“They look like—”
“How’s our patient feeling today?” Elliot said as he entered the room.
Elliot was a large, ebony-skinned man with a grin that was almost disturbingly wide, and John had noticed that the more Elliot smiled, the worse the news he was about to deliver. “I’m worn out. I just need to rest.”
Eric nodded at Elliot. “Doc, don’t you think it’s time you told your patient about his condition?”
John glanced between the two. “What about my condition?”
Elliott gave John a significant look. “Do you think this is the… right time?”
“You must not have read my email,” Eric said. “John has regained his memories.”
Elliot stared at John. “No. I hadn’t received an email.”
“When did he regain his memories?” Kara asked.
“After Ramstein,” John said. Kara pulled her hand from his shoulder, and he tried to grab her wrist, but he was too slow. “I’m sorry, Kara.”
“You’ve had your memories the entire time,” Kara murmured. “The entire time we… we…”
“Yes,” John said. “I wish I could make you understand—”
“I was an idiot,” Kara said to herself. “I should have known better.”
“Kara—”
“You didn’t just murder strangers,” Kara said. “One of those children was my cousin’s boy. His name was Lucas!”
John struggled to catch his breath. “If I could… it’s just—”
“Don’t bother,” Eric said. “She doesn’t know how much you’ve struggled with this.”
“You’ve known?” Kara said.
“Of course,” Eric said. “I’m the one who swore him to secrecy.”
“Why would you do that?” Elliot asked, wiping his meaty hand across his brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I needed him to fight,” Eric said. “He did an amazing job.”
“Maybe Doctor Oshensker and I could—”
“No,” Eric said to Elliot. “You and Oshensker have done enough. Tell John about his condition.”
“What condition?” John asked.
Eric shook his head sadly. “You have cancer.”
John’s heart thudded in his chest. “Huh?”
“Explain it to him.”
Elliot glanced around uncomfortably. “The nanotechnology… the weave… had unforeseen consequences.”
“You mean cancer?” John asked. A feeling like ice settled in his stomach. “You… gave me cancer?”
“I’m sorry,” Elliot said. “If I had known—”
“You still would have done it,” John said. “I was just an experiment to you.”
“Fulton said the StrikeForce program was necessary.”
“Necessary?” John asked. “That’s the kind of thing the Nazis said when they gassed millions of people. It was… necessary.”
“You were hardly an innocent civilian,” Elliot said.
“That’s enough,” Eric said. “It’s done. I’m sorry, John. I’m not going to throw you in a hole because you’ve only got a few months left.”
“A few months,” John said to himself. “I’m dying.” A laugh escaped his mouth. “Thank God.”
Kara watched their exchange with her mouth hanging open. “You’re going to let him die?”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Elliot said. “The next generation won’t have these problems, I assure you.”
“Next generation?” Kara asked. “You’re working on a new version?”
“Since before the Nashville incident,” Elliot said. “In fact—”
“She doesn’t have the clearance,” Eric said.
“I don’t believe this,” Kara said. She turned to glare at John. “I can’t believe you’re happy about this.”
“I’m not happy,” John said, “I’m… relieved. I deserve to die.”
Kara drew back. “I–I think…”
“It’s okay,” John said. “Those kids will finally have justice.”
“It’s not justice,” Eric said. “It is what it is. You tried your best to make up for it. That’s all anyone could ask.”
Eric pondered John’s situation on his way back to his office. On the one hand, he believed John had forfeited his life when he bombed the Red Cross.
On the other hand, John had saved countless lives.
Cancer would kill him, much like the Alzheimer’s would steal away Fulton Smith’s identity. The man who had sacrificed so much to create the OTM would live without any sense of self, while the man who had killed so many would die a relatively quick death while fully aware of his fate.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
He rounded the corner to his office and found Karen waiting for him. “Where have you been?” Karen demanded. “I’ve been trying to contact you.”
“I was busy. What’s up?”
“The DFA released a treasure trove of documents. You won’t believe what’s in them.”
“More banking information,” Eric guessed.
“Hah,” Karen said. “It’s bank records of the CIA’s slush funds.”
“Oh, no…”
“Oh, yes,” Karen said. She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him toward the War Room. “They show payments for some pretty unsavory things.”
“Jesus,” Eric breathed. “We’re going to have to find a way to spin this.”
“It gets worse. Some of the records are OTM finances.”
“What? Are we exposed?”
“If someone with the right skills inspects them and does deep-dive into the people and groups involved…”
“Karen?”
Karen’s voice caught in her throat. “Yes. Eventually, we’ll be exposed.”
“Fuck!” Eric yelled. “It’s not enough that we’ve been played for fools. It’s not enough that the Old Man is losing his mind and that Nancy is on the edge of going full psycho, or that the team found out I’ve been lying about John. Now I’ve got this to deal with.”
Karen smiled at him. “I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but you’ve got to pull it together. We don’t need the thoughtful, kind-hearted Eric Wise. We need the kick-ass Delta Force Operator who can kill a terrorist with his bare hands and then threaten a senator before supper.”
“You heard that story?”
“Brad told me.”
“You talk about me?”
“We’ve got an open marriage, remember? He’s not the jealous type. In fact, he respects you.”
“That’s just… weird,” he said. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“You got it, boss.”
He turned and headed to the War Room so fast that Karen struggled to keep up. Clark jumped up from his chair and saluted him when he entered the War Room. “Director on deck!”
Eric addressed the roomful of analysts who were watching him with apprehension. “I want a detailed analysis on my desk in ten minutes. Give me the relevant parties and dates, anything that might impact any past or current OTM operations. I want it fast, and I want it accurate!”
The analysts murmured among themselves as they went about their work. He barely had a moment of respite before Nancy stormed into the command center. “What happened?”
“A data disclosure,” Eric said. “We’ve got a handle on it.”
“The way you handled John Frist?” Nancy asked loudly. Several of the analysts at the Middle East desk turned at the sound of her voice.
“Let’s take it to the conference room,” Eric said. Nancy looked like she wanted to argue, and for a moment, he thought she might raise her voice again.
The analysts are spooked, and a confrontation with Fulton Smith’s daughter certainly won’t boost their morale.