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“He’ll be fine,” she says. “I broke the finger on his right hand. He’s left-handed.”
Maynard smiles. “Smart. Two more things. I might need you to make a hospital visit to take care of a problem. You all right with that?”
“Is it a part of the operation?”
“In your wheelhouse, Lisa. Operational security.”
“Okay.”
“Speaking of operational security, what’s the situation with Stuart?”
She pauses for a second before answering, and that tells Maynard all he needs to know. “Twice I’ve followed him into our training area out in the rear. Both times, he was calling someone on a cell phone.”
“Were you close enough to hear what he was saying?”
“No.”
Maynard sighs. “All right. Go find him, bring him in.”
Lisa gets up. “You want me to help when I get him here?”
“You up for it?”
“Is he threatening the op?”
“I intend to find out.”
“Then I’ll give you a hand.”
“Thanks,” Maynard says.
Lisa leaves, and Maynard sighs again and looks around the room. On the walls are topo maps of DC and a whiteboard with a list of teams, names, target areas, and responsibilities.
He opens the left desk drawer and takes out a number of items: Two sets of handcuffs. Plastic flex ties. Ice pick. Two pairs of pliers. One set of tinner’s snips. Ball gag with leather strap. A small butane torch.
“The burden of command,” he whispers as he hears Lisa’s and Stuart’s voices.
Chapter
22
I go upto the waiting area that’s on the same floor as the operating room where Alex is having surgery, but I can’t sit on the comfortable chairs. I find the remote and turn off the television, then pace back and forth, back and forth.
Nana Mama comes in, her face creased with worry; Alex’s daughter, Jannie, and his son Ali are each holding one of her hands. We come together in a group hug and Nana Mama says, “Why? Why?”
I sit them down on the chairs and quickly tell them what happened: the brief gunfight, how Alex was treated at the scene and brought here.
I hold Jannie’s and Nana Mama’s hands. Ali leans back in his chair, arms folded, quietly sobbing.
Nana Mama’s face looks like carved granite. “Where’s my boy now?”
“He’s in the operating room, Nana Mama. He—”
Bree storms in, tears rolling down her cheeks, and I grab her and hold her tight.
“John, John—”
I say, “He’s in surgery. He’s being treated by the best.”
