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“Awake. Alert. I’m ordering some tests.”
His face is tight with worry. The same that’s tying up my gut in a knot. We do not need to be in San Miguel.
He nods, “We need to mobilize soon.”
“I know. Once I get the labs, I’ll know more. I hope we can move out soon.”
“Marshall’s going to turn the plane back around as soon as they are stateside.”
“Is the safe house still a green light?”
“Affirmative.”
“How’s target?”
“As good as can be. Recovering. Eating. They gave her fluids on the plane. Cole, as you know, is a medic, so he had it all under control.”
“Thank fuck. You know, I still can’t believe that bastard got away from Marshall.”
Andre shakes his head. “Me either. Or that he left the kidnaped girl unattended while he got the airplane out of the hangar.”
“It worked out. No more gunfire needed. And the target is safe and on the way home to her family.”
I glance toward the nurses’ station where a cluster of hospital staff is sneaking looks at us. Dropping my voice, I say, “I’d prefer if we weren’t the only two left in the country with her in this state.”
Andre taps his fingers on the assault rifle in his arms. “Yep, makes me twitchy.”
“Me too. We need a bigger team if we’re doing shit like this.”
“I’m working on that. I’ve got some buddies who may come onboard.”
“Roger that. Hang tight for a bit longer. We’ll get the hell out of here ASAP.”
He takes a seat on the stool again, cradling his gun at the ready in plain sight. No questions about the fact that he’ll shoot anything that threatens us.
Andre is solid. Brick skyscraper solid.
But I’d feel a hell of a lot better if there were ten of us.
The nurses, skittish as deer, step back from the desk in unison when I approach. I’m sure they heard what went down when we arrived.
In Spanish, I say, “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
One woman narrows her eyes on me as two others make a point to stand behind her. In broken English, the woman asks, “What do you want?”
“A temperature check, plus lab tests—CBC, CRP, CMP.”
Obviously the brave one of the lot of them, she picks up a basket with supplies off the counter and brushes past me.
I follow her into the private room where Simona is resting. Another thing I demanded. No shared wards.
She sets her supplies on the small table next to the bed. “The doctor wants blood.”
I watch over every move she makes, the way she washes her hands and puts on her gloves. The preparation of Simona’s arm for the needle. The way she labels the vials of blood.
When the blood’s drawn and placed back in the basket, she uses a thermometer to take Simona’s temperature.
“He is very smart.” The woman nods toward me.