0430 Hours, Inova Fairfax, ER Waiting Area
Lara lowered her pencil, her sketchpad balanced awkwardly on her lap. Despite the ungodly hour and harsh fluorescence, the mysterious man’s broad jawline and hooded eyelids sprang from the page, each line sharp with uncanny precision.
Kasra glanced over her shoulder, studying the work. “It’s impressive, Lara. Well done.”
He snapped a photo of the sketch and sent it to TITAN Group’s technical team, instructing them to coordinate with the police for a facial recognition search.
As he pocketed his phone, he felt a weight against his right arm. He tilted his head, only to find that Lara had fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. Her breathing was slow and even, her face softened by fatigue. It was well past four in the morning, and the overnight events had taken their toll.
For a moment, Kasra hesitated, his usual stoic demeanor faltering. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned his head against hers, narrowing his lids, finding solace in the shared exhaustion.
……
0830 Hours, Inova Fairfax, ER Waiting Area
The OR doors suddenly swished open, and the sound of rubber wheels hummed softly against the polished floor. Three masked and gowned medical personnel moved in unison, guiding a stretcher with an unconscious patient away.
Then, another silhouette emerged from the OR. He scanned the waiting area and spotted a man and a woman there—they were stirring awake, startled by the earlier commotion. The surgeon removed his mask and approached them, staring straight at the man.
“Good morning, are you a family member of Mr. James Porter?”
Kasra stood up, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m his employer, Kasra Shahi. Can you give me an update on his condition?”
The surgeon nodded, his expression solemn. “Certainly, Mr. Shahi. I’m Dr. Nathan Gill, one of the in-house trauma specialists who operated on Mr. Porter this morning.
“When Mr. Porter was brought in, he was in critical condition. We managed to stop the bleeding from his liver and kidney, but the outlook for his lower extremities is grim. His spinal cord sustained severe damage. The chances of him walking again are slim to none. For the next 48 hours, we’ll keep him in the ICU to monitor his condition.”
Kasra’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he absorbed the news. Before he could respond, Dr. Gill added, “Mr. Shahi, we tried to contact a leading trauma expert who had previously assisted us with a similar case, but our attempts to reach him were unsuccessful. He’s affiliated with Walter Reed; he may be on a mission as he’s with the Special Forces. If you’d like, we can provide you with his contact information. He might be able to offer a more optimistic opinion.”
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“Yes, thank you, Dr. Gill,” Kasra replied, his timbre steady, eyes sharp with hope. “Please share the specialist’s information; I’ll contact him.”
Dr. Gill nodded, handing over a card with the specialist’s details. Kasra glanced at it, his fingers tightening around the card as determination settled in his bones.
Thank God James is still alive. If there’s even a remote chance that someone out there can help him, I’ll find him, no matter what it takes.
As Dr. Gill turned to leave, Kasra instructed Lara, “There’s still no news of Sana. Please reschedule all upcoming meetings for the next couple of days.”
“Yes, Chief.”
Lara, having shaken off her sleepiness, quickly adjusted Sana’s schedule.
Meanwhile, Kasra dialed the number on the card, but his call went unanswered. Based on what Dr. Gill had said, Kasra assumed the expert was probably on a mission. He then left several voice and text messages, hoping for a prompt response.
After pocketing his phone, he noticed that Lara had finished rescheduling Sana’s meetings and was waiting for his next directive.
“We should head over to FCPD to give your statement. I’ll drive you there.”
“Yes, Chief.”
……
0845 Hours, Walter Reed, OR 3
Time passed quickly as the colonel handled the damaged tissue with clinical precision.
“Femur is stabilized. Moving to the scapula now,” he said, shifting his focus.
He skillfully removed the bullet fragments lodged in the shoulder.
“Minimal damage here. We’ll clean and close.”
……
Two and a half hours later, he finished the last suture and stepped back, taking a deep breath. “Wounds are closed. Jase, you’re up.”
“On it, Sev.”
Several minutes later, Captain Jason announced, “I’m done. Macy, you can close up shop now.”
“Yes, Captain.”
With that, the colonel turned to the team. “Jase, Macy, thank you for your hard work.” With a nod, he added, “I’ll transfer the patient to the recovery ward.”
……
After completing the grueling 9-hour surgery, the colonel transferred the patient to an unoccupied ward nearest his office and jumped into the shower. The cold water hit him like an electric shock, jolting him awake as it cascaded down his back. He leaned against the tiled wall, his mind racing.
I need to file a police report as soon as Jane Doe wakes up. I brought and treated a civilian here… How do I explain this?
Then, he recalled the thigh holster she had on. What if she’s a secret agent? Or an assassin? Was she working alone? What was she doing in a suburban area? He sighed heavily, the sound echoing in the small shower stall. I guess what’s done is done. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
Despite the invigorating shower, the weight of his exhaustion pressed down on him. Before encountering Jane Doe, he’d been on a 4-hour road trip from Staten Island. His body was screaming for rest, so he decided to take a nap on the hospital bed next to hers while waiting for her to regain consciousness.
As he lay down, he turned to scrutinize the sleeping Jane Doe. Her hair was spread out across the pillow, exposing her delicate features—her fair, porcelain-smooth skin contrasted with her long, silky, chocolate-colored hair. Her lips, though bloodless, were full and finely shaped. His gaze lingered for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly, a faint sense of déjà vu tugging at the edges of his mind.
Where have I met you before?
He strained to recollect... the sense of familiarity gnawed at him, but the fog of exhaustion was too thick. His thoughts grew hazy, and finally, he succumbed to the Sandman’s embrace. The mystery of Jane Doe’s identity remained just beyond his grasp.
