Chapter Sixty-Three
Maine Medical Center
Portland, Maine
The first thing Caspian felt was the weight in his chest. It wasn’t pain exactly, but heaviness, as if his ribs had been wrapped in lead. Then came the low, dull burn pulsing from his left leg.
He opened his eyes slowly. The light inside the room was dimmed, and there was a recurring beep coming from a monitor to his right. Caspian realized he was connected to machines, but at least he was breathing on his own.
He turned his head, but it required more out of him than it should have. To his left, Liesel sat curled in an armchair. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her head rested on her shoulder.
I’m alive.
A moment passed before he noticed the call button clipped to his bed railing. He raised his hand, but his muscles protested. His fingers were stiff, but he managed to press the button.
A soft chime sounded.
Liesel stirred, and she opened her eyes. When she saw him watching her, she shot to her feet so fast the armchair skidded back, almost toppling. She was beside him in a second, her knees bumping the edge of the bed as she leaned over the railing. She brushed the edge of his arm with her hand.
“You . . . you’re awake,” she said.
Caspian wanted to say something, but his throat was raw. He winced, and Liesel reached for the cup of water on the nightstand. She guided the straw to his lips.
“Slowly, Casp,” she said as he drank.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Liesel shook her head, her eyes not leaving his.
“No,” she said. “I’m not. But you . . . you almost didn’t make it.”
“What about—” he started, but Liesel cut him off.
“They’re all alive. All of them.”
Caspian closed his eyes as a huge wave of relief swelled in his chest. Thank God.
Liesel lowered the railing and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the lines to the monitors.
“Your father’s in recovery,” she said. “He was shot, but they stabilized him quickly. He’s strong, your dad, Casp. Real strong. Your mother is with him now. She hasn’t left his side.”
“And . . . Nelson?” he asked.
“He was shot in the back, but he’s gonna be okay. He’s in a room down the hall with Clara.”
A wave of relief passed through Caspian.
“And the attackers?” he asked after a beat. “How many were there?”
“Two,” Liesel replied. “Only two. The woman was Mia Hernandez. Your dad shot her.”
“He . . . shot her?” he asked.
“He did it with his backup revolver,” Liesel said. “Richard’s badass.”
Caspian managed a small chuckle. “Yeah. He is.”
“And . . . what about the man I shot?” he asked a moment later. “Who was he?”
“Henry Harriel,” Liesel said. “We don’t know much else about him. DIA and FBI are digging, but there’s not much yet.”
The name meant nothing to Caspian.
“Ranger,” he said. “I was on the phone with her when it all started. She must have heard everything.”
“She did,” Liesel confirmed. “She stayed on the line until the end. She’s the one who called the cops. They arrived three minutes after you passed out. If she hadn’t acted that fast . . .”
Liesel let the words trail off. She didn’t need to finish for Caspian to know he owed one to Ranger. He looked at Liesel’s face. She was tired and paler than usual, but her eyes were sharp. He was happy she was there. She smiled at him and placed her hand in his. He squeezed gently.
“How long have I been here?” he asked.
“You’ve been in and out of surgery for the last two days. They had to remove a bullet from your chest as well as several fragments,” Liesel said, her voice cracking. “One of them . . . one of them was real close to your heart.
“And . . . you also got shot in your left leg. The bullet broke your femur. Missed the artery. You’re lucky.”
He gave her a wry look. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“You’re alive, Casp. A-live.”
“You talked to Ranger?” he asked.
“She came. She was here most of yesterday and this morning,” Liesel said.
“But she had to return to DC. She said she’d get back as soon as she could.
But she did leave a security team behind.
‘In an abundance of caution.’ Her words, not mine.
Anyway, there are two officers outside your door, two more stationed along the corridor, and a few more downstairs. ”
Caspian processed that as he sipped some more water.
“So . . . this isn’t over? There’s more coming, isn’t there?” he asked.
Liesel’s eyes darkened, but she didn’t reply.
“What happened? Liesel?”
She sighed. “Ranger wanted to be the one to tell you, but what the hell? She isn’t here, and if you turn on the television or browse the news on your phone, you’ll see it. That’s all they’re talking about.”
“O-kay. So . . . what’s up?”
“Everett Westcott’s plane crashed into the ocean shortly after taking off from Teterboro,” Liesel said. “The official reports won’t be available for months, but Ranger confirmed a bomb exploded in the cargo compartment.”
“Holy shit,” Caspian said, immediately thinking about the crew members. “How many victims?”
“The two pilots, the flight attendant, and Westcott,” Liesel replied.
“Are they sure it was him? Are they sure Westcott’s dead?”
“They haven’t retrieved his body yet,” Liesel said. “But several witnesses saw him climb aboard the aircraft.”
“So . . . what happens now?” he asked after a moment.
Liesel shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea.”