around him, stiffening a little in an attempt to hide the fact he’d been caught dozing.
And when he recognized the big man in the wet raincoat, he only stiffened more. As far as Dr. Cathey knew, Matthew Hanley, deputy director for operations for the Central Intelligence Agency, had never been here in person.
For this reason, and also due to the time of day, Cathey immediately sensed trouble, and he wasn’t wrong.
In lieu of any greeting, Hanley asked, “How’s the patient?”
Dr. Cathey looked to his nurse, also now standing nearby, and she excused herself into another room.
“Stable, but certainly not ready for operational status,” the doctor replied.
Hanley heaved a sigh, then looked towards a closed door across the darkened and sterile space. There was a small window in the door, and through it he could just make out a hospital room, dark inside save for the glow of a few electronic monitors.
“Explain.”
Cathey cleared his throat and came around his desk, standing in front of it now. “He took a knife just below the clavicle. Deep. Somehow, the blade missed the subclavian artery, so he survived, but by the time he was brought here he couldn’t operate his upper left extremity. We identified the problem: the knife damaged the nerves of the brachial plexus. They have since healed to a large extent, although he does have some residual numbness and tingling in his left hand.”
“He’s right-handed,” Hanley said.
Cathey cocked his head, paused a moment, then continued. “We’re confident the nerves will completely heal in time; they aren’t the problem. The problem is, the knife wound below the patient’s clavicle developed an infection. A small piece of the blade broke off in his collarbone and held on to the bacteria even after a course of heavy antibiotics. I had to go in and clean it out, which I did, but he’s got sixteen fresh stitches, he’s got the pain from the procedure, and he’s still fighting the infection. It’s likely in the bone, and it will take a lot of IV antibiotics to diminish it. He’ll be fine, but he needs time.”
“How much time?”
“A few more weeks.”
Hanley sighed again. Looked around at the machines and monitors and other equipment that lined the walls behind a small nurses’ station. Several other hospital rooms ran down the hallway, but their doors were open and their lights off.
There was only one patient at Templeton 3.
Hanley said, “What if he doesn’t get a few more weeks?”
“Why wouldn’t he get—”
“If I take him out of here right now. What will happen?”
Dr. Cathey lifted his chin, a mild show of defiance. “In my professional opinion, your man will get very sick and die.”
Hanley rubbed his wide face with a hand like a catcher’s mitt. The doctor couldn’t tell if he was worried or just annoyed. “How long until he gets sick, assuming the worst?”
And with that question it became clear to the doctor that the DDO wasn’t concerned about the health of the man in the next room for any reason other than that he was impatient to get his asset back in the field.
Cathey did not hide his disdain now. “That requires speculation, and I don’t—”
“I need you to speculate.”
Cathey hesitated, then answered back with a twinge of anger. “Okay. You take him out of here, give him pills instead of the IV antibiotics. That will, maybe, suppress the infection somewhat, but it won’t cure it. Within one week . . . two at the outside, he could be on his back, dangerously ill and in need of the nearest ICU.”
Matt Hanley nodded, more to himself than to the doctor, then began moving for the door. “Plenty of time.”
The doctor surprised both himself and the DDO by reaching out and taking Hanley by the arm. “I’m not sure I’m being clear enough about his condition.”
The deputy director stopped. “I need him, Gene. I need him more than he needs to sit here. It’s just as simple as that.”
Cathey was emboldened by his anger. “Get someone else.”
Hanley sighed again. “I did get someone else.” He said nothing more, just let the comment hang in the low light, the sound drifting off over the noises of the computers and monitoring equipment outside the hospital room.
“Look,” the doctor implored. “These assets. Your assets. You’re running them too hard, not giving them enough time to recuperate after whatever the hell is done to them in the field.” He continued, “You bring them in here broken, and you don’t give me long enough