Chapter 6 - ROOM 417Mason woke furious.
Not confused.
Not groggy.
Furious.
“Where’s Emma?”
Dr. Lena Dunn pushed him back against the table.
“Alive.”
“Where?”
“My brother took her to check on her mother.”
Mason tried to sit.
Pain forced him down.
“You opened your abdomen less than an hour ago,” Lena said. “Try that again and I’ll staple you to the table.”
“My clothes.”
“No.”
“Doctor.”
“Patient.”
Mason glared.
Lena did not care.
Marcus called eleven minutes later.
Mason heard Emma’s mother was missing.
He was standing before Lena finished the sentence.
Emma and Marcus returned to the clinic.
Emma stopped when she saw Mason dressed.
“You should be unconscious.”
“Disappointed?”
“Deeply.”
He saw the note.
His expression changed.
“Room 417.”
“You know it?”
“No.”
Emma showed him the address.
“Harborview.”
Mason sat slowly.
“When was the fire?”
“Eight years ago.”
His eyes lifted.
“What date?”
Emma told him.
Mason became still.
“That was six days after the convoy attack.”
Marcus said, “Coincidence?”
“No.”
Emma crossed her arms.
“Room 417 was part of the old military partnership wing. Harborview used to treat overflow from Naval Medical Center.”
Mason stared.
“Who died in the fire?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus searched his phone.
“Records say two unidentified federal patients.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“They weren’t unidentified.”
Emma understood.
“Owen and Cross?”
“Maybe.”
“But neither died.”
“Exactly.”
Emma looked at the note.
“Someone is pulling us back to where this started.”
Lena pointed at Mason.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Mason stood.
Lena looked at Emma.
“Tell him.”
Emma hesitated.
Then said, “He’s going.”
Lena stared.
“Excellent nursing judgment.”
“If my mother is there—”
“I understand you. I’m judging him.”
Mason said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t.”
At 5:26 a.m., they approached Harborview through an old maintenance tunnel connected to the parking garage.
Marcus knew the route.
The hospital had reopened after the power failure.
Police cars surrounded the main entrance.
Dr. Hale had told officers that Mason was an armed fugitive responsible for the shooting.
Emma read the news report on Marcus’s phone.
“They’re saying Mason attacked security and fired inside radiology.”
Marcus laughed without humor.
“Convenient.”
Mason looked at Emma.
“This is how Voss works. Turn institutions against targets.”
They entered the abandoned fourth-floor wing through a locked utility door.
Dust covered the corridor.
Plastic sheeting hung from ceilings.
Room numbers had been removed.
Emma counted.
Then a brick wall.
“417 should be here.”
Mason examined the wall.
“Recent mortar.”
Marcus tapped it.
“Hollow.”
They found an access panel behind a construction tarp.
Beyond it was a narrow corridor.
Emma’s heart raced.
Someone had deliberately sealed part of the hospital.
At the end stood a steel door.
Mason raised his pistol.
Emma whispered, “My mother.”
“I know.”
He opened the door.
A light flickered on automatically.
Emma stopped.
Room 417 was not abandoned.
Medical equipment lined the walls.
Old monitors.
Restraint beds.
Military-grade storage cabinets.
Photographs covered a board.
Mason.
Owen.
Cross.
Emma.
Her mother.
Even Emma’s nursing school graduation.
“They’ve been watching us,” she whispered.
Marcus moved around the room.
“No sign of your mother.”
Mason noticed a file on the desk.
CALLAHAN, OWEN.
Emma lunged for it.
Inside were medical records dated after Owen’s death.
Three months after.
One year after.
Four years after.
Every few months, Owen had apparently been treated somewhere under different names.
Gunshot wounds.
Fractures.
Malnutrition.
Drug exposure.
Emma’s eyes filled.
“They tortured him.”
Mason looked away.
A final report was dated three weeks ago.
PATIENT TRANSFERRED TO SITE BLACKWATER.
Emma looked at Mason.
“What is Site Blackwater?”
“I don’t know.”
A speaker crackled overhead.
Then Dr. Hale’s voice filled the room.
“Emma.”
She looked up.
Mason raised his weapon toward the speaker.
Hale continued.
“You should have stayed out of this.”
Emma stepped forward.
“Where is my mother?”
“Safe.”
“Let me hear her.”
A pause.
Then Eleanor Callahan’s voice came through.
“Emma?”
Emma’s knees weakened.
“Mom!”
“I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
Mason moved toward the speaker.
Hale said, “Chief Reed, put your weapon down.”
Mason looked around.
“You can see us.”
“Of course.”
Marcus searched for cameras.
Hale continued.
“Eight years ago, your team made a mistake.”
Mason’s voice went cold.
“Trusting Voss?”
“No.”
Hale laughed softly.
“Trusting Owen Callahan.”
Emma stared.
“What does that mean?”
“Your brother didn’t discover the network.”
Hale paused.
“He built it.”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
Mason looked unsettled.
Hale continued.
“Owen recruited Cross. Owen moved the files. Owen created the failsafe.”
“Liar,” Emma said.
“Ask Mason why he never saw the ledger himself.”
Emma turned.
Mason did not answer.
“Ask him,” Hale said, “who told him Voss was corrupt.”
Emma looked at Mason.
“Owen?”
Mason remained silent.
Hale laughed.
“Exactly.”
Emma’s chest tightened.
Mason said, “Owen had evidence.”
“Evidence he manufactured.”
“No.”
“You still worship him, Mason.”
A screen on the wall activated.
Security footage appeared.
Eight years old.
Owen entered Room 417.
He carried a metal case.
Daniel Cross followed.
Then Colonel Warren Voss.
Emma stepped closer.
All three men appeared calm.
Talking.
Working together.
Hale said, “Your hero was not a victim.”
Emma whispered, “No.”
Then another man entered the footage.
Dr. Hale.
Eight years younger.
Emma stared.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Hale’s voice hardened.
“Owen betrayed all of us.”
The screen showed Owen suddenly drawing a weapon.
He shot Voss.
Mason stared.
“What?”
Owen shot Cross.
Then aimed toward the camera.
The footage cut.
Emma could not breathe.
Hale said quietly, “Your brother started the fire.”
Emma stepped backward.
“No.”
“He tried to erase everyone.”
Mason looked at the frozen screen.
“This video could be edited.”
“Everything could be a lie, couldn’t it?”
Hale sighed.
“Emma, your mother knew.”
Emma looked up.
“Knew what?”
“She knew what Owen had become.”
Emma shook her head.
“My mother would have told me.”
“Would she?”
Hale paused.
“She helped fake his death.”
Emma stopped.
That explained the promise.
The silence.
Eight years of secrets.
“Where is she?”
“Come to the surgical tower.”
Mason snapped, “No.”
Hale ignored him.
“Level six. Alone.”
Emma whispered, “You said that before.”
“And yet you brought friends.”
The speaker clicked off.
Then locks slammed into place behind them.
A hissing sound filled the room.
Mason looked toward the ceiling vents.
“Gas.”
Marcus ran to the door.
Locked.
Emma coughed.
Mason grabbed a chair and smashed it against the small observation window.
Once.
Twice.
The glass cracked.
Emma’s vision blurred.
Marcus fired into the locking mechanism.
Mason struck again.
Glass exploded outward.
“Emma first.”
“No.”
“Go!”
She climbed through.
Marcus followed.
Mason tried to pull himself up.
His surgical wound reopened.
Blood poured down his shirt.
“Mason!”
He slipped.
Emma grabbed his wrist.
Marcus grabbed the other.
Together they dragged him through as white gas filled Room 417.
Mason collapsed on the floor.
Emma pressed both hands against his abdomen.
“Stay with me.”
He looked at her through half-closed eyes.
“If Hale was telling the truth…”
“He wasn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Emma’s hands shook.
Mason whispered:
“Owen may not be the man either of us thought he was.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Behind them, deep inside sealed Room 417, a hidden printer began producing one page.
A photograph.
Taken eight years earlier.
Owen Callahan standing beside Warren Voss.
May you like
On the back, three handwritten words:
WE STARTED THIS.
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