Chapter 13 - Operation Hospital Shield
"Why did you call him, Ethan?" Diane asked, still breathless after Marcus disconnected the satellite relay that Ethan had used to ping Sterling's office.
Ethan looked at Marcus. "Because when a monster is scared, he rushes. And when he rushes, he makes mistakes."
Marcus smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. "Ethan is right. Sterling’s next immediate move is to silence Victor Kane at St. Jude's Hospital. As long as Kane is alive, Sterling's legal team can't claim Kane acted alone. Kane is our bridge to the Senate."
"St. Jude's is eighty miles away in the center of the capital," Sarah said worriedly. "The highways are crawling with state troopers looking for us. How do we get inside an ICU ward guarded by federal marshals and corrupt cops?"
Marcus opened an old wooden chest in the corner of the mill office. Inside were three tactical jump suits, surplus smoke canisters, and high-grade radio frequency scramblers from his former private security firm.
"We don't go as fugitives," Marcus said, tossing a black jacket to Diane. "We go as the people who are going to save Victor Kane's life."
Ethan stepped forward. "I'm coming with you."
"Ethan, the hospital will be a war zone," Marcus said, crouching down to look into the boy's eyes. "Sterling’s hit squad will be disguised as doctors or federal agents."
"Marcus, Kane won't speak to anyone unless he sees me," Ethan insisted, his small jaw set with immovable determination. "Kane knows I hold the second half of the key. If you go alone, he'll think it's a trap and stay silent. My mother didn't raise me to hide in a cellar while other people fight my battles."
Marcus looked at the boy, seeing the fierce, unyielding fire of Abigail Cole burning in his spirit. He knew there was no stopping him.
"Alright," Marcus said. "We stick to the plan. In and out in seven minutes. Diane, you broadcast the unencrypted audio feed directly to your newspaper’s emergency cloud server the second Kane starts talking."
"Ready when you are," Diane said, securing her audio recorder.
Two hours later, under the cover of the pre-dawn fog, an unmarked utility ambulance pulled into the subterranean emergency bay of St. Jude's Memorial Hospital.
Marcus, dressed in paramedic tactical gear with Ethan beside him in a medical transport jacket, stepped out into the fluorescent-lit corridor. The air smelled of antiseptic and ozone.
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At the end of the Intensive Care hallway, two federal marshals were slumped unconscious on their chairs outside Room 402, foam dripping from their lips—poisoned by tainted coffee.
Marcus drew his suppressed pistol, stepping silently toward the room. "The hit squad is already inside."
