THE 13: STAND BOOK TWO (5 page)

Boz became like an uncle to Eli, visiting regularly, sending him birthday gifts and even getting his boss to get the president to recommend Eli to the prime minister for acceptance into the Royal Naval Academy. From there, Eli made his own way, but he always looked to Boz for advice and guidance. Especially in matters of faith.

Boz figured it was the very reason why Eli had risked his entire career a few months earlier, when Eli literally led a mutiny against Prime Minister Bungard and made off with almost the entire Royal Navy, coming to the aid of the United States in its most dire hour.
Had it not been for Eli and his actions, who knows where we would be today
, Boz thought.

“I’m always down for some fried pig,” Boz said. “But not from a guy wearing that. You look ridiculous!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who bought this getup. I just happen to make it look really good!”

“And make sure my omelet is fluffy,” Boz continued. “I don’t want any of that dried-up rubbery stuff.”

“Don’t let the hat and apron fool you,” Eli joked. “You’ll be lucky if they aren’t burnt!”

Boz moved over to the stove and pushed Eli out of the way. “Listen here, son. If there’s one thing you should’ve learned from me, it’s never screw with a man’s eggs.”

They both laughed, and Eli turned to get some plates while Boz finished off the omelets.

“So I talked to Bungard last night,” Eli said.

“Yeah? What’s he saying?”

“Not much. The man knows how to hold a grudge. He won’t admit it, but he’s still sore that I stole his navy. Not sure why, though. I mean, they made him a national hero.”

“But only because you gave him all the credit.”

“That’s what I said!”

“And?”

“And he quickly changed subjects. He wants me back, though. Said we have some things to work out.”

“You’re leaving soon, then?”

“Well, not before we eat these overcooked eggs.”

Boz chuckled and sat down with Eli at the table. They bowed their heads and Eli gave thanks. They were five minutes into the meal when Boz’s sat-phone chirped.

“Hey Boz, it’s Megan.”

“Hey, kiddo. What’s up?” Boz could already sense the nervousness in her voice.

“Jennings heard from Jon.”

There was silence on the line for a few second before Boz found his voice. “You mean—”

“He’s okay. But it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Megan relayed the conversation she had had with Jennings about Quinn and Jon. Boz felt a huge wave of relief sweep over him. He had been praying diligently that God would somehow bring Jon back to them. His mind was trailing off in thought when Megan’s words brought him back.

“Jennings says we have another problem.”

“What?”

“I don’t know the details, but you need to get in here. Jennings wants to talk with us and we have to figure out what Quinn is talking about. Quinn says it could cripple the nation even worse than it already is.”

Boz was taken back to his time on the porch earlier. He’d learned a long time ago not to question God’s leading; there was a reason God had led him to that passage of scripture. Now it was all becoming clearer. He still didn’t know exactly what it meant for them, but given the content of the scripture, he knew it wasn’t good. “Wolves, Megan,” he said.

“I’m sorry, what?” Megan said, obviously confused.

“We have wolves in our midst,” Boz said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He punched the button and set the sat-phone down on the table.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Eli said, mouth full.

“Call Bungard back,” Boz said. “I may need you to extend your holiday.”

A
lex opened her eyes for the second time in twenty-four hours. Fighting to wake up out of the coma was the most exhausting thing she had ever been through. She had only been able to remain awake for a little more than thirty minutes before exhaustion set in and took her back down into the deep recesses of her consciousness.

She dreamed, but nothing like before. These dreams were a little more elusive. Harder to grasp. And sketchy, unlike the terribly real state she had been in before. Everything then seemed to just be one very real, dark, and twisted nightmare. This was more pleasant.

She opened her eyes and found the same man sitting beside her. What was his name again? Oh, yeah, she remembered. Farid Naser or something.

“How are you?” he said in his thick accent.

“Better,” she said. “May I have a drink of water?”

Naser sat forward in his chair and reached for the pitcher of water on the bedside table. He filled the little Dixie cup halfway and tilted it to her lips.

She drank slowly at first. But after the first few sips, she opened her mouth and let the water spill down her throat. It felt good. Life giving.

“Can you talk?” Naser asked.

She nodded her head as she swallowed the remaining gulp in her mouth. “Yeah. I can talk.”

Naser shifted nervously in his seat. He lifted his hands and his mouth started to move, but nothing came out. Finally, he chirped a few breaths of laughter. “I mean—y–you…,” he stammered.

“What?” she asked, concerned.

“I mean, you were dead!” Naser said, half laughing again. “Dead! No one, and I mean no one, ever thought you and I would be having this conversation right now.”

“I remember dying. What happened? How did I—how did all of this…” She waved a hand around.

“I shouldn’t say dead. Not dead. Unconscious. Very near death, but not dead.”

“Obviously,” she said sarcastically.

“No, I don’t just mean
not dead.”
He was sitting on the edge of his chair again. Talking faster, like a five-year-old telling what he got for Christmas. “Your body must have gone into some kind of
safe
mode. You know, like a computer’s hard drive? Your pulse had slowed down so much that your body wasn’t even pumping the blood out of the wounds. They had already started to coagulate.” He stood up now, waving his hands around. “Your heartbeat was so slow that if I hadn’t had my hand on your carotid artery when it finally pulsed, I might have pronounced you dead. And when I felt it—when I started CPR…” He ran a hand through his hair and laughed again. “It was like someone hit the power button on you. All of a sudden, your heart rate picked back up, your body started convulsing, your wounds started bleeding again….”

Alex knew exactly what the man was talking about. She had spent nearly a year in a Tibetan monastery where she had studied meditation. During that time, she had learned to control her heart rate and her breathing to that which was just above what was necessary to remain alive. There was only one problem with the technique: unless someone else triggered you back, it could be very difficult to do yourself. Only the great masters whom she had studied under had learned to do it at will and without any assistance.
And it was utterly impossible when you’ve been shot and thrown from a speeding car
, she thought to herself. And at the time, she didn’t even realize that that was what her body was doing. She just thought she was dying.

“Lucky for me, huh?”

Naser blew out a big breath and sat back down. “Miracle, I’d say.”

“How long have I been like this? Unconscious, I mean.”

“Almost five months. No one believed that you would ever return to a conscious state.”

“You did.”

Naser lifted his head to meet her eyes. She saw the longing in them. It was an effect she had on many men. This one, however, looked a little different. She met his gaze and felt a tinge of something. She didn’t know what, but it was there.

Naser shifted his eyes away and said in a whisper, “Yes.”

“So what now?”

“Now, we run tests. Now that you’re awake and have recovered from your wounds…” His words drifted off. Lingering. Waiting for her to perhaps fill in the blanks.

That wasn’t going to happen. She needed to get out of this place as quickly as she could. But she had no idea how her body was going to respond to anything physical. For all she knew, she had been on her back for the last couple of months and her muscles had atrophied to the point that she wouldn’t even be able to walk.

“Listen, Dr….?”

“Naser.”

“Dr. Naser. Yes, I remember.” She smiled at him. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. But I’ve been lying in this bed for quite a while, yes?”

He nodded.

“I think I would like to get up. Is that possible?”

Naser moved closer to the bed. He pulled the blanket down from her legs and pointed. Little electrodes were attached from her hips to the balls of her feet. Clear tubing connected them with what looked like streaking blue light passing back and forth between the little pads.

“What are those?” She was somewhat scared of what the answer would be.

“Those”—Naser smiled—“are the newest thing in electro-light muscular therapy. Two years ago a physical therapist from North Korea developed these. You could say it’s been like you ran two miles every day since you’ve been here.”

Naser reached for her hand. He gently removed the few tubes and wires that remained attached to her and helped her stand up beside the bed. Immediately she felt the blood course through her veins. She tentatively let go of the bed rail and straightened up. She still didn’t know what to expect yet. But as she stood there, shifting her weight from foot to foot, she knew that Naser had been right. She felt as though she had just woken up from a good night’s sleep. She looked at the young doctor and his smiling face.

“See!” he said. “I told you! It’s like you never got hurt.”

She
was
amazed, she had to admit. “That’s incredible! I feel great.” She slowly walked around in a circle beside the bed. She could feel the blood begin to pump even more now. It felt good.

“Dr. Naser, can you tell me something?” she said, tracing a finger along his shoulder and down his bicep.

“Yes.” He swallowed. Perhaps a little too hard.

“Are there any residual…effects? From my injuries?”

Naser wiped the bead of sweat that had formed on his forehead. “None that I can think of—”

“Good!”

“—but there could possibly be some psychological reactions.” He reached out and grabbed her gently by the arm. “Perhaps you should sit back down now. I think that is probably enough for today.”

“Doc, I feel like a million bucks. I think I’d like to take a walk. Like down the hall. Wanna come?”

Naser looked nervous. She guessed he’d been assigned to keep her confined to this room. There were too many questions still to be answered. A woman with an American passport—fake, but American, nonetheless—full of gunshot wounds and injuries consistent with a major car accident doesn’t just show up in a Dubai hospital every day. The police were probably already on their way. She couldn’t be here when they arrived. She thought for a moment.

She had known from the first moment she laid eyes on him that Naser had feelings for her. He told her he’d sat beside her bed, two, sometimes three times a day and talked to her.
It’s like some bad American love story
, she thought. All she would have to do would be to bat her eyes and give him that sheepish smile and it would be all over. He’d be eating out of the palm of her hand.

“Farid…,” she said softly.

The use of his first name was all it took. The man was hers. He smiled a big, toothy smile.

“Please can we go for a walk? I promise, just down the hall and back.”

Naser walked over to the blinds on the window of the room. He used his forefinger and thumb to spread apart the little plastic strips and looked out and down the hall.

“Just down the hall? And then right back?” He repeated her request.

“Then right back. I promise.”

“Okay,” he said. “But if anyone stops us and asks a question, you let me do the talking. Got it?”

She made a crisscross over her heart. “Promise.”

Naser opened the door to the room and led her out. The hall was relatively empty. She had no idea what floor they were on, or where in the hospital they were. But she’d been in enough situations like this to know how to improvise.

As they passed the nurses’ station, she took note of the small tray of surgical equipment sitting there. She caught the syringe sitting on the tray out of the corner of her eye. She had no idea what it contained, but she palmed it anyway. She continued to follow Naser down the hall as she stole a glance at the vial label. She recognized the name on the vial. A highly potent sedative. This would incapacitate Naser for at least two hours, if she emptied the plunger. Although she should probably just kill him.

Naser turned to make sure she was still behind him. He smiled at her. It was a warm smile and it made her feel…well, she didn’t know what. No one had ever really smiled at her like that before. Sure, guys would flash her a grin all the time, but no one had ever looked at her like Naser looked at her. Almost like he put her on a pedestal.

Again she thought she should just kill him. She didn’t need the complications.

As they got near the end of the hall, Naser began to slow. “This is the end of the line for you, Alex.”

She knew he meant it harmlessly. But those words brought her back to the reality of who she was. When she had had her run-in with that FBI agent, Taylor, she was in the middle of an assignment for General Chin, after assassinating the president of the United States. She hadn’t had the chance to make contact with Chin and let him know that, one, the new target, Marianne Levy, had been eliminated. And two, she had his money. And now she’d learned it had been a couple of months that she had been unconscious and hadn’t made contact with Chin. She needed to get out of here. Now. She was suddenly surprised that Chin hadn’t already sent someone after her.

She felt the syringe behind her back. Her thumb was on the plunger and ready. She started to pull her arm out from behind but stopped. Naser was looking at her like that again. She didn’t know what was going on with her, but for some reason, she didn’t want to just knock him out and take off. Or kill him.

“Farid, let me ask you something.”