Chapter 22 Lex
LEX
The world compressed to a single focus: Con’s blood seeping between my fingers as I applied pressure to his wound. His final words before losing consciousness echoed in my head. I love you, Margot Sterling.
“Stay with me,” I pleaded, cradling his head. “Don’t you dare leave me now.”
The wail of approaching sirens pierced the predawn air.
Help was coming, but Con’s breathing had grown shallow, his pulse weak beneath my trembling fingers.
The explosion that had destroyed Orlov’s facility continued to send debris raining down around us, but I couldn’t move—wouldn’t move—from Con’s side.
Medical personnel swarmed us within minutes, their voices clipped and efficient as they assessed his injuries.
“Multiple traumas, possible internal bleeding,” one paramedic reported.
“BP dropping,” another called out.
They worked with practiced coordination, stabilizing him for transport. I rose on unsteady legs, refusing to be separated from him.
“I’m coming with him,” I stated when they loaded him into the ambulance.
The paramedic glanced at my bloodstained clothes and the gash on my forehead. “You need medical attention too, ma’am.”
“I’ll get it at the hospital.”
As the ambulance raced toward the nearest trauma center, I held Con’s hand, willing strength into him with each squeeze.
The vehicle’s motion blurred with the turmoil in my mind.
Dr. McLaren—my mentor, my guide for the past decade—had been involved with Labyrinth from the beginning.
The revelation cut deeper than any physical wound.
At the hospital, they whisked Con away to surgery, leaving me in a stark waiting area. A nurse led me to an examination room where a doctor cleaned and stitched the gash on my forehead, pronouncing me lucky to have escaped with minor injuries.
“Your colleague wasn’t as fortunate,” she said. “The surgical team is working on him now.”
I thanked her mechanically, then returned to the waiting area, unable to focus on anything but the clock on the wall marking each excruciating minute Con spent in surgery.
Three hours later, Tag found me there, his face grim with fatigue and worry.
“Any word?” he asked, dropping into the chair beside me.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“The team is safe,” he reported. “Renegade took a hit, but nothing critical.”
“What about Archon?”
“He’s been knocked out by the thugs helping Bennett, as was Renegade, but otherwise, uninjured.”
I nodded, grateful for the news but unable to feel true relief while Con’s fate remained uncertain.
“McLaren?” I finally asked.
“Uncertain.” Tag’s eyes hardened. “They’re still sifting through the rubble. At this point, it’s considered recovery, not rescue.”
My stomach twisted. “And Orlov?”
“Alive, barely. We extracted him before the main explosion. He’s in surgery now.” Tag’s voice dropped lower. “Bennett was DOA.”
I closed my eyes, recalling Bennett’s final charge toward Orlov. Whatever his motives, his sacrifice had given us the chance to stop the demonstration.
“What happened in there, Lex?”
I told him everything—McLaren’s betrayal, Bennett’s revelation about their true mission, the countermeasure they claimed to have implemented.
“So McLaren helped create Labyrinth, then tried to sabotage it when she realized Orlov’s true intentions?” Tag summarized.
“That’s what she claimed,” I replied. “But I don’t know what to believe anymore. The woman I thought I knew would never have helped create something so dangerous in the first place.”
Tag’s hand rested on my shoulder. “The best lies contain elements of truth. Maybe she convinced herself she was doing the right thing.”
A surgeon approached before I could respond. I stood so quickly the room tilted.
“He’s stabilized,” the doctor announced. “His major organs are intact, but he lost a significant amount of blood. We’ve repaired the damage, but the next twenty-four hours will be critical.”
Relief washed over me, leaving my knees weak. “Can I see him?”
“He’s in recovery now. Once he’s moved to intensive care, you can visit briefly.”
Two more hours passed before a nurse led me to Con’s room. The sight of him, pale and still among the machines monitoring his vital signs, nearly undid me. I sank into the chair beside his bed, taking his hand in mine.
“You promised we’d come out together,” I whispered. “I’m holding you to that.”
His fingers remained limp in mine, but the steady beep of the heart monitor offered reassurance that he was fighting. I settled in to wait, refusing offers of food or rest.
As the day faded, nurses came and went, checking his vital signs and adjusting the medications. I remained a fixture at his bedside, unwilling to leave even for a moment.
Near midnight, his fingers twitched in mine. I straightened, watching his face for any sign of consciousness.
“Con?” I leaned closer, hope swelling in my chest.
His eyelids fluttered, then opened. Disorientation clouded his gaze before focusing on me.
“Lex,” he whispered, his voice a dry rasp.
I reached for the cup of ice chips the nurse had left, spooning a few into his mouth. “Don’t try to talk too much. You’re in hospital. The surgery went well.”
He swallowed, grimacing. “McLaren?”
“We don’t know anything yet.” I squeezed his hand.
He processed this, then asked, “Orlov?”
“Alive, in surgery last I heard.” I stroked his forehead. “Everyone on our team made it out. Other than Bennett, of course.” Had he ever been on our team, though? At this point, it no longer mattered.
Relief relaxed his features momentarily before concern returned. “You’re hurt.” His fingers brushed my bandaged forehead.
“Just a scratch.” I caught his hand, pressing it to my cheek. “You’re the one who decided to shield me from an explosion.”
A ghost of his familiar smirk appeared. “Not my brightest moment.”
“It was the bravest, most foolish thing anyone’s ever done for me.” My voice caught. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m harder to kill than that.” His eyes searched mine. “Did you hear what I said? Before I passed out?”
I nodded, emotion constricting my throat. “You said you love me.”
“I meant it.” His gaze held mine, steady despite his weakness.
“I know.” I leaned forward, resting my forehead gently against his. “I love you too, Con. I think I have since that first night at Blackmoor, when you showed me who you really are.”
His smile was worth every moment of fear and uncertainty I’d endured. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Conrad Carnegie,” I whispered against his lips. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“No promises in our line of work,” he murmured, “but I’ll do my best.”
A nurse interrupted our moment, shooing me away while she checked his vitals. I used the break to find Tag in the waiting area and share the news of Con’s improvement. Gus and Ash were with him, but when I offered to let them go see him in my place, they declined.
“He needs you now,” said Tag.
When I returned, Con was fighting sleep, determined to continue our conversation.
“Any news yet on McLaren?” he asked as I resumed my place beside him.
The wound of her betrayal still felt raw. “None, and honestly, I don’t know what to think or even how to feel. For years, she shaped my career, my thinking. Now, I don’t know what was real.”
Con’s fingers found mine. “Her final choice was real. She could have let Labyrinth succeed. Instead, she risked everything to stop it.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked. “Maybe she and Bennett were lying about their motives.”
“The countermeasure worked,” he pointed out. “The system overloaded instead of launching. Whatever their previous intentions, that final act was one of redemption.”
His perspective offered a comfort I hadn’t expected. “I still don’t know how to reconcile the mentor I knew with the woman who helped create something so deadly.”
“People contain multitudes,” Con said, his eyes drifting closed despite his efforts. “The McLaren who mentored you was real too.”
I stayed awake until his breathing evened into sleep, then curled uncomfortably in the chair beside him, unwilling to leave even for the comfort of a proper bed.
The next days passed in a blur of medical updates and debriefings. Con improved steadily, his natural resilience accelerating his recovery. Mrs. Thorne arrived regularly with both clothing for me and meals for the two of us.
“I don’t understand how anyone can recover while eating that ghastly muck they call food around here,” she said as she sneaked containers into the room, then served our food on the china she’d brought with her.
I divided my time between his bedside and meetings with MI6 and Unit 23 representatives, piecing together the aftermath of our mission.
Three days after the explosion, Con was scheduled for release when Viper and Typhon arrived for what they called a “comprehensive debrief.” The presence of both agency heads in the same room spoke volumes about the significance of what had occurred.
“Orlov survived surgery,” Viper reported, her usually composed demeanor showing signs of strain. “So far, he’s unable to communicate. However, we have received intel confirming the demonstration was meant to showcase Labyrinth’s capabilities to potential buyers.”
“Representatives from six nations,” Typhon added. “Most unaware of the system’s full destructive potential.”
Con, sitting up in bed and looking more like himself each hour, frowned. “How did McLaren and Bennett become involved in all this? And why in the bloody hell weren’t we briefed on Bennett’s Estonia connection to Orlov?”
Viper and Typhon exchanged glances.
“That information was compartmentalized at the highest levels,” Typhon admitted. “Bennett’s mission in Estonia occurred during a critical period in Russian-Western relations. The details—including his connection to Orlov—were sealed by both governments to prevent a diplomatic fallout.”
“So you sent us in blind,” I said, anger flaring. “You knew Bennett had history with Orlov but didn’t think that warranted disclosure?”