My Spy (5 page)

Annie reached for the folder. “I'll see that he gets it.” She skimmed through Sam's medical chart. A chill set in as she looked through the X-rays.

Dislocated shoulder.

Possible nerve damage in the left arm.

Reconstructive work on the left knee.

Most of the cartilage, tendons, and muscles in his shoulder had been stretched and separated from connecting tissue. In addition, he had localized trauma to head, chest, and torso. Fortunately, no spinal damage was indicated, but he'd been
rushed into surgery twice in the last ten days. The X-rays were invaluable, showing Annie the exact areas they would need to strengthen. His shoulder was going to take special attention, as was his knee, which would require a stabilizing brace for at least four weeks.

Her job wasn't going to be easy, but it wouldn't be hopeless either. He'd been incredibly lucky to escape serious internal injuries.

When Annie came to the neurological evaluation, she stiffened. She scanned the page, stopped, then reread the report.

She looked at Izzy. “You've seen this?”

He nodded.

“But this says—” She struggled with shock. “This says that Sam can't remember.”

“I
S
THAT TRUE
?”

“It's true.” Her visitor wasn't smiling now. “Amnesia induced by trauma.” He leaned back in her chair, his eyes hard. “Do you want to back out, Ms. O'Toole? The physical work alone will be demanding. If you factor in Sam's mental state and disorientation, your job's going to be damned ticklish.”

“Why didn't Admiral Howe tell me about this when he called?”

“He wasn't certain then. Sam hasn't stayed conscious very long. When he was conscious, the pain was overwhelming, so tests were impossible.”

Annie closed the file, gripping it tightly. “Is there any evidence of brain damage?” she whispered.

“None so far.”

“I want the truth, Mr. Teague.”

“Call me Izzy, please.”

“Fine. I need all the cards on the table, Izzy. What's Sam's exact mental condition?”

“First answer a question. Are you still in?”

Annie squared her shoulders. “Of course I'm in. Why would Sam's loss of memory change anything?”

“Some people might consider it too big a burden. I'm glad you're not one of them.” He gently slid the file from her fingers and returned it to his briefcase. “You can finish reading this later. Here's the bottom line. Sam's mental condition is guarded but optimistic. There should be a gradual recovery of his memory, but the time frame is uncertain. He's been on numerous medications since the surgery, and those could be a factor, too.”

Annie took a deep breath, digesting the news.

“Now I'd like to go over some mission objectives with you.”

“Mission what?”

“Sorry.” Izzy scratched his jaw. “What I mean is, we need to work out Sam's schedule, your responsibilities, and what you're going to say to your staff.”

Things were moving too fast. Annie had a sudden sense that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't imagine. “Why should I tell them anything?”

“Sam's presence here has to stay secret. That means his quarters will be off limits to anyone but you and me. You'll need a good reason for that.”

“Lots of high-profile guests come here to recover from cosmetic surgery. My staff won't question a private visitor if I explain we're doing special rehab.”

“Good. That makes one less hole to plug.” Izzy swung back to her computer, rebooting the system. The new screen image was crisp, without any sign of jagged red lines. “I changed your BIOS and operating system while I was waiting for you.”

“How? That bug has been driving me nuts for a month.”

“It was a simple reroute. Then I added a few subroutines.”

“You're not going to start speaking Computer, I hope.”

Izzy grinned. “I'll try to restrain myself. The point is, your system needs to interface with my equipment. When Sam gets here, we'll use yours for basic communication and logistics, so I've added a little encryption program, along with some speed modifications. You'll love it.”

Encryption program?

Speed modifications?

Yet again Annie had the premonition that she was getting in over her head. “I can handle a computer, but you just got way out of my league.”

Izzy's smile was reassuring. “No problem. It's designed to be user friendly.” He glanced down at his watch. “I'd better get us both a cup of coffee, because we have a lot of ground to cover. You're going to need an updated security system for your
personal quarters and courtyard. I presume that Sam will stay in your house?”

Annie nodded. “That's the best way to monitor his progress.”

“The security installation shouldn't take more than a few hours. I'll need you to carry a pager at all times, along with a secure cell phone.” He handed her a slim gray unit wired to a low-profile earplug.

Annie grimaced. “I have to carry this all the time?”

“After a while you won't even know it's there. I'm also installing a private intercom, so Sam is never out of touch.”

Though her head was spinning, Annie managed a laugh. “Why do I feel as if this is a Bond film and you're Q?”

Izzy's grin was a cocky slash. “I'm way beyond Q, ma'am.”

Outside the door, Annie's fax machine beeped twice and Izzy pushed to his feet. “I expect that's for me.” With an easy stride he covered the distance to the machine and scanned the newest sheet.

Only because she was watching closely did Annie see his jaw tighten. “What is it?”

Worry flared in his eyes, just for a second. “It's nothing. Sam's holding firm, and everything's on schedule.”

“What was in the fax, Izzy?”

“Just transport options. We'd better get to work.”

Annie noticed that he folded the fax carefully and slid it into his pocket. What she didn't know was that the words, written in code, would have made no sense to her anyway.

“I
WANT
ANSWERS
NOW.
”

Admiral Ulysses S. Howe glared at the frightened surgical nurse. “How did an intruder get past my guards?”

“I didn't see anyone. None of us did, sir. Just an orderly and someone from maintenance, but neither went into any patients' rooms.”

“I'll have that checked.”

The nurse shifted uncomfortably. “When the patient woke, he was confused and upset. He'd already torn off his oxygen mask, and his IV was out.”

“Don't you people have equipment to monitor things like that?” Howe shot back. “This is intensive care, damn it. What the hell went on in here?”

“The monitor was working, but the attendant had a priority call from the security desk downstairs. That's why it took a few extra seconds for him to notice the problem in Commander McKade's room.”

And those few seconds could have cost the SEAL his life.

He'd damn well check out that “priority call,” Howe thought grimly. He was sure he'd find that the call couldn't be traced. “I want to know who was in his room.”

“I doubt that anyone was.” A graying man with a faint southern accent finished checking Sam's pulse, then stood staring down at his sleeping patient.

“Are you telling me McKade was hallucinating? We're talking about a man with fifteen years of field experience and a chestful of medals.”

The surgeon shrugged. “We see it all the time in postsurgical patients. Anesthesia and pain leave them disoriented. They wake up and see …things.” He nodded to his worried nurse. “You can go now, Eileen. You did the right thing, calming him down, then paging me.”

“What about the cut on his arm?” Howe said after the door had closed. “Did my officer imagine
that,
too?”

“As the nurse said, he'd been struggling. He could have caught the needle when he tore out his IV.”

“I don't want guesses, Doctor. You've got one hour to tell me exactly what caused that slash on his arm.”

“Of course, sir.”

Admiral Howe looked up at the sound of angry voices echoing down the hallway. He raised a brow at the surgeon.

“The senator from Montana has been camping out near the nursing station, hoping for news. He's becoming very persistent.”

Howe chewed angrily on his unlit cigar. “Doesn't the man have legislation to shape, interviews to give? More votes to buy?” he added under his breath.

“I've put him off, Admiral, but he's getting nasty. He keeps trying to sneak onto the floor.”

“Trust me, the man has been sneaking around from his first day as assistant to the attorney general of Montana.” The admiral listened to the echo of angry questions. They were soon drowned out by another voice, one that Howe recognized well. So the president's aide had tracked McKade here, too.

FUBAR was the expression that came to mind.

There was going to be hell to pay. Unless someone pulled a truckload of strings, Sam McKade was going to become a political football.

Not on
his
watch, the grizzled officer swore. After flying a desk on the Pentagon's E-wing for the last thirteen years, Admiral Howe knew whose strings to pull.

The door opened. A Navy guard looked in, his face carefully expressionless. “Sorry to intrude, sir, but Senator Jeffries is making a fuss out here. Also, your son is downstairs in the lobby waiting to take you to your physical.”

“To hell with my physical.”

The guard cleared his throat. “Lt. Howe said to remind you that you've postponed twice this month, sir. If you don't come down, he said he's coming up.”

“Later,” the admiral snapped.

What he meant was
never.

He glared at Sam's surgeon, including him in the orders that followed. “This patient is to be kept completely isolated. I want one of my guards in the room with him at all times.”

The surgeon said nothing, and the guard waited impassively. Only Admiral Howe knew the reason for all the secrecy.

During three months of deep cover work in California and
Mexico, Sam McKade had targeted serious problems in the Navy's weapons research program at China Lake. He was on his way to report in person to Admiral Howe and his staff when he'd jumped aboard that school bus. Now three months of highly sensitive information was locked inside his head.

Admiral Howe had to keep his asset alive—and awake— long enough to convey the results of his investigation.

Howe left the surgeon to his work and strode off the ward with the senator close behind. “Admiral, I must protest this high-handed—”

“Later,” he barked, barreling into the elevator.

He found his son pacing restlessly at the first-floor nursing station.

“How's he doing?” his son asked.

“You know better than to ask for that kind of information.”

Lt. Peter Howe glared suspiciously at his father. “Don't tell me you're planning to cancel
another
physical.”

The admiral ignored the question, frowning at his son's cast. “How's the arm?”

“It was a simple fracture. They say I'll be back to work in about two weeks. Stop changing the subject. Your doctor's been holding all his patients for the last hour so he could fit you in, and you're not missing another physical.”

The admiral sighed. Physicals were worse than piloting a rowboat in a force-ten gale. After the annoying questions, they got out the gloves and the
real
torment began.

Suddenly the admiral smiled. Maybe a physical was a good idea after all. Even the president's top aide couldn't follow him into an examining room while he was getting gowned and prepped for a rectal exam.

“Miss my physical? I wouldn't dream of it.” Howe hid a smile at the surprise on his son's face. “Now, enough about my health. Tell me about this new task force you've been assigned to. Better yet, come home for dinner tonight and give me the full story.”

ANNIE'S
FAX
MACHINE
CHATTERED
NONSTOP
FOR
THE
NEXT FOUR
days. In between making final arrangements for Sam's arrival, Izzy scanned the incoming flood of reports and schedules. A Navy doctor was to accompany Sam on the flight, and Annie had already faxed him a list of questions.

Next had come the question of security. Turning over her guest list had pained Annie keenly, but Izzy had explained it was necessary. Since Annie suspected he could assemble the information from other sources, she'd finally given in.

Not that she thought the honeymooners in suite 36 posed a threat to world freedom. On the other hand, maybe the rabbits did.

It was almost two in the morning when Annie finally walked Izzy to her guesthouse, which was separated from the main house by a courtyard and a small garden. Hiding a yawn, she checked that he had fresh towels, then added a down comforter.

“Anything new I should know about?”

“Nothing crucial. Sam's itinerary is set, barring any lastminute medical complications. They're still watching that metal plate in his knee.” He frowned. “I know you haven't had a lot of time to deal with this. Why don't you catch some extra sleep in the morning while I familiarize myself with the resort and your staff?”