Touched by a Phoenix (56 page)

“Black truck with white trailer 5.4 miles ahead.”

“Got it. Rescue One, I’m taking control.”

“Brad…,” she seemed to be thinking strategically at this point, “are you certain?”

“Yes. I want Stephen to stare into the face of death before it comes.”

“Brad are you crazy,” John piped in, “just take the truck out.”

“John, just keep an eye on the window.”

From his position, John had the perfect view—I-95 south as it stretched out for miles before him through the large glass windows. This couldn’t have worked out better. When he had this room cleared and waiting for them, no one could have predicted which direction Stephen would take but his CIA buddies thought it was a safe bet they would head south. Based on the intel; they only had two options, get to the closest airstrip and fly ACE out of the country or head to Portsmouth and load her on a cargo ship.

A small blue flash was visible through the glass, as Brad pushed Rescue One forward. Closer to the enemy…closer to Stephen. He buzzed her right by the truck.

“What the hell are you doing? Take the truck out dammit.”

“I can’t…not yet…there are innocent people on the road.”

Shit…he hadn’t thought of that. He scanned the screen as Brad weaved in and out of traffic hoping to startle drivers. Backing them off…anything to get them off the road. He kept her low and fast.

A flood of brake lights began appearing. It was working. Vehicles slowed, most pulling off the road and out of harm’s way. Finally, a lone set of taillights…alone on the road…Brad made one final pass by the truck.

Brad banked up and left before bringing her right back around and straight for the truck. She headed straight for them.

Fuck…Brad was playing chicken.
His gaze was glued on the computer screen. Rescue One barreled towards the truck at over three-hundred miles an hour—right at their windshield. Brad did not flinch. The closer she got…the more determined his face became.

John’s eye widened at the visuals displayed on the screen. Pure terror filled Stephen’s eyes. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emitted. John knew that his lungs had constricted with fear and would not allow even a small rush of air to escape his lips as Rescue One sped like a missile towards the truck.

God, her visuals and sound were insane. What he wouldn’t have given to have something like her watching his six. Hell, he’d like to have been the one to fly her. He had to admit, she far exceeded any expectation he could have imagined. No wonder Stephen wanted the drone. No, not Stephen,
someone else
wanted the drone.

He glanced over at Brad. He thought back to a question Alexis had asked him,
would this ever be over?
No, he thought—it would never be over, not as long as Brad created drones of this magnitude. The world would continue to come after him.

“Five miles and closing,” she stated.

“Good girl.”

“Four miles and closing.”

Brad’s hand remained steady. “Rescue One, I’m betting the driver will pull right to avoid you. When they do, I’m going to fire. I want you to bank left—hard and fast.”

“Yes Brad.”

Only a few seconds passed before she informed him, “Three miles and closing fast.”

John checked his watch. She was closing the gap at a rate of one mile every ten seconds or so.

“Two miles and closing. Brad, I am locked on.”

Stephen’s face slowly changed from terror, to shock, to resignation as he gaped at the red beam locked onto the truck.

“Remember, I’ve got firing control,” came Brad’s menacing voice.

“One mile and closing. We are coming in too fast, Brad.”

Brad’s thumb came down on the small button. Rescue One fired—sending an iridescent red beam of electromagnetic radiation directly into the truck. A cataclysmic explosion rocked the night sky at the moment of impact.

The floor shook beneath their feet as if an earthquake occurred beneath them. The detonation erupted in a volatile blast—virtually disintegrating the truck and its contents. Whatever minuscule pieces left behind would be unrecognizable as the flames raged against the black sky.

“Brad, the target has been eliminated.”

“Rescue One, resume control. Head back to base and power down. Good job.”

“Thank you, Brad,” came the delicate voice.

Brad closed the laptop. “Mission accomplished.”

Brad turned to leave the room when his eyes meet with the discerning eyes of a grief-stricken man.

“Phillip, how much did you see?”

“Enough.”

As Brad reached the doorway; Phillip put his hand on his shoulder. “Well done, son.”

Phillip and John stood staring out the window, watching the flames, a faint sound of sirens blared in the distance.

Chapter Twenty-Four

B
rad pushed his
way into Alexis’s room.

“Get him out of here,” the doctors ordered.

They ran into a brick wall as he pushed his way through them—to Alexis.

“How is she?” his voice softened as he gazed lovingly down at the woman he loved.

The doctor was quiet as he spoke, “We can’t stabilize her.”

Brad took Alexis’s hand in his as he leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips, “Please hold on my sweet angel, I’m here now.”

The erratic beeps began to steady. The doctors looked at him in amazement.

“Brad, would you remove your hand, please?”

Brad looked at the doctor in bewilderment.

“Just for a moment, please.” The minute Brad released her hand, the beeps became erratic again.

“Now take her hand—again.” The sound of steady beeps once again filled the room.

“We need to document this. Get the cameras and recorders set up immediately.”

Brad’s head snapped up. “What are you doing?”

“She’s responding to your touch. We have to document this for science. We’ll use her as a case study for future research.”

The fury rose like wildfire. Alexis was not some experiment and he’d be damned if he let them treat her like one. He leaned over and pulled the monitor cables free. He walked around and gently removed the IV from her hand. He then covered her in a sheet and picked her up.

“Her life has never been in your hands,” he observed coldly and walked out of the room, carrying her limp body gently tucked against his.

Brad’s massive frame filled the doorway. He simply stood there—Alexis in his arms.

John was the first to recognize the glimmer of hope and faith in Brad’s eyes. “Get the elevator.”

Brad strode past them all without a word.

John touched his earpiece, “Men, clear the chapel.”

Her red hair hung down, falling softly around his arm as he cradled her against his chest. Men surrounded the couple as Brad headed for the elevator. These men, John’s men, had become fiercely loyal to Brad. They admired his accomplishments and his love for Alexis, the respect John had for Brad shone in their commanders eyes. They would protect the young lovers at all cost.

Brad was oblivious to the commotion behind them. How the doctors and nurses were screaming—someone calling security. Phillip and Catherine’s panicked reactions.

Chris and Matt held the doors of the chapel open as Brad entered with Alexis.

He remembered the first time he had walked towards the light—at the end of the pier. His stride determined and purposeful—tonight humbled by God himself and thankful He allowed Alexis to live; he walked towards the light again. Tonight, he would ask for forgiveness—forgiveness for his arrogance and pray that God would heal her.

John’s voice was a hushed whisper as he told his men, “No one enters this room.”

John watched Brad drop to his knees below the cross as the doors closed softly behind him. He could hear him speaking softly. He didn’t know if he prayed or spoke to Alexis or perhaps both. John sat down on the back pew and waited, saying a prayer of his own.

Brad did not waiver. He held Alexis in his arms, knelt below the cross throughout the night. The sun began to send soft shimmers of pink light through the chapel windows announcing the arrival of a new day. Brad finally rose.

His legs trembled as he walked through the chapel. His face unmistakably stained with tears shed for his love.

He needed to get her back upstairs. Her fever was gone—she was cool.

Brad waited alone—alone in the waiting room for hours.

He couldn’t bear to be with anyone until he knew. He needed answers. Alexis had died last night and his kiss had saved her, but would she ever be his again?

He did not think he had tears left to cry until he was alone and then, they fell like rain until there were no tears left to cry.

The florescent lights provided a harsh glare on the tile floor. His eyes burned. He wasn’t sure if they burned from crying or from exhaustion. He couldn’t remember ever crying like that. Yes, he had been lonely as a child. Hell, he had isolated himself from the real world because of it. By not letting anyone in, he didn’t have to worry about caring for someone or losing them. That is until Alexis—until she waltzed into his life and his heart. She changed everything.

He understood true loneliness now. It was a horrible feeling—a feeling of catastrophic proportion…the loneliest of loneliness. She was so close yet so far away.

He buried his face in his palms, pressing them against his eyes until he saw stars. How much longer would they be? They must know something by now. He stood up and paced the room. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and had had to squint, forcing his eyes to focus. After eleven, she had been gone for hours.

When the doctor entered, Brad met him halfway across the room.

“Brad.” He motioned for Brad to sit. “What you did last night was dangerous. She could have died.”

Brad was too tired to argue with him. To tell him that she did die. “How is she?”

“Her temperature is normal but she’s slipped into a coma.”

No emotion—no breath of air…no nothing. Just a simple, “How long will it last?”

“That’s hard to say. It is her body’s way of trying to recover from the trauma. I’ve seen it last a few days to years. Typically, we would be looking at two to four weeks, but this is an unusual case to say the least. I am not certain what to expect.”

“Is she breathing on her own?”

“Yes, but we’re going to keep her on oxygen….”

Brad interrupted, “A ventilator won’t be necessary, will it?”

“No, not unless her conditions worsens.”

“What are her chances?”

“Brad after last night, I honestly don’t know what to think. In all my years, I’ve never witnessed anything like what occurred last night,” he paused, “it was nothing less than a miracle.”

“Doc, please…just tell me. You must know something.”

“All right, but Brad…I want to caution you not to get your hopes up too high. There is a real possibility that she has suffered some amount of brain damage and we won’t know the extent until she wakes—
if she
wakes
.”

“Don’t talk like that. Alexis has to come out of this.”

“Brad…I understand your loss but you need to face the facts. Alexandria may not survive this ordeal. You wanted answers. We ran a multitude of test but we won’t know anything conclusive until she wakes.”

“What kind of test?”

“The Tesslor MRI, a CT scan, and the Electroencephalography or EEG. We also ran the Positive Emission Tomography Scan.”

At Brad’s confused looks, the doctor said, “A PET scan for short. The Tesslor gave us the best visual, but the brain has its own way of dealing with trauma, and we don’t always understand it. The most encouraging information came from your touch.”

“Explain,” he knew he sounded curt but he really didn’t care at the moment.

“When you touched her last night—her heart rate stabilized and when you removed your hand it became irregular again, which meant she is responding to stimuli. That told us that while she is in a comatose state, she is still responsive. The more you can be with Alexandria, the better her chances will be. The more you talk to her, hold her hand, the better her chances will be. I can’t replicate emotions and apparently the bond between the two of you is very strong.”

Brad stood, determination laced his voice, “Then Alexis will make a full recovery.”

“Brad, I know this is difficult but you must remember…Alexandria may not make the recovery you hope for—only time will tell.”

“May I see her now?”

“Yes, I believe her parents are with her, but you can go in.”

Nurses rushing back-and-forth made for a busy hallway.

The smell of alcohol overwhelmed him. It smelled like synthetic death—a clean death. He supposed cleanliness was a good thing but right now, it made his stomach nauseous. He rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten and was too tired to think about it now.

As a matter of fact, he hadn’t noticed much of anything since arriving late last night. Saving Alexis and destroying the man who had hurt her had been the only thing on his mind. Nothing else had seemed important.

The dim light reminded him of the glow from candles as he quietly entered her room. He scanned the room, simple, neat, and tidy.

His heart ached as he looked at her fragile state. She would hate begin like this. She was so active…and now. Well…what now? He wanted to hold her, to make everything all right. He could do nothing—nothing, except be here for her.

“Bradley sweetheart,” Catherine said as she hugged him tenderly.

“Come Phillip,” as she held out her hand to her husband, “let’s give them some time alone.”

She reached up and kissed Brad on the cheek. “We’ll be in the waiting room if you need us, dear.”

Her weak but steady pulse throbbed beneath his searching fingertips. The pulse that sustained his universe was fighting to stay with him. He leaned down and kissed her softly as he whispered, “I’m here my sweet angel and I love you.”

He pulled a chair close to the bed. Once he settled in the chair, he put her hand in his. He leaned his head back and fell into an exhausted sleep.

He barely slept or ate during those first long, painful minutes—minutes turned into hours—hours into days. On the third morning, something changed. Her hand twitched in his…it was just enough to give him hope.

Her vitals stabilized. She was breathing on her own and her color began to return to normal. To look at her, any bystander would think she was just sleeping peacefully; the reality was much deeper than that. She was in a coma, and no one could tell him how long it might be before she woke.

Brad refused to leave the hospital, so Phillip and John arranged for a special room to accommodate them both. Catherine and Phillip spared no expense making the sterile room feel like home. They even had a queen-size adjustable bed brought in so he could sleep beside her at night.

John posted two armed guards outside her door and had security stationed outside the hospital. When Brad had asked John if he thought the security was necessary, John’s response had been,
‘I’d rather be safe than sorry. Stephen wasn’t the mastermind—simply the patsy. Until we figure out who the mastermind is behind this nightmare, I will not allow her to be
vulnerable.’