The Speed of Sound (Speed of Sound Thrillers #1)(96)
CHAPTER 101
Philadelphia Office, Department of Homeland Security, May 28, 6:26 a.m.
Skylar paced her cell like a caged animal. She guessed it was somewhere around six thirty a.m. She hadn’t slept more than forty-five minutes. No one had spoken with her yet. The female guard who delivered her breakfast never said a word. The guard simply slid the tray through the opening in the cell door and exited.
The food was awful, but the coffee was good. A four, in Eddie’s vernacular. After finishing her breakfast, she paced back and forth, counting her steps before she even realized it. Which made her feel better and worse at the same time. Skylar didn’t know where Eddie was. Or what kind of shape he was in. But she knew he would be scared. Terrified, in fact. Which only further fueled her determination. Skylar’s one and only goal was to see Eddie again. It was her fault he was in this mess. And she would do whatever it took to get him out of it.
She continued to pace. Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight . . .
CHAPTER 102
Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, May 28, 7:01 a.m.
Eddie stared at the ceiling. At least, that was the direction he was looking. Straight up. He was lying on his back inside Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. The patient room number was 423. It was at the end of a hall. Two agents were stationed by the door. One by the elevator bank. And one outside the hospital’s main entrance.
Eddie didn’t seem focused on anything at all. He was barely blinking. And hadn’t moved since waking up sometime in the middle of the night. A squat nurse from the Dominican Republic sat by his bedside, asking every so often if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Her voice was gentle, and her accent was comforting. It was no coincidence she had been selected for this assignment. But he had yet to respond to her. He was hooked up to an IV drip, so at least his body was getting fluids.
The hospital’s chief of emergency surgery, who had treated Eddie upon his arrival the night before, entered the room with one of the agents stationed outside the door. The doctor checked Eddie’s charts and asked the Dominican nurse, “How’s he doing?”
“Same as before. No change.”
The doctor nodded, pleased. “Has he spoken yet?”
The nurse shook her head. “Not a word.”
“Has he been offered anything to eat or drink?”
“Every fifteen minutes.” She showed him the notepad where she kept detailed records.
The doctor leaned down toward Eddie, smiling warmly. “How are you feeling this morning, Edward?”
Eddie stared at the ceiling.
“Can you hear me?”
Eddie did not answer. His jaw remained clenched.
The doctor studied him, speaking with reassurance. “There’s no rush. Take all the time you need. Just let us know if there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable.”
Eddie stared blankly at the ceiling as the doctor left with the agent, who stopped him in the hall. “How long do you think it will be before he talks again?”
“Hard to say.”
“Try.”
The doctor realized the agent needed something to report to his superiors. “The good news is the patient is no longer in shock. Pupil dilation and autonomic responses are back within normal range. The patient also no longer appears to be a danger to himself or others. As to when he’ll communicate, there’s really no way to know. In cases like this, time is the best healer. He needs to want to talk. If we try to force him, it will probably only make things worse. It could even retraumatize him and send him back into shock. All we can do is be patient, and let nature take its course.”
CHAPTER 103
Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, Trenton, New Jersey, May 28, 7:37 a.m.
Senator Corbin Davis watched with eager interest as his world-class experts studied the two devices inside the nondescript building in the middle of JB MDL. The scientists’ names were Pembrose and Landgraf. Both were familiar with the device and the science behind it. Both were also skeptical the technology would ever work. They were only too happy to debunk whatever nonsense was afoot, or to be the first ones to hear reconstituted echoes. The trio had been escorted directly inside a small conference room. As soon as the scientists completed their work, they and the senator were to be escorted out of the building and off the grounds.
The scientists clearly knew how to operate the device, having tested it on several previous occasions. They readily caused the box to spring open, revealing the eight one-inch satellite microphones, which performed their perfectly synchronized ballet.
The senator asked, “What’s it doing?”
Pembrose, the younger of the scientists, answered, “Acoustically mapping the room.”
Landgraf, the veteran, added, “In theory.”
Pembrose replied, “We’ll know soon enough.” They both kept their eyes glued to the progress bar that appeared below the three-dimensional image of the space. The counter quickly climbed: Three percent . . . six percent . . . nine percent . . . , but then started to slow. Eleven percent. Twelve percent took longer. Thirteen was even slower than that. After another two minutes, the counter had still not reached fifteen percent.
Corbin Davis studied the differing expressions of his two experts. Pembrose looked disappointed, like a child who didn’t get the present he wanted for his birthday. Landgraf grinned smugly, like he knew this would happen all along.