The doors to the hospital’s trauma bay burst open when the gurney slammed through, and there was a lot of noise and the scent of blood. Dr. Emma Grant stopped looking at her charts. Her green eyes quickly took in the scene. A huge man in a war uniform soaked in dark red had a face twisted in misery, but his eyes remained sharp and calculating. The head paramedic yelled out crucial signs that made her heart sink.
But she kept going, her young face set in the mask of total control she had learned to assume. Gunshot wound to the stomach. There may be bleeding inside. Blood pressure is decreasing quickly. As they moved the patient to the ER bed, the paramedic spoke quickly. Emma moved closer and was already going over the surgical routine in her head. The man’s gaze locked onto hers.
And even though he was in terrible shape, she saw him recognize her. It was not her he recognized, but rather what he was seeing. He saw someone who was too young and someone he didn’t trust. The team worked around them in a controlled mess, cutting away the uniform and creating new lines. But Emma could feel the change in the atmosphere when the patient’s hand sprang out and grabbed her wrist with startling strength.
“How old are you?” “His voice was rough and commanding, even though it hurt.” “Old enough to save your life, Commander,” Emma said, looking at the patch on his damaged uniform. Navy Seal. Sure. You look like you recently graduated from medical school.
His hold got stronger, and she could feel the shock starting to set in his body. I need someone else. Maria, the nurse on duty, moved closer. Sir, Dr. Grant is the best trauma surgeon we have on duty. You need to get surgery right away. I responded, “No.” He never took his eyes off of Emma’s face. She is too young. I’ve seen enough to know that she doesn’t have the experience to handle this.
Emma felt the familiar heat of anger and the weight of being misjudged for the thousandth time in her career, but there wasn’t time for her ego. The monitor’s anxious beeping intensified, while his blood pressure continued to drop. She leaned in closer and spoke softly. I understand your worry, Commander, but right now you’re bleeding inside, and every second you waste disputing my credentials is one second closer to you not making it off this table. So, you can choose. To make a point, you have to trust me or perish. His jaw
clenched, and for a moment, she believed he might really take the second option. Then, when she reached up to change the overhead light, his eyes moved to something on her arm. His body stiffened up completely, and his face lost the little color it had left. Emma looked down and saw that her sleeve had moved up, showing the edge of her tattoo.
It was a small but distinct military medical symbol that most people wouldn’t recognize. But this commander seemed to know. Where did you obtain that? The sound of his voice had changed dramatically. The anger was replaced with something she couldn’t put her finger on. Surprise, understanding, something deeper.
Before she could respond, his eyelids rolled back and the monitors screamed. Maria yelled for the crash cart, but Emma was already on the move, her hands steady as she started compressions. Someone yelled, “We’re losing him!” Emma’s voice stood out in the noise. Get ready, O2. We’re heading in now. But even as they rushed the commander to the operating room and her training took over and her hands moved with experienced accuracy, she couldn’t shake the look in his eyes as he saw her tattoo.
He knew what it was, and that altered everything. She didn’t know yet that the symbol on her arm would open up a history. Neither of them was ready to deal with it. I pulled on my surgical mask and changed the lights above me so I could focus on the body parts in front of me instead of the questions that were going through my mind.
The commander was stable now, barely, and my hands moved through the traditional steps of emergency surgery. Find the clamp for the bleed. Suture, on to the next one. I said “suction” gently, and the surgical tech did what I asked right away. My team had learned to trust me, even if I had to convince each new patient first.
The anesthesiologist said that the blood pressure was stable. The heart rate is going down. I took a small breath of relief. The primary artery tear was fixed, and the bleeding inside was stopped. He had been lucky. If it had been a few centimeters to the left, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how he had stared at my tattoo. That wasn’t just recognition.
It was personal. And in my job, becoming close to patients was a problem I couldn’t afford. Hey, Dr. Grant? Maria’s voice brought me back. Are you okay? Okay. Let’s put him away. The procedure lasted another 90 minutes, and by the time we brought the commander into recovery, I was so tired that it hurt my bones. But something else was bothering me.
a feeling of having unfinished business that had nothing to do with the surgery. Maria came to the nurse’s station to find me updating his record. Her black eyes were worried. He wants to talk to you. He is already awake. I looked at the time. He should have been asleep for at least another hour after the anesthesia.
Barely, but he won’t give up. Maria thought for a moment. What’s going on, Emma? He continues asking you about your arm. I had a chill down my spine. Tell him that I’ll be there in a minute. Maria, on the other hand, didn’t move. You do know him, right? Or he knows you. I had never met him before today. That was the truth, in a way.
So why does he stare at you like he’s seen a ghost? I didn’t know what to say. Not one I was ready to share, anyway. The commander looked at me right away as I walked into his recovery room. His eyes were keen and clear, even though he was on medicines. He was a big man, maybe in his mid-40s, with a face that looked like it had been through a lot of bad weather, scars on his arms, and the stance of someone who had trained their body to be a weapon.
He said right away, “You saved my life.” His voice was still harsh, but it was steady. “That’s what I do.” “The tattoo?” He tried to move in bed, but the pain made him wince. “Where did you get it?”” I crossed my arms and became defensive all of a sudden. “That’s personal.” That sign? He halted, and I saw something flash in his eyes. Pain, but not in the body.
You can’t just get that at a tattoo shop. That’s a symbol for a unit. Specialized division of the combat medical corps. I’ve only seen it twice in my life. My heart was racing, but I kept my face calm. I’m not a soldier; I’m a surgeon commander. But someone was. He leaned forward a little and stared hard. A person you knew. He appeared to be a professional individual. I should have just left.
Should have kept a professional distance. But the look on his face made me stop. I felt a kind of eerie recognition that I knew all too well. I heard myself say, “My father.” He used to be a battlefield medic. The commander didn’t move at all. What was his name? I doubt that’s important for your recuperation.
What did you call him? I was astonished by how urgent his voice sounded. I was unsure then. Dr. Grant James. He died while on duty. That’s all I have to say. Again, the commander lost color in his cheeks, and for a second, I feared he might pass out. Thereafter, he said something that made me shiver. Jimmy Grant.
Oh my God, you’re his kid. As his pulse rate went up, the monitors started to beep, and I instantly went to check his vitals. However, he grasped my wrist again, this time with a gentle but firm grip. “He’s the one who saved my life,” the commander replied, his voice breaking. He saved all of us. But how? Why didn’t anyone inform us he had a kid? I jerked my arm free, and my professional calm broke.
After he died, I didn’t want anything to do with the military. They gave me a flag and declared my dad a hero when I was eight years old. Do you realize what that implies for a kid? It signifies you’re by yourself. Commander, Emma, and Dr. Grant, you need to take a break. My voice had become cold, and I put up emotional walls again.
You had a successful surgery, but you’re not out of danger yet. I’ll have the nurses keep a tight eye on you. I was about to leave when he said something that made me halt. During those final hours, when we remained trapped and he was tending to me and the others, he spoke about you.
He told me about his daughter, who wanted to be a doctor like him. “I didn’t let him finish,” he said. I strolled down the hall from the recovery room to the staff bathroom, locked the door, and looked at myself in the mirror. My hands were shaking. It seemed like the tattoo on my arm was on fire. I had worked for 15 years to develop a career and show that I was more than my father’s heritage.
And suddenly, in an instant, the history I had been trying to avoid had caught up with me. I didn’t know that the commander wasn’t just any patient. And the operation that killed my father was about to become crucial again because someone was watching outside the hospital. Someone who knew exactly who I was and why my father had died. Dina.
The next 36 hours went by in the usual way of hospital turmoil. Rounds and consultations. We underwent three additional procedures, none of which resulted in any emotionally challenging revelations. I deliberately avoided the commander’s room, instead asking another nurse to monitor his recovery. Maria gave me knowing looks but didn’t push, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The hospital, on the other hand, had other intentions.
My pager rang off with a 911 code when I was looking over labs at 2 a.m. The room of the commander. I sprinted down the hall with my heart in my throat, already thinking about all the things that may go wrong after the top. Infection, bleeding inside the body, and pulmonary embolism. What I found was worse. The commander was sitting up in bed and was wide awake, even though it was late. his face was pale yet resolute.
His sensors showed that his heart rate and blood pressure were higher than normal, but not dangerously so. What attracted my eye was the man in uniform standing next to his bed. He was another SEAL, younger, and his steely eyes reviewed me as if I were a threat as soon as I walked in. “Dr. Grant,” the commander’s voice sounded strained. We need to have a chat right now. Currently, Commander, your recuperation is the last thing on my mind. He pointed at the other man. Lieutenant Harris is here.
He is here because we got information 30 minutes ago that you might be in danger. The room looked like it was tilting. What? Lieutenant Harris walked forward, standing in a very military way. When was the last time someone who said they were connected to your father’s old unit got in touch with you, Doctor Grant? Not ever.
I told you I would rather not do anything. How about strange surveillance? Are people you don’t know asking you questions? Do you feel like someone is following you? I thought about the last few weeks and how strange it felt to leave the hospital late at night. I thought it was just paranoia from too many true crime podcasts. Maybe. I’m not sure. The commander leaned forward, and the movement made him wince. Emma, your father didn’t die in a normal fight.
He was involved in a secret mission that uncovered information certain people wanted to keep hidden. Survivors had been under observation for years, waiting for someone to rescue them. What do you want from them? This refers to the observations we made and the records your father documented. He retained my gaze.
Emma, he kept records. He meticulously documented evidence of his unlawful activities. He was implicated in the cover-up of civilian deaths. Crimes of war have been committed. When he went home, he was going to tell on him. That’s why. That’s the reason he died. My voice sounded flat and empty. Everyone was yelling. Are you saying that someone killed my father? We couldn’t show it. The official report said that the firing was from insurgents.
At the wrong time and place. However, those of us who were present understood the situation more accurately. The commander’s hand made a fist on the white linens. And now someone is keen to know more about you. Someone found the link between you and your dad. Emma, that tattoo serves as a sign for anyone who sees it. I looked down at the tattoo I got when I was 18 to remember a father I barely knew.
Why now? It’s been 15 years. Three weeks ago, one of the other people who survived the operation was found dead, and it looked like suicide. But we know better than that. Lieutenant Harris’s voice was cold and clinical. Dr. Grant, you’re the last loose end. Your father’s daughter is the only person who might be able to get to any evidence he left behind. I don’t have any proof.
He died when I was 8, but someone claims you do or know where it is. The effects hit me like a wave. Everything I’d done with my life, including the career I’d developed and the distance I’d kept from my father’s world, was pointless. They still found me. What should I do? The question came out smaller than I wanted it to.
The commander tried to sit up more, and without thinking, I moved to make his bed more comfortable. My nurse instincts took over. He caught my hand as I did. You let us keep you safe. Harris has a safe house and a squad. We get you out of the hospital and to a safe place until we find out who did this. I can’t just go. I have patients and surgeries planned. Harris cut in and said, “You have a target on your back.”
Hospitals are also public venues with several ways to get in. Someone will be able to get to you here if they’d like to. I wrenched my hand away from the commander’s grip, and my mind raced. This couldn’t be true. This was the story of a lousy action movie, not my reality. I wasn’t a spy in a thriller; I was a surgeon. But the look in both men’s eyes made it clear they weren’t joking. How long? Finally, I asked.
The answer is as long as it takes to eliminate the threat. I need to give this some thought. Harris began by saying, “Dr. Grant.” The commander, however, cut him off. Give her an hour. But Emma, that’s all we have for now. You are in danger every minute you stay if they know you’re here and have been watching you.
I nodded without thinking and left the room, my head spinning. There wasn’t much noise in the hallway, only the faint footsteps of the night shift nurses and the occasional beep of the monitors. Everything looked natural, safe, and like it belonged. But suddenly I could see shadows all around me. I wondered if every visitor, every late-night patient, and every stranger in the parking lot was up to no good. Before my phone buzzed, I got to the staff lounge.
No number is known. I nearly hesitated to respond, but then I recalled Harris’s statement about constant surveillance. The voice on the other end seemed smooth, professional, and not someone I knew. We need to have a chat about your dad. My blood froze. Who is this? Someone who knows what truly happened to James Grant. This individual is aware of the discoveries he made and the locations he stored them.
And someone who realizes that you are the key to finding it. I don’t understand what you’re saying. Yes, you do. You may not be aware of it, but it’s there in your memories, in your childhood, and in what he told you before he departed on his last deployment. And, Dr. Grant, Emma, we don’t have much time left.
People are dying, and if you don’t help, you’ll be next. The line went silent. I stood there with the phone still held to my ear as everything hit me all at once. My dad didn’t merely die a hero. He died to safeguard something. And now, 15 years later, that monstrosity was going to murder me too. If I didn’t find it first.
I didn’t go back to the room with the commander. I was instead in the hospital archives, using my credentials to look at old personnel files. I had to find whatever my dad had left behind, or any clues about what he wrote down, before whoever was looking for me did. The archives were in the basement, where there wasn’t much light and the air was stale. There were boxes of old records that hadn’t been digitized yet.
I looked through employee files from 15 years ago for any relevant information. I searched for my father’s job history, his coworkers, and anyone else who might have known him during his brief time working at this hospital before going to war. “Not here.” The voice behind me made me turn around, my heart racing.
Maria stood in the doorway, and her face was difficult to read. These files don’t have what you’re looking for. Maria, I don’t have time to talk about it. Your dad worked here for six months before he went to war. I knew since I was a nursing student at the time and he helped me. Maria walked into the room and shut the door behind her.
He was smart, charming, and really paranoid in the last few weeks. I looked at her. Did you know him? He once saved my life. When I thought I couldn’t manage it, they talked me out of abandoning nursing school. So, when he asked me to keep something safe and urged me to wait until his child was old enough and ready in case anything happened to him, I said yes.
The space seemed too small, and the air seemed too thin. For 15 years, you’ve had something that belonged to my father. Not here. Not anywhere obvious. He was really clear. He said that it had to remain concealed until you came to look for it. He was familiar with Emma. He knew what could happen and made plans for it.
Where is it? Maria took out her phone, wrote something, and then flashed me an address. A place to store things outside of the city. Unit 237. The key is in a safe deposit box at First National’s old name. He set it up before the deployment. He made the payment for the safe deposit box 20 years in advance. I check it once a month to make sure no one has messed with it. Why didn’t you tell me all this time? He assured me that you would come when you were prepared and needed it. And Dr.
I’ve seen you grow your career here, Grant. You didn’t need your dad’s shadow over you. You had to become who you are on your own terms. Maria’s eyes were sorrowful but determined. But now, someone is making you do it. So, I’m saying that I wanted to hug her. I wanted to yell. I merely nodded instead. Thanks. There’s more.
Your dad told me to call a number he gave me if anyone official or unauthorized came asking about him. I called it tonight after I saw those seals in the commander’s room. She stopped. Someone responded and said they had been waiting for this call for a long time. They told me to tell you, “Trust the commander, but check everything.”
Not everyone who fought with your father lived, and not everyone who lived is on your side. The weight of the conspiracy was too much for me. Maria, I don’t know what to do. You’re doing what your father told you to do to stay alive. She put her hand on my shoulder. People have died for whatever is in the storage facility, so it must be vital. Watch out, Emma. And maybe, just maybe, let those seals help you.
There was a time when your father trusted them. I sat in the archives for a long time after Maria left, trying to make sense of everything. I took out my phone and sent a text to the commander’s room. We have to talk. Everything. You know everything there is to learn about my father’s last mission. The answer came right away. Harris will give you a briefing tomorrow morning.
But Emma, you can’t go back after you hear this. Things in your life change. I gazed at the tattoo on my arm, the emblem my father had acquired through blood and service. This symbol, which I claimed as my own, represents both my defiance and my memories. My life changed the moment you saw this tattoo. Tell me everything, as I am no longer running away from my father’s heritage.
If someone wanted me dead because of what he found, I was going to find it first. And I was determined to finish what he started, even if it meant putting all I had worked for on the line. In the early morning light, the commander’s chamber seemed different. Not as dramatic, but the tension was still there.
Lieutenant Harris stood by the window like a guard as he sat in the chair near the bed. He was still pale but stronger. A third man I didn’t know was sitting in the corner with his laptop open and watching the entrance. The commander added, “This is Sergeant Chen,” to introduce him. Expert in communication. For the past five years, he has been keeping an eye on what others are saying about your father’s situation.
Five years? I shut the door behind me. Why exactly five years? That was when the file was intended to be opened. Chen’s speech was calm and matter-of-fact. Military records and secret activities have expiration dates. Your father’s mission should have become public five years ago. However, an individual within the Pentagon requested an extension, thereby concealing it for an additional 20 years.
Harris went to the middle of the room and pulled something up on a tablet. This is what we do know. Your father took charge of a special medical team in 2010, collaborating with Seal Team 7. The ostensible goal was humanitarian, helping villages in Afghanistan with medical care as they rebuilt their infrastructure. The main goal was to get information. He swiped to a map with red dots showing where things were.
These communities were on an important supply route. Someone in a high position thought the path was being utilized not only by insurgents but also by American contractors to transfer guns, opium, and other illicit things. Your dad’s role was to help people, create trust, and keep records of proof. And he did find it. The commander’s voice was deep.
Found evidence that at least three big defense contractors were doing unlawful things while the conflict was going on. Evidence that civilian deaths are being hidden. The evidence revealed that American soldiers were intentionally placed in danger to protect their business interests. Evidence that went all the way up the chain of command. I was unwell. How tall? We don’t know. That’s what your dad was trying to write down when we were attacked. The commander looked me in the eye.
We were going to a safe place to send everything to the military investigators. But someone knew we were on our way. Make a kill zone. We all went in. There were five. Your dad sacrificed himself to ensure our survival long enough for us to escape. We assumed the proof perished with him. The gunfight destroyed the data drives he was carrying.
But three weeks ago, when Corporal Mitchell died, he was one of the people who lived. We found something. There was a note in his flat that was written in your father’s handwriting. Three words. It’s Emma’s. The room was spinning. I don’t have anything. I was a kid. Chen flipped his laptop around so I could see it. Dr. Grant, your father was paranoid.
Professionally paranoid. He was aware that the endeavor was risky. He knew he might not come back, so he got insurance. Mitchell’s note said he sent something home that seemed harmless, like something a youngster wouldn’t think twice about, but it included all the proof we needed.
I thought about the last several months before my dad went to war. He continued to send items in the mail even during his absence. He gave me cuddly animals, novels, and a music box. Do you still have them? A few. My mom kept a box of his stuff in the attic. It’s been years since I last looked at it. I couldn’t. My voice cracked. It stung too much. The commander stood up and moved slowly but steadily.
We need what’s in that package, Emma. And we need it before whoever killed Mitchell finds out where it is. What if it isn’t anything? What if you’re not right? After that, we continue looking. But Mitchell died to keep this information safe. He wouldn’t have left that note if he wasn’t sure. Now Harris’s voice was soft. Dr. Grant, your father was a genius.
He placed that proof in a location so obvious that no one would think to look for it. It is located somewhere private, accessible only to you. I thought about the storage facility that Maria talked about. I thought about the safe deposit box and the box of childhood memories located 300 meters away in my mother’s attic. I have to make some calls.
We can get a team back. Not at all. My voice was strong. If my dad concealed something in my childhood items and trusted me to find it, I do. Not a group. I need protection to get there, though. Harris and the commander looked at each other. Harris finally nodded. We’ll take you with us. The car will be unmarked. We have a full security team with us. But Dr.
Grant, we are committed after we leave this hospital. There is no going back. I glanced at all of them. These men had worked with my father, lived because of him, and borne this load for 15 years until this moment. First, tell me something. What kind of person was my father? In the field. Not the hero everyone talks about, but the genuine guy. The commander’s countenance softened.
He was afraid every day, every assignment. But he never let it stop him. He told awful jokes to calm nervous soldiers. He hummed off-key while he worked. He also had a picture of you in his helmet. Saw it before every surgery. His voice got harsh. Emma, he was the best of us. He loved you more than anything else in the world. I nodded, but I didn’t trust myself to say anything.
After that, I straightened my shoulders and made up my mind. Let’s go look for what my dad died to protect. And then let’s make sure that everyone who hid it pays, since I wasn’t just a surgeon anymore. It was time to finish James Grant’s task because I was his daughter. At 0200 hours, I discovered Marcus alone in the recovery ward.
His eyes were closed, but he was holding on to the bed rail too firmly to sleep. I whispered softly, “You’re supposed to be resting, Commander.” His eyes opened. You are, too, doctor. I checked his vital signs and saw that his heart rate was high. The pain is bearable. He saw me change his IV. That sign on your arm. I need to know where you got it from. My hand got cold. It’s personal.
In combat, nothing is personal. His voice was soft but strong. I’ve seen that mark before. 2019, Afghanistan. on a medic who saved my whole team before he stopped. Before what? Before she died, she was covering our evacuation. The room leaned to one side. What was her name? Sarah Chen, M.D., a trauma surgeon, volunteered to go to the field.
Marcus never took his eyes off of mine. She was a mother. She was about 7 years old in the pictures she had. My mom died when I was 12. 12, when they said it was an accident during training. At the age of 12, I began to doubt the credibility of the military’s explanations. I need to read the reports on the mission. I spoke it softly. They are classified as level five.
I don’t even have full access. I know someone who can help him sit up. If you genuinely want to know the truth, The door swung open. Doctor Harrison stood there with a blank look on his face. Two military police officers were behind him. Harrison said formally, “Dr. Kate Morrison.” We need you for an urgent meeting. Right away. This was all wrong. The MPs.
I heard Harrison’s voice in the middle of the night. Marcus’s hand rushed out and grabbed my wrist. He placed his fingertips against my pulse point in a rhythm. Three short, three long, and three short. SOS. I said “of course” as I cautiously pulled away. Take the lead. I saw what Marcus had previously seen as I walked by Harrison.
The identical, precise scar behind Harrison’s ear that I saw on the shooter in the parking garage. Harrison wasn’t concerned about the hospital’s reputation. He was trying to keep something considerably greater safe. Man, the consultation room was in the basement. There were no windows, no medical equipment, just a table, two chairs, and a man I had never seen before seated in fancy civilian clothing.
The MPs set up outside. Harrison shut the door. The stranger said, “Dr. Morrison,” in a kind way. Please take a seat. I stayed standing. Who are you? Someone who has been genuinely interested in your career. He opened a folder. He became the youngest chief resident in the county’s history.
He has an excellent surgical record but faces a very specific difficulty with patient advocacy. I fight for all of my patients, even the ones you aren’t in charge of. He took out a picture. I went into the restricted ICU wing three nights ago, where treating classified military members is not allowed. My heart raced, but I kept my face calm. Commander Garrett asked for a second opinion on how he was going to do the surgery. It was okay with Dr. Harrison.
Did I? Harrison’s voice was icy behind me. The stranger grinned. Kate, let’s stop acting like this. We know you’ve been looking at medical files that you shouldn’t have. We know you’ve been curious about Operation Sand Viper. We know who your mother is. Everyone in the room stopped talking. Sarah Chen was a traitor. The stranger went on. She sold secret information to the adversary. Her actions led directly to the mission that killed her.
That’s not true. I couldn’t stop the words from coming out. Is it? He pushed another picture across the table. My mom, dressed in civilian clothing, is meeting with a man at a cafe. The date stamp is two weeks before she died. We have 12 more of them. Different places. Same person to talk to. An enemy agent who is known.
I looked at the picture for a long time, attempting to spot the lie. The angle was off. The lighting was off, but the face was my mom’s. Why are you showing me this? Because you have a decision to make. The stranger moved closer. Leave Commander Garrett alone. Stop asking questions. Keep up your excellent work.
Or what? Alternatively, they will need to investigate whether Dr. Sarah Chen’s daughter has inherited her mother’s traitorous tendencies. I held my hands tightly at my sides. This was a threat. It was an extremely well-crafted threat. I need some time to think. You have until 800 hours. He got up. Dr. Morrison, make a wise choice. Your mom made the incorrect choice. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes she did.
Harrison unlocked the door. The MPs took me back upstairs without saying a word. But I had noticed something others hadn’t. There is another camera in the reflection of the cafe window behind my mother in that picture. Someone else had taken pictures of that meeting. I went straight to Marcus’s room, which was empty.
The bed was made, the IV stand was gone, and there was no trace that he had ever been there looking for someone. There was a nurse I didn’t know standing in the doorway. Where did they send him, Commander Garrett? There are no orders for transfers on file. She looked at her tablet. The record says that the bed has been empty for three days. Not possible. I just got back after seeing him.
I pushed by her and went to the nurse’s station. Patricia, the charge nurse, whom I’d worked with for two years, looked up. Patricia, where is the SEAL leader from room 347? She made a face. Kate, we haven’t had any military patients on this floor in weeks. Are you doing okay? The process was organized.
They had deleted him from the system, which meant he was either moved to a place where they didn’t want me to discover him or I couldn’t finish that idea. My phone made a noise. Number, I don’t know. The text was short. Level B3 of the parking garage is 10 minutes away. Marcus Garrett, MG. It had to be. Every instinct told me it was a trap.
But if there was even a small chance he knew something about my mother, I took the stairs and tried to stay away from cameras. At this time, Level B3 was almost empty. The sound of my footfall on concrete echoed. A person came out from behind a support column. Not Marcus. It was the lady from the ICU, the person who had been watching me. I could see the military stance and the alert eyes looking for danger up close. Dr. Morrison.
She spoke in a professional way, but not in a rude way. I am Captain Jessica Wade, and I work for Naval Intelligence. We need to have a chat about your mom. Everyone wants to talk about my mom tonight. Not everyone is me. She took out a phone and showed me a picture. My mom is in military dress and standing with a group of troops.
Marcus was there, but he was younger. Your mom wasn’t a traitor. She was a spy deep inside. Things changed in the world. What? Dr. Chen didn’t mess up Operation Sand Viper. Someone in charge made it less secure. This was someone who wanted the mission to fail. WDE’s expression was dismal. Who did your mother find out about? That’s what killed her. And that’s why they’re attempting to keep anyone who gets too close to the truth quiet.
Who? Who did it? Wade looked over my shoulder, and her hand moved to her hidden gun. We have to go now. But I also heard it. Footsteps, with more than one set coming from each stairwell exit. We were encircled. Wade pulled me behind a van, her firearm drawn. Stay low. I’m a doctor, not a member of the military.
Your mom taught you how to shoot. I looked over your file. I reviewed your file. She was correct. Mom had told me. She said that every woman should know how to keep herself safe. I hadn’t used a gun since she died. The footsteps halted. Someone yelled. Captain Wade. Let’s discuss like professionals, Dr. Morrison. I know that voice. Dr. Harrison.
Wade didn’t put her gun down. People who work don’t sneak up on people in parking garages. No, but they do strive to keep good individuals from killing themselves. Harrison came into view, and you could see his hands. He was by himself. I’m not your adversary, but the people who are listening to this conversation definitely are. He pointed to his ear.
He pointed to a small, difficult-to-see instrument. He went on to say, “They’re watching you.” Since you performed that surgery on Garrett, I have been feeling uneasy. Everything you say and do, everywhere you go. WDE’s jaw got tense. The hospital is in trouble. The base, the hospital, and half of the intelligence community are all in trouble. Harrison looked me straight in the eye. Your mother found a network of high-ranking officials who had been selling secret information for years.
She got proof, but she didn’t have an opportunity to tell the world about it. How do you know this? Because I was responsible for her. Harrison’s voice was low. I was the one who hired Dr. Sarah Chen to work for the CIA. I killed her. The confession was in the air. I could see the guilt on his face.
The burden he had carried for twelve years. Why didn’t you complete what she started? Wade asked. I made an effort. They put me in charge of a lot of paperwork. Please return me to hospital duty, where I am unable to access operational intelligence. Harrison took out a small drive. But I’ve been gathering proof for 12 years. This disk has everything. Names, dates, transactions, and proof.
Why offer it to us now? Because Commander Garrett figured it out. He has been looking into the deaths of his team members. He saw the pattern of missions that had gone wrong. He was getting close. Harrison’s face got darker. Last week’s ambush wasn’t a coincidence. Someone in charge told him to kill himself.
It made it seem as though the opponent was responsible for the situation. My stomach sank. Is he still alive? For now, they’re keeping him at the safe medical facility on site. Officially, he’s being watched, but really, they’re just waiting to see what to do with him. Wade looked at her phone. We might have three minutes before their reaction team arrives here. We need to make a plan. I looked at the drive that Harrison was holding. 12 years of proof, all my mother died for.
How can we tell the truth without getting killed? Harrison grinned sadly. We don’t. We need someone with power that they can’t ignore. Someone who is well-known enough that killing them would raise too many concerns. Who? Senator Mitchell. He has been looking into corruption in the military. We need to get this proof to him before the explosion stops him.
The van next to us caught fire. The shockwave pushed us back. My ears were ringing. There was smoke all over. WDE pulled me up. Get moving now. We ran. Behind us, there were footsteps and screams. Footsteps. Screams. the sound of guns being loaded. Harrison took hold of my arm. Kate, these are your mother’s dying words. Do you recall them? She told me. She stated the truth was in the base. What base? I never understood what she meant. We broke through a door in the stairway.
Wade fired two shots behind us to buy time. The founding of the hospital. Harrison gasped as we went up. The nonprofit group. Your mom put backup evidence there. There were files that bore a striking resemblance to donation records. We got to the main hospital lobby on the ground floor. People, witnesses, wouldn’t risk being attacked in public here. Wade put her gun away. We parted ways.
Kate, you may see those donation records. You get to Senator Mitchell, Harrison. I’ll take Commander Garrett out. That’s killing yourself. I said, “That’s what I do.” WDE’s face showed determination. Your job is to finish what your mom started. Is that something you can do? I thought about my mom. I pondered over the secrets she held dear. The price she had to pay was immense.
The truth cost her life. Yes. Then get up and move. Are you? I had worked at this hospital for three years and had never been to the foundation headquarters. The administrative wing, located on the fourth level, was a significant distance from the patient care area. The door was closed. I used my badge from the hospital. Of course, access was refused. But my mom taught me more than just how to shoot.
I took a paper clip off of a bulletin board nearby, bent it, and opened the lock. 30 seconds. The door made a clicking sound as it opened. There were files all around the office, and it was dark. I turned on the computer and protected it with a password. I attempted to log in using my birthday and my mother’s birthday. Nothing. The truth is in the base. What did she mean? I glanced around the office.
There are pictures on the wall commemorating the hospital’s achievements, charity events, and key benefactors. There is also a picture of the foundation’s grand opening in a frame dated 2013. My mom was at the back, virtually hidden, but I could see her hand pointing. She was signing in American Sign Language, which she had taught me as a youngster.
Her finger typed out my name, Morrison. The password was my name. I wrote it. The computer was unlocked. At first, the donation database looked okay. The database displayed names, sums, and dates. But when I only looked at postings from 2013, the year my mother died, I saw trends. The postings included donors with military ranks, sums of money matching the budgets of classified projects, and comment sections filled with alphanumeric codes. The content wasn’t information about donations.
It was proof—transaction records, messages, everything. I copied everything to a disk, and my hands were shaking. Behind me, the door opened. I turned around. The man from the basement was standing there with a rifle. I was hoping you would make the right choice, Dr. Morrison. Yes, I did. I held the drive up. My mom spent her whole life helping people. She died fighting for the truth.
I am also choosing that option. This choice is both wise and foolish. He pointed the gun. Give me the car. There are cameras and people who can see you kill me here. You’ll never be able to hide it. Who said they were going to kill you here? He moved forward. You’re going to go with me discreetly. We’ll go for a drive to a quiet place. There will be an accident. So sad. My thoughts were racing. I needed some time. Needed help.
That operative in the pictures you showed me met my mother. Why? He grinned in a chilly way. Because we told her to. We gave her misleading information. It made her look like a traitor. It was too late when she figured out what was going on. The mission was already in trouble. She killed to protect soldiers who thought she had betrayed them. I was filled with rage. You set her up. We got rid of a threat.
She was on the verge of revealing information to us. The situation was similar to what you described. There was movement behind him. A person in the hallway. Marcus was pallid, moving slowly, but he was still alive. He caught my eye and held up three fingers. Two. One. I fell to the ground. Marcus hit the man with the rifle from behind. Both males hit the desk hard. The gun slid across the floor.
I grabbed it, my hands shaking, and pointed it at the men who were fighting. Agent of the federal government. Don’t move, anyone. A different voice. Captain Wade came in with two MPs. They were real MPs, judging by their astonished expressions upon arrival. Wade held the gunmen back while Marcus leaned against the wall, his surgical wound seeping through his shirt.
I put down the rifle and went to him. Dr., your instincts are stronger than anything else. You are a complete fool. You’re going to rip your stitches. It’s worth it. He forced a smile that hurt. Did you obtain the proof? I held up the drive. Everything. Wade called. Federal officials flooded the premises in a matter of minutes. The man who was arrested was named Deputy Director Cole Ramsay. He didn’t have that smug smile anymore.
Harrison came with Senator Mitchell, who drove with a serious sense of duty. The senator said gently, “Your mother was a hero, Dr. Morrison.” The truth will come out in the country. But I wasn’t thinking about the nation. I was thinking of a woman who taught her kid how to sign and how to protect herself.
Who hid evidence in contribution records and died trying to shield those who didn’t know what she was really up to? Marcus’s hand touched mine. She would be proud of you. She would be devastated that I didn’t become a painter as she always wanted me to. He laughed and then winced. Please tell me that you are still my doctor. Yes, unfortunately for you.
I helped him to the door, which indicates you are obeying every order I give you, starting with bed rest. Yes, ma’am. Wade came with us to the elevator. We’re currently dismantling the network your mother discovered. So far, 15 people have been arrested. We anticipate more arrests in the near future. What about the individuals who really killed her? Those who instructed them to carry out the murder remain a mystery. That probe is still going on. WDED’s words were intentionally neutral. But you and I both know that justice is coming. The doors of the elevator opened.
We went inside with Marcus. I saw my reflection as the doors closed. I looked worn out, covered in blood, and nothing like the calm surgeon who had started this shift. But I also had my mother’s looks. I inherited my mother’s determined eyes and her stubbornness to help others in need. What are your thoughts? Marcus wanted to know. I became a doctor with the intention of helping people live their lives.
That entails more than just having surgery. Your mom would claim you got her stubbornness from her. She said that a lot. I grinned, and tears finally came, usually immediately before she taught me something frightening and crucial. The elevator got to the first floor. The sun was coming up outside. A new day has come. The truth ultimately came out. Justice is finally possible.
Marcus squeezed my hand. What happens next? What now? I looked at the hospital that was nearby. It was the site where I learned how to save lives. This realization occurred when I discovered my mother’s genuine mission and the circumstances under which I nearly died to protect the truth. Now that I’ve finished my residency, I can become the surgeon my mother trained me to be and sometimes save SEAL leaders who don’t listen to medical advice. Sounds like a fantastic idea.
We both walk toward the ER entrance, limping a little, but we are both alive. Federal officials behind us were securing the evidence that would change everything. Patients who needed help were waiting in front of us. My mom had waged her struggle in the dark. I would fight mine in the open.
