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brEE AND I ARRIVED at GW Hospital within seconds of Mahoney. We all ran up the stairs to the main entrance as Ned told us he’d spent the drive over trying unsuccessfully to reach the Supreme Court Police officers guarding Justice Mayweather, then calling for a dragnet to be set up in a six-block radius around the hospital with the image of Katrina White in the elevator going out to all patrol cars.

Sirens were wailing toward us when we entered the lobby and presented our credentials to the security guard. It was two minutes past four.

“Did you see her?” Mahoney asked.

The guard nodded. “Just checked in. New nurse. From Dallas.”

“Shut every entrance to the medical center,” Mahoney said. “Chain them closed if you have to.”

That rattled the guard. “I don’t have that authority.”

“I do,” Mahoney said. “What room is Justice Mayweather in?”

She lost color. “Four-oh-two. But they just called a code blue on four-oh-two.”

We took the elevator to the justice’s floor and found a chaotic scene with multiple nurses and doctors and techs running between two adjoining rooms. Ned, who always had a cool head under fire, managed to stay out of their way while learning that the power had gone out in Mayweather’s room before he was discovered without a heartbeat.

Dr. Beatrice Foley, the head of the code team, came out to tell us they’d been unable to resuscitate the Supreme Court justice but were still working on the police officers who’d been guarding Mayweather.

Foley said, “Both officers are alive and conscious but exhibiting symptoms of severe concussion—slurred speech, headache, confusion—as well as abnormal heart rhythms. It’s not clear what caused it.”

“Your best guess?” Bree asked.

Her eyebrows went up. “I served in Iraq. It’s like they were hit by the shock wave of an IED but avoided the shrapnel. We’re going to sedate and intubate them until we can determine the full extent of their injuries.”

“We need two minutes with the one who’s most with it,” Mahoney said. “And all footage from security cameras on this hall.”

“Can’t help you with the footage, Mr. Mahoney,” the doctor said. “But I’ll give you two minutes with Officer Kenerson.”

A nurse named Elena Walters came up to us. “I saw who did this.”

Bree looked at me and Mahoney. “I’ll talk to her.”

Ned and I followed Dr. Foley into the room next to the late Supreme Court justice’s.

A doctor was sedating Officer Denton Hodgson. A nurse was taking the vitals of Officer Natasha Kenerson, whose eyes were closed.

“Natasha?” Dr. Foley said.

Officer Kenerson, a brunette in her thirties, groaned softly as her eyelids fluttered open. She looked at Foley, Mahoney, and me.

Mahoney identified himself and said, “Did you see who did this to you?”

Kenerson swallowed. “Nurse. Some hose thing. She … fired it?”

“This it?” Mahoney said, showing her the picture of White in the elevator wearing a knapsack with an insulated hose clipped to one side.

Kenerson nodded. “Hose.”

I said, “There has to be something on the other end of that hose that created whatever hit them.”

The officer did not respond, closed her eyes.

“I have to intubate her now,” Foley said, and we left the room.