The muscles in my legs cramped as I unlocked the door to Keyes’ apartment. I stood in the doorway, bent over for a full two minutes, then parked the bike in my room and headed straight to the shower. I was sweaty and exhausted from the chase through the woods and the thirty-six-mile round trip to Chapel Hill. I peeled off my shirt and appraised the deep, blood-encrusted, three-inch-long crease in the flesh where the bullet had grazed my upper arm.
Could’ve been a lot worse, I thought with a shrug.
I dropped my pants and stepped into the small shower enclosure, happy to be alive. With the water as hot as I could take it and lots of soap, I thoroughly cleansed the bullet wound as well as the scratches covering my body.
An hour later I was drinking coffee and pacing the floor, trying to figure out what to do. That was a dead body in that garage. I’d been shot. I had to go to the police. A chill came over me. Oh, God. “The Killer Doc,” that’s me. How am I supposed to explain all of this? I’m going back to jail. The minute I open my mouth, I’m “The Killer Doc.”
I was going over my predicament when Keyes returned. I looked out the window to see if anyone had followed her. I saw no one.
She didn’t look at me as she sat down next to me in the kitchen.
“Hey,” she said flatly. Her hands were shaking, and her voice was hoarse.
I put my hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. “Are you all right?”
She nodded but still didn’t look at me. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired.”
I pretended not to notice the tears brimming in her eyes. She looked down at her hands for a moment, and then at me. “You’re still here,” she said, forcing her lips into a half-smile. “You’re not hanging by a necktie from a ceiling beam.”
She then turned her eyes away and walked directly to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. I went in and took her by the arm. She turned to face me.
“You’re in danger, aren’t you?” I said more than asked.
She looked at me and began to cry.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She put her finger to her lips and beckoned me outside to the stairway. She spoke in a whisper. “Someone bugged my apartment. There’s one in my phone and one in each room, in the light fixtures.”
I tried hard to keep my voice down. “For God’s sake, clue me in. I want to help you!”
Keyes looked me in the eye and then looked away. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going to happen over the next few days, but… well, there are things in my past that I’m not proud of that might come out. It’s very complicated… I need you to always remember that whatever I may have done, I had a good reason to do it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Is there anything you want to tell me now?”
She looked me in the eyes. “Just that… I’m in as much trouble as you are, maybe even more.”
I looked into her eyes for a long time. She was stalling. “Are you Celena?”
“Just remember, no matter what you hear, I’m really one of the good guys.”
She was stalling again. I just stared.
“There is a terrorist attack coming in America, Scott. I’m trying to learn when and where the attack will be.”
“You are.”
“Yes.”
“Why you? Are you Celena?”
She hesitated before saying, “No, Scott. The CIA has me posing as an undercover courier for ISIS. I delivered that message to Celena, who is ISIS. There’s a civilian contractor, code named Alpha Charlie. He operates drones from somewhere in the southeastern United States. He kills targets in Afghanistan and Pakistan and now Iraq and Syria. When Celena finds Charlie, ISIS will send missiles, big ones, to wipe out Charlie and his headquarters. I have to find where ISIS keeps its missiles and report it to the Agency, so they can stop the attack.”
I thought for a moment. I wanted to believe her but it just seemed all too unbelievable.
“If you’re with the CIA, what are you doing working in my office? And, why did you bother helping me?”
She hesitated… “Because Herb Waters launders money for ISIS—”
“Waters?”
“We think he does. We’re not sure. We think he makes a lot of his money that way. We believe he may have laundered some money for Al Qaeda at one time. We’re tracking him. He may know about the ISIS operation. You’ve done a lot of research on Waters and his financial dealings. Maybe more than us.”
“Thanks, but…“
She paused. “You’re also at war with him.”
“How could he possibly launder money for a terrorist organization?”
“Easy. Through the hospitals. He’s arranged the finances so that only he knows them. He can move millions through a hospital and then convert it all into innocent-looking payments.”
“Who’s Celena?”
“Scott, I can’t divulge that to you.”
A shock went through me. “Hold on. Is Jackson City Hospital in any danger of being bombed?”
It took a moment as she contemplated her answer. “Waters has connections. On both sides. His hospital is safe. Any more questions?”
I shook my head. I knew she was lying. I knew there was something wrong. But still, I wanted to believe her. “Is Anna Duke ‘Quasart’?”
“Let’s just say that she and I are working together on this. That’s all you need to know for now. I’m quitting the CIA job when this is over. My job ends with this mission, and I’ll be leaving in two days.”
“Who paid my bail? If you’re really CIA, you’ll know that.”
“Let me just say this: I know who paid your bail, okay? I want to help you, Scott, okay? I want to prove your innocence.”
I relaxed a little, or maybe I was worn out from all of the trauma. I said, “I’ve been wondering: Just how, exactly, does a medical office manager know how to resuscitate a person?”
She was very close to me. I could feel the heat from her body. Avoiding the question, she reached up and suddenly kissed me.
I didn’t know what to do. It stunned me. I liked it, but…
She looked me in the eyes for a long time before answering, “It’s just CPR. It’s no big deal. It’s a part of the classes I took at St. Mary’s. Every person who works in a medical office should know that kind of stuff.”
But I was thinking about what she’d done besides CPR — administering Narcan, properly using the anesthesia machine, clearing mucous from my throat. Her answer, I knew, was another lie. Bea Jones, my previous office manager, might have known CPR, but she couldn’t have done any of the other stuff. I was about to ask more questions, but I knew she hadn’t faked the emotions she’d showed me, and I really didn’t want to know any more. I leaned over and kissed her. I felt the warmth of her lips. It was so easy to fall in love with her.
And I knew she was lying.
She put her hand behind my neck and prolonged the kiss. Finally, she pulled away and I looked into her eyes. They sparkled.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I wanted to believe Keyes. I also knew that I had a responsibility to tell the authorities. Clearly, an attack was coming and Keyes was involved somehow.
I got up right after sunrise, dressed, and headed for my office. The mountain bike was basically shot, so I was on foot again.
I immediately called Harris.
About half an hour after I’d called him, there was a knock at the front door of the surgery center. I cautiously peered out the window and saw Detective Harris standing there.
I still wasn’t sure about Harris, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to tell him everything. I was acutely aware, however, that in his eyes I was still suspected of murder.