Monk stood up, crossed around the foot of the bed, and gave the woman a long hug. “Thanks for coming, but there’s not much anyone can do.”
“Maybe her recovery is a painful waiting game,” Lisa acknowledged, then shared a worried look with Gray. “But there may be a way to learn what she knows of the attack last night.”
“I don’t understand.”
Dr. Edmonds interrupted. “I cannot condone this procedure. It risks worsening her condition.”
Monk ignored him and fixed his attention on Lisa. “What procedure?”
“While flying here, I talked to a colleague at his home, someone who has been working with coma patients for over two decades. For the past few years, neurologists have been testing a patient’s cognitive level through the use of magnetic resonance imaging.”
“MRI?”
“Functional MRI, to be specific, which measures blood flow in the brain. With such a scanner, a clinician can monitor a comatose patient’s response to questions. The first question is usually something like picture yourself playing tennis. If the patient is awake and does as instructed, the brain’s premotor cortex will light up with fresh blood flow. Then it’s just a matter of asking yes-or-no questions, telling the patient to think about playing tennis for a yes and remaining quiet for a no.”
“And this works?” Monk asked, his voice edging with excitement.
“It takes someone skilled and experienced to work with such patients. The colleague I called has a very high-resolution MRI, designed specifically for this testing. In fact, it’s much more evolved and refined than I—”
Dr. Edmonds cut her off. “But he’s at Princeton. It would mean transferring your wife to his facility. Such a journey—in her condition—puts her stability at risk. You may be jeopardizing any chance of recovery in this wild goose chase. And you may still get there and learn nothing more than you know already.”
“He’s right,” Lisa said. “There is no guarantee this will work.”
Monk stared over at Kat, his expression pained.
Gray could only imagine the war battling inside his friend. He remained silent, not wanting to put any more pressure on Monk. Lisa was asking him to put the love of his life at risk on the outside chance that the team might learn something about the attack.
As Monk sank back into the chair and took Kat’s hand, Gray’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at it, and saw the call was from Sigma command. Phone in hand, he headed for the hallway, not wanting to disturb Monk.
He glanced back to his friend.
Monk’s eyes remained haunted. He wished he could take this burden from the man’s shoulders. Though, to be honest, if the roles were reversed— Gray looked at all the tubes running into and out of Kat, picturing Seichan in her place.
I don’t know what I’d do.
6:18 A.M.
Kat fought to scream. Locked in darkness, she had eavesdropped on the conversation. She did not care if her life were put at risk. All that mattered was her daughters’ safety.
Monk, for god’s sake, listen to Lisa.
She didn’t know if the plan would bear fruit, but she knew the best chance was to act quickly. According to crime statistics, with each passing hour, the likelihood that her girls would be recovered lowered exponentially.
Don’t wait . . . do it now.
Still, it wasn’t only statistics that fueled her anxiety. Action needed to be taken soon if Lisa’s plan had any chance of working. Even now, Kat felt the darkness closing in around her, threatening to forever smother her flicker of consciousness. She had already begun to experience losses in time, sudden drops in her awareness.
I’m worsening.
Knowing this, Kat willed Monk to understand. She tried to open her eyes, to somehow signal her husband.
C’mon, Monk, hear me.
6:19 A.M.
Monk cradled Kat’s hand between his palms, one of flesh, the other of plastic and synthetic skin. He searched her face for some indication she was present. He noted the fine traceries of scars across her cheeks and forehead, a map of her past, marking prior missions with Sigma. She seldom covered them with makeup, wearing them proudly.
Now to be brought this low . . .
“Babe, tell me what to do?”
There was no response, no movement, just the steady rise and fall of her chest.
You always have the answer, Kat. Always an opinion. Now is no time to stay silent.
Deep down, though, he knew Kat would risk anything for the girls. She would not hesitate. His reluctance was more about him. How much loss could he handle?
If I lost both the girls and Kat . . .
He studied her lips, still pink, still soft. Lips that kissed him with passion, that long ago taught him about love and loyalty, that also pecked the girls’ cheeks each night.
“Babe, you’re my heart, my rock. There has to be another way. I can’t lose you.”
Still, he knew if he didn’t make the right choice—didn’t put her in harm’s way for the slim chance she might know something and be able to communicate it—he would lose her anyway. She’d never forgive him if his caution and fear resulted in the loss of the girls.
He took a deep sigh.
“Okay,” he whispered to her. “I’ve never won an argument with you, Kat. And even with you handicapped and mute, I’m gonna lose this one, too.”
Still, grasping Kat’s hand, he turned to Lisa. “Go ahead and make the arrangements.”
Edmonds opened his mouth to object.
Monk silenced the neurologist with a glare. “Doc, don’t even try. You ain’t winning this one, either.”
Lisa nodded and took out her phone.
Monk settled his attention back to Kat. In that moment, he sensed something down in his bones, in his soul. Or maybe it was the sensitivity of his prosthetic hand, its peripheral sensors as perceptive as a polygraph, capable of noting even the galvanic electrodermal change in another’s skin.
Either way, he swore he could feel Kat relax, as if relieved.
He nodded to her, understanding.
You got it, babe.
6:20 A.M.
Out in the hallway, Gray paced the corridor with the phone at his ear. He had answered the call promptly, only to be put on hold.
Finally, Painter came on the line. “Sorry about that. The situation out in Portugal has been rapidly changing.”
“What’s going on?”
“About ten minutes ago, we got word from Lisbon. Mara Silviera reached out and made contact with one of Dr. Carson’s daughters.”
Gray stiffened. “What happened?”
“The two tried to meet, but there was some scuffle at the airport. Someone tried to grab them—likely the same attackers who murdered the five women. Jason’s in contact with the family’s security detail and Interpol, trying to get some accurate description of the assailants.”
Gray pictured the young man ensconced in Sigma’s communication nest, a proverbial spider in a web.
“According to eyewitnesses,” Painter continued, “the two escaped and are presently on the run together.”
Gray could guess what was coming next.
“I want you out there,” Painter said. “Right now. We need boots on the ground in case we can confirm a location. Kowalski’s on his way to the airport already. Even if this has nothing to do with the attack at your house, we can’t let the technology Mara Silviera possesses fall into the wrong hands. But if you’d rather remain stateside until more is known about Seichan and Monk’s daughters, I totally understand. I can assign someone else.”
As Painter spoke, Lisa came rushing out of the room, a phone at her ear. A pair of nurses headed inside. Edmonds instructed the pair in hurried, irritated commands. Gray overheard the word unhook.
Clearly Monk had come to his decision, risking everything on the hopes of discovering the intent behind the attack and kidnapping.
Could I do any less?
“I’ll head directly to the airport,” Gray said. “And meet Kowalski there.”
“Good. I’m also sending Jason with you two.”
“Jason?”
“He’s our resident computer wunderkind. If Mara’s project is secured, I want him out there.”
Makes sense.
The young man was former navy, like Kat—who had handpicked and recruited the kid. When he was twenty, he’d been kicked out of the service for breaking into DoD servers with nothing more than a BlackBerry and a jury-rigged iPad. If anyone could understand Mara Silviera’s project, it would be Jason.
“We’ve secured a private jet, with wheels up in twenty minutes,” Painter said. “You’ll be landing in Lisbon in five hours, roughly seventeen hundred local time.”
“Understood.”
“And, Gray, keep in mind those two young women are scared. If we can hunt them down, do your best not to spook them.”
“Then maybe I’d better leave Kowalski behind on the tarmac here.”
Painter sighed. “Just find them.”
7
December 25, 1:18 P.M. EST
Lisbon, Portugal
“I wish my mother could’ve seen this,” Carly said.