Dark Heart (DARC Ops Book 3) (12 page)

T
he elevator
he was in didn’t belong to the hospital, and when he stepped off it wasn’t the sick medical smell and mint green walls that greeted him, but the fresh and smiling faces of Jackson’s DARC Ops receptionist staff.

“Jasper,” cried one particularly high-voiced young lady. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She came rushing over with a frenzied click-clack of high heels, and then very gently she wrapped her arm around his back. It was the type of side hug one gave to not-so-acquainted acquaintances or people with broken bones. But with the smile on her face and the brace on his arm—and, if he remembered correctly, this woman’s historic propensity for flirting—Jasper guessed it was the former.

“We thought we’d never see you again,” she said, pulling away from their side hug. Her hand was gently rearranging his shirt cuff over the brace.

“Why?” he asked. “I haven’t been OUTCONUS for awhile. I’ve been at Fort Bragg for—”

“No, I don’t mean that.” She stopped messing around with his sleeve and looked at him in the eyes. “We heard about your accident. How you got run over behind Watergate?”

“Oh,” Jasper shook his head. “No, no I didn’t get run over. No, it was hardly anything.” He looked down at his injuries unconsciously, rotating his wrist slowly and still feeling a bit of pain. “I just hurt my wrist.”

“Well, we heard it over the radio when it happened. It sounded crazy.”

“We heard you got run over by a Dumpster,” said another perky-voiced receptionist. She hadn’t bothered to come over to personally inspect the injuries. Thankfully, she was less dramatic than the woman presently clawing at him.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said, biting her lip. “Jackson doesn’t have you
working
, does he?”

Jasper wasn’t sure anymore. That was the point of his visit, to ask him—that is, if he’d ever be allowed past the cute, blonde, mini-skirted Minotaur.

“You should file for disability,” said the one behind the desk. She looked a little older and, likely was a lot more cynical.

Jasper smiled. “Well, you know Jackson.”

“Yeah, he’s a real slave driver.”

“And he’s also got me convinced that I’m doing a duty to my country,” said Jasper. “That old claptrap.”

The younger receptionist made a sympathetic if not overwrought face. “Can I at least get anything for our national hero? Coffee, tea?” And then she looked him up and down.

“Hmm.” Jasper thought for a minute.

“Anything at all?” She returned her gaze to his eyes, but this time with a more knowing smile. She’d always been overly friendly with him, but today, with his injury . . .

“Thanks,” he said. “But I think I’m okay.”

“Well, you just let me know,” she said, in a way that seemed to suggest that she’d be available for any and all of his needs.

He was used to some segment of the female population who couldn’t help themselves at the sight of a man in uniform, or a military man in general. Perhaps it was this, plus the wounded warrior mystique, that had created such a powerful aphrodisiac for the receptionist. In his earlier days he’d perhaps take the bait, as he did with most pretty young things who threw themselves at him. And for a while, it was a problem, a topic of numerous meetings and evaluations, the pinpointing, finally, of that one flaw. But everyone was allowed at least one flaw . . . Or so he thought back then.

He thought about this as he walked down the hall toward the briefing room, almost marveling at how little he responded to women like that receptionist, or last month in North Carolina, the woman he’d helped with an emergency roadside tire change. He’d done the rain-soaked job at the edge of a busy freeway, and then traded business cards for whatever reason. And then he’d find out that reason for the next two weeks, him receiving text after text of increasingly desperate and lurid thank-you notes.

But even back in his heyday of depravity, it wasn’t he who accepted Fiona’s advances, but the other way around. Perhaps that was what held the lasting impact: her aloofness, her almost inhuman maneuvering from his charms. Until the final day of his rotation with her, when he’d all but given up hope, when he’d asked her out quite formally and openly as “just friends.” She came along with him, Fiona, his mind-wrenchingly sexy, platonic date, to an army friend’s promotion party.

Walking into the conference room, the burst of applause snapped his thoughts back to the present. Congratulations for the hero. And then a round of questions. The first of which were about his health, his wrist, his shoulder, all of them seeming halfhearted, more of a formality before the real meat and potatoes: Was the hospital ready for the prince?

But Clarence Mitchell, who had sitting next to him the hospital’s in-house cybersecurity manager, had something more important he’d like addressed.

“Jasper,” he said. “Can you kindly explain to me what the hell happened with Dr. Wahl?”

Jasper knew that question was coming. But despite that knowledge, and ample time to think it over, he had no answer.

“What happened before the call?” asked Clarence. “Why was he so upset?”

“I guess he didn’t recognize me, and thought I was a security concern.”

“But why?”

“Clarence,” said Jackson. “Does this doctor have any knowledge about the Saudi visit?”

“None,” said Clarence. “That’s why I’m so curious what made him react this way. It would be understandable if he knew, and if he was doing a security inventory. But . . .”

Jackson took over, saying, “But as far as he’s concerned, it’s business as usual?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, it didn’t seem like that,” said Jasper. “He really thought I was, I dunno, some type of spy or something . . . I have to remind you guys that this was just after he’d lost a patient.”

Clarence frowned. “In all my experience with Dr. Wahl, he’s always been very even-keeled. Especially after losing a patient. I’ve always noted that about him, that he has almost zero emotional range, even with the tough cases.”

“But what about when it’s his fault?” asked Jackson.

Finally, there was a brief silence in the room. Jasper could pick up the sound of Jackson tapping his fingers against his thigh. It was clear that the room was waiting for Clarence to answer a question he’d rather not answer.

“So . . .” said Clarence. “You’re asking . . . How does he react after losing a patient when it’s been his fault?” Clarence sat back in his chair, appearing to be thinking it over.

“Has that ever happened?” asked Jackson.

“Of course that’s happened.”

“Does it happen often?” asked Jasper. “With all due respect.”

Clarence cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t say often. But, perhaps, a little more than average. But it’s nothing . . . It’s nothing we’ve ever had to . . . deal with.”

“You mean investigate?”

“Yes. It’s never come up.”

“Well, Jasper,” said Jackson. “Why don’t you tell us about your findings there so we can decide what kind of reaction he was having.”

“The findings from the room?” said Jasper. “From the machines?”

“Yes,” said Jackson. “Why did that patient die?”

Jasper watched Clarence shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Catastrophic brain damage,” said Jasper. “Brain death, due to lack of oxygen.”

Clarence could be heard muttering something under his breath. And then he leaned over to whisper into his associate’s ear. He was clearly unhappy, his hands busy at a piece of paper, folding it onto itself over and over again until—

“That’s not quite what I’m asking,” said Jackson. “I know you’re not a medical examiner, but I’d still like to—”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” interrupted Clarence as he tossed the folded up paper aside, “but we’ve only just begun our internal investigation.” He pointed to his associate, and said, “This is Eric Shultz. He runs our cybersecurity.”

Eric said hello, his shoulders slumped, before explaining how much of an honor it was, of course, for him to meet Jackson.

Clarence winced outwardly at that. “So, anyway, yes. We have our own people—experts—who look at this sort of thing and often times in tandem with law enforcement.”

Jackson smiled. “Well, then, let’s forget about the body, the death. And instead we’ll take a look at what w
e’re
experts with.”

Clarence scoffed at that. “You have expertise in medical devices?”

“Yes,” said Jasper, answering for himself. “I do.”

“Okay, then,” said Jackson, directing his attention back to Jasper. “So was it a technical error, or a medical one?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Jasper.

“He doesn’t know,” said Clarence, his lips tightening into a slight smile, his voice sounding almost grateful.

“Not yet,” Jasper said, looking straight at Jackson. “I need more time.”

“We don’t exactly have more time,” he replied.

“Aren’t we getting off topic anyway?” said Clarence.

“Perhaps,” said Jackson. “The prince
will
be there tomorrow.”

Clarence was nodding. “Yes, right. So let’s focus on the prince then.”

“Of course. This has everything to do with the prince.” said Jasper. “I’m not trying to frame your doctor. It’s not a witch hunt.”

“And I’m not defending him,” said Clarence. “I’d just rather have our own team look at it.”

“Well, we’re gonna look at it, too.” Jasper said with a little smile. “If you don’t mind.”

Clarence scowled. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Good. We just have to look at everything.”

“Of course you do,” said Clarence. “It’s just already such a pain in my ass.”

The room got quiet and awkward again. Jasper wasn’t sure where to look, so he just bowed his head and stared at the bright sheen of the conference table, the fluorescent ceiling panels reflecting off the black wood like moonlight over water.

“Why is
he
here?” Clarence asked with a scrunched up and scrutinizing expression. He was pointing to the fourth and so far silent member of the meeting, Jackson’s favorite reconnaissance companion, Matthias.

“I’m part of the security team,” Matthias said. “I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sorry,” Clarence snapped. “I just never met you before.”

“What about the Saudi guards?” said Jackson. “You haven’t met
them
yet either, and they’ll be crawling all over the place.”

“Don’t remind me.” Clarence had his hand to his head, rubbing his left temple. “This whole thing is just shaping up to be one big shit show.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Jackson.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’ve got my two best men on it.”

Clarence was looking down, his hand at his forehead now. He let out a long sigh. “Why did I even get involved with this shit in the first place?”

“Because you’re desperate,” Jackson said.

Clarence laughed. “Thanks, Asshole, but that was a rhetorical question.”

“But you really
are
desperate, though. You need this.”

Clarence looked up at him with a wounded expression. “What the hell are you talking about? Why am I desperate?”

“Because your hospital’s a few million dollars in debt,” said Matthias.

Clarence glanced at his associate, Eric Shultz, and then back to Jackson’s shit-eating grin. “So I guess you’re experts on economics and hospital operations too now, right?”

“No,” said Jackson. “We just hacked into your finances.”

Eric laughed, but it was cut off by Clarence’s glare.

“Oh, well, that’s fucking great.” Clarence had his arms crossed now. “That’s just wonderful. You’re invading my privacy
and
my trust now.”

Jackson was shaking his head. “Your privacy, yes. But not your trust.”

“Mr. Mitchell,” said Matthias. “Don’t forget that we’re a cybersecurity company. There’s not much that stays secret from us.”

“
He’s
a cybersecurity guy,
too.
” Clarence was pointing at his associate, Eric. Then he cocked his head and asked, “Where the hell were
you
at? You let them just waltz right in and—”

“Mr. Mitchell,” Jackson interrupted. “We have a far different set of resources.”

“So?”

“So don’t worry about Mr. Shultz.”

“This is just part of the process,” said Matthias. “This is how we can help you, by breaking through your defenses and then analyzing the wreckage. It’s better if we do it before someone else does.”

Eric Shultz was nodding as he looked at Clarence.

“Your hospital needs money,” said Jackson. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re right,” said Clarence. “So let’s drop it.”

Jackson tapped a button on his laptop which powered up the overhead projector. It showed the first slide of a presentation. A table of contents.

“So . . .” Jackson focused his gaze on Eric Shultz. “You’re in charge of cybersecurity at the hospital.”

“That’s right,” said Eric.

“You are? As in, you actually have a cybersecurity plan?”

Clarence, meanwhile, was stabbing angry little holes into Eric with his eyes.

“Yeah,” Eric croaked. “We have . . . safeguards, yes.”

“Safeguards?” Jackson looked at Clarence.

“Yes,” said Eric. “We have defenses.”

“What you have is the bare minimum,” said Matthias. “With all due respect.”

“Eric,” said Clarence. “Don’t we have that thing, though? Don’t we have cyber insurance?”

“We have cyber insurance,” said Eric with a hint of shame in his voice.

Matthias tried to hold in some laughter.

“You’ll have to look into that too,” said Jackson. “You have so many vulnerabilities, the insurance company probably wouldn’t pay out for you if anything happened. They’d claim negligence on your side.”

“
What
?” Clarence barked.

Eric was nodding. “I tried explaining that to you, sir.”

“Listen, Clarence,” said Matthias. “You’re just barely adhering to HIPAA, which just means that you’re allowed to stay licensed. Not necessarily safe and secured.”

“Clarence,” said Jackson. “Do you have any idea when HIPAA was enacted?”

Clarence rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t.”

“1996,” said Jackson.

“I don’t even know what the hell that means,” Clarence said with a disgusted look on his face. “I’m not a tech guy. So you should just talk to Mr. Shultz and then—”