battered as though someone had hit it with a meat-tenderizing hammer a couple hundred times. But it was bearable. Just.
I fumbled with a pair of shorts and managed to pull them on one-handed as there was another knock at the door. Justine sighed and got up. She slipped into a T-shirt as I staggered out of the bedroom, aware the pitch of the pain in my shoulder was rising, throbbing a little more urgently. I needed a fresh dose of painkillers, but whoever was knocking at the door was doing so insistently now.
I opened it and was greeted by four faces. Eli Carver and three of his Secret Service agents, all somber, large men in dark suits. Wearing nothing but shorts, I suddenly felt very exposed.
“Mr. Secretary... I... well,” I stammered. My head felt fuzzy, and I most definitely wasn’t at my sharpest.
“I’m really sorry to walk in on you like this, Jack,” Carver said, entering the apartment. His entitlement was strong, but I couldn’t hold it against him. “I wanted to check you were okay. We heard about what happened at Raymond Chalmont’s place.”
“You’d better come in,” I told his detail. They’d hovered on the threshold, waiting for instructions.
“Thanks,” the lead agent said, and they entered and spread out around the living room.
“I also wanted to invite you and Justine...” Carver glanced at the corridor leading to the bedroom, where she had just appeared in her long T-shirt. “Morning,” he said to her. “Sorry to intrude. I’d like to invite you both to be my guests at the race today. If you’re up to it.” He looked at my sling.
“Morning, Eli,” Justine said. “How’s your arm?” she asked me.
“I’ll live. I just need some pills,” I replied. I turned to Carver. “I guess you won’t take no for an answer.”
He smiled.
Two hours later, feeling more myself, fully dosed on painkillers, my hunger sated by a light sandwich lunch at the Fairmont, we joined Carver in the Monte Carlo Casino stand where we watched the race build up. I was glad Justine and I had accepted the invitation. As she sat next to me, holding my hand, I looked at her with adoring eyes, grateful the threat had passed and that we could be together without fear.
Carver sat on my right, and we talked to him about the great races and drivers of the past, the likes of Schumacher, Hill, Senna, Prost and Vettel. Carver was very knowledgeable and had nuggets of information about all of them.