Act of Revenge

111

Johnny leaped off the helicopter and ran into the hospital, barely slowing when the security people tried to flag him down. He waved his wallet at them, not even bothering to open it and show his ID. He made the elevator just as the doors were closing.

The two nurses in the car exchanged a glance.

“I’m sorry, I know I smell a bit,” he said apologetically. “It’s been a long day.”

“Amen to that,” said one.

Johnny found Chelsea sitting up in bed. Massina, Johansen, and Sister Rose Marie, the hospital administrator, were by her bedside, talking about the Red Sox game due to start in a few hours — Boston being Boston, no one was shutting down Fenway.

Especially when the Yankees were in town.

“You’re OK?” said Johnny. “You’re OK.”

“Of course I’m OK,” insisted Chelsea.

Then she burst into tears. Johnny folded her against his chest.

“We should give them some privacy, maybe,” said Massina, leading the others out of the room.

“You let him think she was dead?” asked Sister Rose. She had known Massina all his life and was, in many ways, one of his closest friends, despite the difference in their ages and outlook. “That was very cruel.”

“No, I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure about the reactor, not until I was inside.”

“I thought you were dead wrong,” admitted Johansen. “The reactor is so small.”

“Ghadab’s attacks were always more psychological. He wanted to make it seem that anything could happen anywhere. And, frankly, a lot of people would have died had the core actually melted down. Everyone in the building, for starters.”

“Most were his people,” said Johansen. Daesh had managed to infiltrate the student cadre at the plant over a year before; once he targeted it, Ghadab replaced all of the control-room people and the guards with his own recruits. They’d been there for days, proceeding slowly so as not to attract attention. If Massina hadn’t figured out the plot, it was very possible they would still be there, blocking the doors as the reactor finally went critical.

“The question now is, where is he?” said Massina. “He got out of the building.”

“I doubt that,” said Johansen. “We’ve only done a preliminary search. We’ll get him. He won’t get away.”

I could have, should have, killed him, thought Massina.

He’d wanted to. He’d have felt no remorse.

Yet, he wouldn’t have felt joy either, and maybe not even satisfaction. He knew that now, from what he had felt in the room when he thought Ghadab was dead.

Revenge wasn’t enough. He’d thought he had it, but it hadn’t made him feel any better.

Wiping Ghadab and Daesh off the face of the earth — it had to be done, but it wouldn’t necessarily bring joy. It might not even bring closure.

What would?

“I really should be getting back over to the command center,” said Johansen, glancing at his watch. “We’ll set up a full debrief for tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”

“OK,” answered Massina.

“The Director will want to formalize a relationship going forward. There are… legal things to work on.”

“I’m sure we can do that. I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Were we only supposed to be a scapegoat if things went wrong, or did you really want our help?”

“I always wanted your help.”

“The rest of the Agency?”

“The world is complicated, Louis.” Johansen nodded at the nun, then walked away.

“So what do you say, Sister?” asked Massina. “Think the Red Sox will play tonight?”

“Absolutely. It’s important that we play. We have to prove that we can’t be messed with. These bastards can’t win.”

Massina felt a sudden pain in his chest: he had never in his life heard the nun use that word before.

“And besides,” she added. “It’s the Yankees.”

“Did you just say ‘bastards’?”

“Get over it.” Sister Rose took a step, but then stopped and turned back to him. “Louis, tell me the truth. Did you push him into the vat of water?”

“I did,” admitted Massina.

“You know it may be a sin to try to drown him.”

“Maybe. But he didn’t. And that’s the real sin. Isn’t it?”

She tightened her lips into a frown. He expected she would give him a lecture about God’s mercy.

“Come on,” said the nun instead. “I don’t want to be late. I hate missing any part of the Sox kicking the Yankees’ butts.”