stand it no longer. “What is it?”
“There’s been an accident. In New York.” The ever present shadows in East’s brown eyes seemed to darken to near black. “Several agents were checking out a warehouse where Simon was reportedly stockpiling weapons. A bomb went off.”
Jeff felt the blood drain from his face as his hands tightened on the glass he was holding. “Tish?” He managed to get her name out, his voice strained. Oh, God! Not now, please.
“She’s in the hospital, unconscious.” East reached over, placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed hard.
“The prognosis?” Jeff asked as a terrible weight took up residence in his chest.
East shook his head. “No one knows.”
Jeff was not a man who could wait for answers. He had to take action, to find out for himself. He set down the glass and picked up the phone on the kitchen counter. “What hospital?”
East handed him a notepad where he’d jotted down the phone number, knowing his son would want to call. “Metropolitan General in Manhattan.”
It took Jeff some time to get through to the right floor, the right nurse’s station. Tish was in surgery, he was told, her injuries quite serious, but the nurse wouldn’t elaborate. Trying to stay in control of his emotions, Jeff scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’ve got to go there,” he told East as he hung up.
His dad handed him a sheet of paper. “You’re booked on the red-eye out of Los Angeles International Airport. Get ready and I’ll drive you to the airport.”
Jeff saw the concern in East’s eyes and it was almost his undoing. He took a step closer and felt his father’s arms close around him in a comforting hug. “I can’t lose her, Dad. Not again.”
“You won’t, son. Go to her, let her know you’re there. It could make all the difference.” East stepped back, then let him go.
Jeff hurried to his room, his mind racing, his heart heavy.
“Why can’t we get this guy?” Jeff asked, frustration evident in every word. Seated beside East in his fortified ATV as his dad expertly maneuvered the steep, winding roads of the mountainous area where Condor was located, he wanted to lash out at something, someone. “SPEAR agents have been chasing this traitor all over the globe for months and no one’s come close to capturing or killing him. How long are we expected to keep this up, until all our best people are maimed or dead?”
In direct contrast, Easton’s voice was calm, reasonable, reassuring. “I understand how you feel. Actually, several agents have come close to capturing Simon, but…”
“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Jeff muttered, then realized what he’d just said. A hand grenade was similar to a bomb and a bomb was what had put Tish in the hospital.
“It’s hard to be patient when someone you care for is involved,” East continued in the same quiet tone and Jeff was reminded of all that his father had gone through when he’d been held captive. “You’ve been with SPEAR quite a while now, Jeff. You’re aware how treacherous and devious this man is. But we have to keep trying until we get him. It’s a matter of national importance.”
Jeff let out a shuddering breath. “I know and I’m sorry. I’m just so damn worried. I don’t even know if she made it through the surgery.”
“Use your cell phone. It’s been several hours. Call the hospital again.”
Jeff pulled out his cell, the special phone all SPEAR agents carried. The system was established by orbiting satellites, not dependent on normal cells, so he could talk to anyone on the planet at any time. The signal also was digitalized and encoded so no one else could unscramble the conversation.
When he finished his call and disconnected, he drew in a deep, calming breath. “She made it through surgery and she’s in recovery. She’ll be transferred to the intensive care unit from there. But it’s still touch-and-go.” He turned toward East. “Did you talk with the hospital earlier?”
“Yes, while you were showering. I let them know who you were and that you were to have top clearance for visitation. They didn’t much like it, but then hospital personnel usually don’t like outside interference, even from government agents. However, they promised to cooperate.” East entered the freeway and headed for LAX.
They drove in silence for several miles, each lost in his own troubled thoughts. Finally, Jeff spoke, a sudden rush of emotion clogging his throat. “I thought, after Australia, that we’d have a chance, but we didn’t have enough time.”
A muscle clenched in East’s jaw. “When there’s a crisis, there’s never enough time.”
“And there’s always a crisis somewhere.” Jeff sounded defeated, which wasn’t like him. Normally, he was upbeat, hopeful. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance.
“You can always quit SPEAR,” East suggested, then held his breath.
Jeff took a moment to consider that. “You know as well as I do that if I were a quitter, I wouldn’t be here at all.”
His father sent him a look of understanding, of love and gratitude. “Nor would I, son.”
Minutes later, East pulled up at the boarding terminal and stopped. He shoved the gearshift into Park as Jeff climbed out and grabbed his leather overnight bag. East walked around the vehicle, stopped in front of his son and gazed into his eyes. The look held and seemed to say volumes. “Keep me informed, will you?”
“I will. Give my love to Ally and the baby. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.” East and Alicia’s baby girl, Annie, had been born three days ago; mother and child were still in the hospital.
“She’ll understand,” East assured him.
Jeff hugged his father tightly for several long seconds, then picked up his bag and walked toward the double doors, not looking back. He didn’t want his dad to see the moisture in his eyes.
The first-class ticket East had arranged got Jeff a comfortable aisle seat on the big jumbo jet in the second row. After takeoff, he stretched out his long legs and accepted a cup of black coffee from the flight attendant, but refused the snack she offered. He didn’t need food. He needed a miracle.
A bomb blast. Good Lord, how could anyone survive such a thing? Myriad questions whirled around in his brain. How close had Tish been to the blast? How extensive were her injuries? What had she been operated on for? What was her revised prognosis? The nurse he’d spoken with had said, “It’s still touch-and-go.” What exactly did that mean?
Jeff had two more years of medical training left, planning to specialize in trauma injuries, the choice SPEAR felt would be most beneficial to the organization. Well, a bomb injury certainly qualified as a trauma. Yet he had no idea what kind of injuries she’d sustained.
Just a few weeks ago in Australia, he’d treated SPEAR agent Lise Meldrum for a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Simple things like that didn’t throw him. But bomb injuries? Most doctors never even run across such a thing in a lifetime of practice. But then, most doctors don’t work for secret government agencies.
The coffee was hot and
