“Where did you get this?”
They were the documents sent from Dr. Charles Reed to implicate the president in dealings with Island Industries.
Sanders laughed. “Come on now. It’s poor form to reveal your sources. It should come in handy while we’re putting the team back together,” he said flatly. “Do you think that will be enough dirt on Cross, or should I try to find another pile?”
Sanders could tell the gears were turning in Culder’s head. His demeanor had changed significantly. He was looking more like his bastard self by the second.
“I’ll have to go over this to be sure,” Culder said, and gave Sanders a proud look. “Do you think you can get more information?” he asked enthusiastically.
Sanders nodded. Now he knew the director didn’t have anything on the president.
“I think so,” he said. “I’ll need some cash. There is something else.”
“There is?” Culder asked expectantly.
Sanders showed him the black bag he was holding. He tossed it up in the air a couple of times before throwing it onto the director’s desk.
“What is this?”
Sanders plastered a smile on his face. His heart rate spiked as he watched the FBI director break the seal and dig his hand into the bag.
The elastic material closed around his wrist as he reached inside.
“Shit!” he yelled. “What the fuck is in here?”
He quickly pulled his hand out of the bag and shot an angry look at Sanders.
“What do you mean?” Sanders asked with contemptuous look.
Culder began to look ill. “What have you done?”
“How could you be so stupid?” Sanders spat. “Did you think we’d never find out what was going on?”
The director fumbled around his desk, his condition was getting worse by the second. He reached desperately for a desk drawer, but Sanders stepped forward and held it closed with his knee.
“Were you hoping we would all get killed eventually so you could just move on, all the fun and games over?” Sanders asked.
He could see the Culder’s eyes begin to glaze over as his skin turned flush. “Shake it to piss them off.” That was the only thing the man had said when he handed him the bag. Apparently it worked.
“At least one of those stupid childhood stories you told me wasn’t useless,” he said, referring to Culder’s tale about a near-fatal bee sting.
It had been less than a minute, but Culder’s breathing was already labored.
“What the hell have you done?” he spat in anger.
“I’m no doctor, but the technical term is ‘anaphylactic shock,’” Sanders said. “Those wasps aren’t half as pissed as I am.”
He collected the incriminating information on President Cross and stared at the man’s pitiful form. “You won’t be needing these anymore. I’ll tell Agent Moynihan you said hello, you useless prick.”
Epilogue
She stood just outside the room and listened. Her mother-in-law’s back was turned to her, and the three occupants were too engrossed in their conversation to notice her. She didn’t know who the younger woman with the jet-black hair was, but she guessed she might be his girlfriend. Her clothes were expensive and refined, and she was incredibly beautiful.
“It’s touch and go right now,” the doctor said in a solemn voice. “He’s extremely fit, so at least he has that going for him, but he lost a lot of blood. The team did an excellent job, but when he arrived at the hospital he was in oligemic shock.”
“Oligemic what?” Cathy Turner said.
“Pardon me,” the doctor said. “It’s shock from an extreme decrease in blood volume. From the gunshot wounds.”
She nodded, and he continued.
“There is great risk of organ failure and disseminated intravascular coagulation. Basically he’s at high risk for blood clots.”
“Do you know the extent of the damage?” she asked.
“Not at this time. I can tell you that his brain scan checked out, but we won’t know for sure what the real damage is until he wakes up.” He furrowed his brow and switched the clipboard to his other hand. “The men he was with had phoned the hospital ahead of his arrival, so the restoration of blood volume to maintain tissue perfusion and oxygenation was done as quickly as it could have been. They were ready and waiting for him when he came through the emergency room door. It seems your son has some friends in high places.”
The doctor smiled. He wasn’t only referring to the operative’s unlikely survival, he also meant the two doctors who were helicoptered in to operate.
“So we’re not out of the woods yet?”
“Oh heavens no, but I have to tell you, it’s not every day you have the best in the world looking after a single patient. Let’s just say the deck’s been stacked in his favor. We just need to hope he’s up to playing the hand.”
April Turner’s thoughts were conflicted as she listened to the doctor brief the women. She clutched the envelope in her hand, and tears welled up in her eyes. The envelope had “Trent” handwritten on the front, and the seal her husband had secured it with was still intact. Opening it to see what her husband Ryan had written to his twin brother had never even crossed her mind. His intention was to send it to Trent to initiate the healing process for their relationship, but mending the bridges would be impossible now.
The conversation she had with Jack Turner two hours ago had given her a lot to think about. She hadn’t known many of the details about her husband’s life, and now things had started to come together. She was proud of what her husband had been doing, but she wished with all of her heart there would have been a different outcome. Now that she knew the details, she wasn’t sure that passing the message in the envelope along to Trent was the right thing to do. The envelope wasn’t something she could leave in his room. She knew its contents would be too toxic for the family to happen upon right now, and the doctors still weren’t convinced that he would survive.
She had just lost the father of one of her children in this very hospital. Ryan Turner had been the love of her life, and mentally she wasn’t sure if she’d ever recover. Based on her conversation with Jack, she wasn’t sure it would ever be safe to let the father of her oldest child know the truth.
Tears streamed down her face as she was overcome with guilt. April contemplated whether it might be better if Trent Turner didn’t make it through, and quickly tried to erase the selfish thought from her mind. She was ashamed. The secret she held, the very reason her relationship with Ryan survived, was something that would become exponentially more difficult to explain to her astute young child as time passed by.
She wiped the tears from her face, turned and walked away. She had two children at home who missed their father dearly, and that’s where she needed to be right now. This was something that would have to wait. She just wasn’t sure if the wait would take a lifetime.
A Note to Readers
Thank you for reading my debut novel THE CODE WITHIN. If you've enjoyed the book, be sure to leave a brief review on Amazon or Goodreads, and then share the book with your friends through the social media outlets that you frequent. I believe that word of mouth from readers is the most powerful endorsement an author can have.
Acknowledgements
I'd like to send out a heartfelt thank you to family and friends who have encouraged me to follow through with my writing. For those of you who provided insight into three letter agencies, the military and the police, your perspectives and insight have made this novel better than I could have ever imagined, and I appreciate your willingness to help — rest assured the next round is on me. To my copyeditor Marcus Trower: thanks for taking the time and having enough patience to guide me through the early stages of learning to write fiction. I've still got a long way to go, but you're valuable advice has helped me to write a novel that I can be proud of. To Carol and Craig Jones, Ed Quackenbush, Karen Caroscio, Malina Fowler, Nick Selby, Peyton Jones and Teresa Hargett: thanks for helping me to beat down doubt and get back to the task at hand — writing. To Hristo Kovatliev: Awesome work on the cover, you have given the novel a face that will surely get noticed.To my son, Tyler, who will soon turn four: you are a bolt of positive energy and hope that lights up my world with love and gratitude — you’re the perfect little soundtrack to my life and you keep me going. Last and far from least, to my wife, Carey: yes, I am crazy, and thank you for putting up with me and for your love and patience — I love you.