Chapter 7

                Boy, why are you crying?

                J.M. Barrie

If Cynthia was surprised to see Jennifer, she didn't show it. The older woman looked up from her seat in the waiting room to see Cynthia come in wearing pink scrubs with cartoon horses printed on them. Her hair was a tangled mess and she had mascara in dried drips under her eyes. She was also on a cell phone giving the person on the other end a rundown of events as she had seen them.

Jennifer listened intently. She figured, as Brian's assistant, Cynthia had quite a bit of juggling to do, and since there had been no new information to share about Brian since she sat down half an hour ago, she went back to fiddling with her purse strap.

Marc had recognized Jennifer, and after introducing himself, took to pacing the depressing waiting room. For the moment they were, the three of them, alone, each of them in their own private hell, together for the sake of one man.

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Tasha had been roaming the public areas of the ship in an effort to catch The Dick, as she privately referred to Brian, in an unguarded moment. So far she was having no luck. She had managed to see an absurd number of security people talking into radios in some weird pseudo military jargon as they rushed around, peering into every nook and cranny.

Her intuition screamed that something was afoot, but she was unable to pinpoint exactly what it was. She held her door key, and pretended to be searching for her room, whenever she neared them, hoping to catch a stray word, or gesture that would give her a clue. She kept up the ruse, undetected, for fifty-three minutes. Then it happened.

She was passing through a small group of men in black jeans and navy blue polo shirts,(AKA The Dick's security), when she heard it. One of the radios squawked.

"...no update as yet. Priority One status is unknown."

She continued down the passageway and ducked into a service closet, with her heart beating a mile a minute.

Is someone missing? Hurt?

Who the hell is Priority One?

Plenty of extremely wealthy and powerful people aboard. Which one would be given that status?

The Senator?

One of the movie stars?

She took some deep breaths to center herself.

Think, think,

Think it through.

No single person on the ship has enough sway over another to warrant that description.

Come at it from a different angle.

Who would The Dick's security team label...?

AAHHHH! There you have it!

Something has happened to HIM!

But, What?

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Everett hung up the phone and hooked it on his belt. He was grateful for whatever providence had brought Jennifer Taylor to New York in time to be at the hospital to make the critical decisions, per Brian's wishes. Another fraction of fear eased from his chest. He was confident for now, that between her, Cynthia, and Marc, nothing would happen to Brian under their care. He hoped.

Now he had to find the unshaven man.

His teams were doing due diligence in the search. In point-of -fact, they were doing admirably, since he had added the restriction of doing the search covertly. The last thing anyone wanted was for the civilians to catch wind of what was going on. If that happened their collective, proverbial goose was cooked, and the world would know about it in... well... a New York minute.

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He was flying. Weaving around the towering skyscrapers of Gayopolis. He could see his reflection in the window glass if he got close enough.

Why, the fuck, am I wearing something with a big tear across the chest?

Oh, right, RAGE.

Fucking Michael.

I'm not some fucking superhero.

Something he did not quite catch, whispered in the back of his mind, unacknowledged, as he watched the streets below. It was not easy to stay aloof.

Drugs, were bought and sold, by government officials.

People, including children, were trafficked.

Guns, on the streets, in schools, and churches.

Fat politicians, stealing the clothes from the homeless and laughing about it over state dinners.

The populace, starving, while the land of plenty withered and died.

Bombs, in places of celebration.

Each one a stabbing pain in the heart and a driving needle in the brain.

I'M NOT A FUCKING SUPERHERO! I AM ONLY ONE MAN!

The whisper came again. The one that said "Not yet...but you could be."

The memory of laughing blue eyes challenging him.

A vice gripped his heart, sending him plummeting to the ground.

An inaudible snicker followed by an undeniable truth..."You could be Dr. Evil."

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Everett was standing just inside the door of Brian's stateroom. The only light in the room came from a floor lamp situated in front of his prisoner, shining into the man's face. He was tied to a straight-backed chair in the center of the floor. Content that the imposter was going nowhere fast, he stepped into the hall.

"Report"

Noah stood taller "Sir, the subject was apprehended in a maintenance room, as you see him".

Everett raised a brow, but said nothing.

Noah colored slightly, and pressed on. "He did not resist. The clothing and ID bracelet are missing. I have a man going through the employee manifest and discreetly rescanning bracelets in an effort to narrow down which one he used, since we did not have cameras at the dockside security checkpoint."

Everett nodded his approval, and even though he already knew the answer, asked "If he didn't resist, how'd he get the lip and the shiner?"

Noah, not missing a beat, said "He, uhm, tripped, on the way up here. Must've bumped my knee on the way down."

Noah followed his boss into the room, silently watching as he strode directly to the prisoner and planted his fist in the man's face. His head snapped back sharply from the blow and when it returned upright, he spat out two teeth, a mix of blood and saliva dripping down his chin onto his bare chest and lap.

He gave his captors a humorless grin, wetly saying with a thick accent, "I teel ju nothing." as he spat more blood.

"Ah, Ruskie, eh?" Everett's eyes lit with a foul gleam. "Nice ink." He pointed to the dragon tattoo on his naked left pectoral. "I recognize it. Blue scales, New York. Rampant pose, wetworks. Both eyes visible, assassin. Claws exposed on every limb, you are very...experienced. "

"Den ju know eez useless to ghet me to talk." He sneered.

Everett said nothing as he stripped off his jacket, followed by his tie, shirt, and undershirt. He stepped close, so he was in the sphere of light from the lamp and raised his left arm. He bared his own tattoo, just below his armpit for the prisoner to see, and was rewarded by a flicker of recognition on the man's bloody face.

"You know what this means, eh?"

A jerk of the head in affirmation, "John 8:32, I can read."

Everett put his arm down, braced his hands on the armrests, and leaned into the man's face until he could smell his sweat. "You know what it means. Enlighten my friend over there."

For a full minute, he said nothing, as Everett stared him down, refusing to move.

Finally, he spoke, flippant and belligerent, "Eez Bible verse. Sez 'And ye shall know de truth, and de truth shall set ju free.'"

Everett did not move, "And tell my good friend, what that means..."

"I am not theologian..."

Everett head-butted him in a move so swift, Noah had not even seen it, only the resulting broken nose and gushing blood. His boss was as still as stone, invading the imposter's space.

The captive gargled a breath, "Eez good, dat move, have to remember eet," he angled his head minutely in Noah's direction.

"Eet means, he was elite eenterrogator. Part of veery small force, maybe four to seex men at any time in world. Used by U.S. when dey not want to admeet complicity for certain, eh, questionable methods for eentelligence gathering."

Everett stared holes in the prisoner's eye sockets, when he stopped speaking. "The three, branded, scar lines. Tell him."

"First scar, train weeth MI6/SIS. Second scar, train weeth Israeli Mossad. Third scar, marks heem as teacher. All, together, mark heem as Inquisitor."

Everett gave him a savage smile, picked up his clothing, and exited, Noah hot on his heels.

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The three of them stood as the doctor came into the ICU waiting room.

"Ms. Taylor, Mr. Kinney has been moved to a recovery room in the ICU. We have managed to get him off the breather, but we have elected to keep him under very light sedation, given his other injuries. He was hypothermic when he arrived, complicated by those injuries and a blood alcohol level that should have downed an elephant. Frankly, I have no idea how we got his heart going again, except to say that divine intervention or freakishly good luck had to play a major role.

We are going to keep him under observation for a few days, to make sure. We also re-stitched the wound on his side, and have him on a course of antibiotics to ward off infection. I will take you to see him, for a few minutes, then I suggest you go home and get some rest."

Jennifer simply nodded and followed him back to the curtained nook where Brian lay sleeping. The doctor checked the machines, made notes in his chart, and quietly left.

Brian's arm and shoulder were in some sort of soft-cast contraption that had the limb sticking out away from his torso. His breathing seemed normal, but his color was far paler than she had ever seen it, even in deep winter and dark shadows marked the skin of his lids and under his closed lashes. The awful blue-grey of the hospital gown and the hideous yellow-gold of the blanket did nothing but make his complexion seem even worse. The image, aided not at all by the wires attached to his chest and the IVs in his hand, was one she was sure he would want no one to see.

She moved close enough to lean in and brush the hair back from his forehead before she whispered in his ear, "You look like hammered shit Brian and your blanket is harvest gold. If you don't want to end up in one of Debbie's animal prints, you need to wake up and tell me what color you want."

She knew, of course, that he would not wake up for some time, but she had never seen him back away from a challenge before and knew he wouldn't be caught dead in that get up. She kissed his temple, and went back to the waiting room to make some arrangements.

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Ted paced his cabin as Emmett lay back across the bed with his arm thrown over his face. Poor Ted still could not get his brain to wrap around the possibilities.

"Ted, please stop pacing and sit down." Emmett was tired beyond words. He had slept fitfully the night he and Brian went to the club, and last night, not at all.

"Tell me again, what happened, Emmett, and leave nothing out."

Emmett was frustrated that Ted seemed to think that repeating every little detail would change the outcome, or at least make it understandable, when there was no understanding to be had. He loved Ted, but his friend was a logical person, and logic had nothing to do with the current circumstances.

Emmett sat up, blinking at the weak, fall sunlight that signaled another morning.

"Look Ted, all I know is, Brian was stabbed yesterday, was overboard last night, was rescued by the little naked mermaid, and is now in ICU. Really, that's it."

Ted was not mollified and before he could launch into a Ted Tirade, Emmett held up his hands in a gesture for peace.

"Please, Ted, you are in a much better position to get information if you want it. Why don't you go look for that Everett guy, wouldn't he know the answers to your questions?"

"I tried that, but got nothing else." Ted made it sound like the whole ship was conspiring to keep him uninformed.

"Teddy, Honey, you really need to chill. Maybe no one knows anything else yet." Emmett's head started to pound. As Ted sat next to him on the bed, he laid back again, hoping for silence as he yawned, knowing he was going to be disappointed.

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Everett was more than happy to hand over the prisoner and the investigation to the police and port authorities after all the guests disembarked. It was nearing noon and he really needed to get to the hospital. He was hoping Brian was awake and could answer some of the questions he knew the police would have. For now, the boys in blue were willing to put off talking to him, while they went over the evidence Everett had supplied along with his employee roster, the guest list, passenger manifest, and other data that such a large affair produced. He knew that would only be the beginning, but for now it would do.

Making a last sweep, his personnel departed with all of their equipment, and a new assignment to reach out to their various contacts in a search for some bit of information that would shed some light on the sudden violent attacks. Something had to have triggered them. Granted, Brian was...well ...Brian. He had certainly pissed off plenty of people, most likely powerful people.

But how does that precipitate premeditated murder?

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Brian was moved to a private room, spurring Jennifer to take the opportunity to get coffee. She loaded the cups of dark roast onto a tray and helped herself to handfuls of sugar and creamer, balancing the tray in one hand while pushing the button on the elevator for the eighth floor with the other. The doctor had said the sedatives should be wearing off soon and he could have whatever fluids he wanted.

Jennifer left the elevator, walking down the hall to the waiting room where Cynthia was still handling business on the phone. She silently handed her a cup and let her take what she needed from the tray before heading to Brian's room. Marc sat on a chair outside the door, in a protective position, and nodded his thanks when offered a cup. Picking one from the tray he stood and opened the door, then let it drift closed behind her.

She set the tray on the rolling table, poured two creamers into her cup, and six sugars into Brian's. Then she sat in the metal and plastic chair next to his bed and waited for him to wake up. Pulling out her phone, she debated whether, or not, to call anyone, then decided she should let Brian have the choice, so she put it away again. She hated hospitals. She had hated them even before Justin had been hurt. Her father had lingered with pancreatic cancer for seven months, and the daily trips had been exhausting. Watching him deteriorate was terrible. She could no longer think about him without picturing the way he had looked just before he died, hollow-cheeked and frail, in perpetual pain. That was the worst part. Any memory, even good ones, ended with that visual and she would not wish it on anyone.

She gave up her musings when Brian moaned and clenched his hand into a fist. She leaned closer, uncurling his fingers and rubbing her palm over his clammy one. He trembled, sweat beaded his lip, and his legs jerked under the blanket. She sat on the side of the bed near his hip, and brought his hand to his stomach while she felt his forehead. He was not feverish, but he was now sweating profusely. He mumbled and turned his head into her hand. He was quiet for a few moments, but his breathing became increasingly more desperate. Short, gasping reaches for air, until his whole body was quaking. Jennifer thought he might be having a seizure and pushed the button for the nurse as his high keening wail filled the room, broken at the end by guttural sobs as he tried to curl into himself. He jerked violently, dislodging her from the bed as Marc came into the room to investigate the sound.

"Night terrors" was all the information Jennifer offered as she resumed her place on the bed and did her best to soothe him. Marc went to the other side and mimicked her gentle rubbing, but was only making it worse as Brian shied away from his touch, and all but wrapped himself, lying on his side, around Jennifer. Marc moved away without saying anything, and Brian relaxed a little bit as Jennifer guided his head and shoulders to her lap and raked her fingers through his hair. After a few minutes, the sobbing subsided to silent weeping before stopping altogether. He shivered, his teeth chattering, and Jennifer rubbed his back in long passes, from top to bottom, knowing it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

A nurse walked in then, a look of reproach on her face, at the state her patient was in, but Jennifer did not give her a chance to say anything.

"Where were you ten minutes ago? Fuck off!"

The nurse left in a huff, and Marc raised an eyebrow when Jennifer looked his way to see if he was going to call her on her rudeness.

They were both surprised to hear a very weak chuckle and "Good Girl" from Brian. Jennifer glanced down at his tear streaked face to find his eyes half-open and looking at her. She patted his hair one more time and gave him her brave smile. His eyes were gentle, letting her know he knew how she felt. She blinked in understanding.

"Thanks...Mom." He moved, grunting at the effort, until properly situated in the bed. Marc left to make calls, and as he closed the door, heard Brian clear his throat and ask, "Do I smell coffee?"

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Everett drove through midday traffic with skills that would shame most racecar drivers, spearing through openings between cars that should not be big enough for the SUV, with the deftness of a surgeon and a couple layers of paint to spare. Ted regretted his choice of the front seat immediately and decided he did not like the idea of knowing his death was imminent as he gripped the handle on the doorframe in silent desperation. Emmett teased him about it unmercifully and told Everett it was better than any roller coaster he had ever ridden.

They screeched to a stop in the drop off lane of the hospital where Everett tossed the keys to one of his men waiting on the sidewalk and continued straight to the bank of elevators inside. Ted and Emmett had to hustle to keep up with the older man.

"Sheesh, Everett, you work out?" Emmett said, mildly winded, and a panting Ted shot him a reproachful look for being so forward.

"Some" Everett replied, hitting the button for the eighth floor, facing away from them, as he stood between them and the doors.

Ted and Emmett being...Ted and Emmett, took the opportunity to check out his ass, making orgasmic faces at each other, and pretending to fan themselves with their hands dramatically.

"Would you like me to turn around so you can check out the front too?" Everett asked drolly.

Ted cleared his throat and ducked his head in embarrassment but Emmett gave his back a gamine smile, "Dare ya..."

The doors opened and Everett turned to face them, walking backwards out of the elevator, with his arms out to his sides, giving them a few seconds of the view, before righting himself and heading for Brian's room. Emmett pretended to faint. Leaning on Ted, he joked, "Be still my heart..." causing Ted to, playfully, slap his cheeks to "revive" him. They were still swatting at each other when Everett stopped at Brian's door. He turned and pierced them with "The Look". Perfected by parents the world over, and guaranteed to covey the level of shit you would be in, if you continued in your stupidity. When he was sure they had collected their dignity, he led them in.

Brian was about to greet him until he noticed who followed. "Did you have to bring the Tweedles with you?" His voice edged near a whine.

Everett gave him an insouciant flash of teeth as he extended his hand. "Good to know your humor didn't drown".

Brian shook it in a firm grip, "You get him?"

Everett nodded, glancing in Jennifer's direction, indicating that Brian might need privacy for this conversation.

"She can stay, and I assume those two already know what you're going to tell me anyway. I am going to assume, that everyone in this room, knows to keep their mouths shut. Cynthia should probably hear it though, so you might want to round her up." Brian did not want to wait, but she would kill him, slowly, if she thought she was out of the loop.

Everett shook his head, "She's pulling information for the cops right now. I will get her up to speed when I'm done here."

Marc came in, carrying a very large duffle bag. He shared a wordless communication with Everett, setting the bag on the floor nearest Jennifer, before resuming his post outside the door.

"I think Cynthia and I have given the cops enough data to keep them busy for the rest of today, and if luck holds, tomorrow as well. Last update I gave the lead investigator was that you were still in ICU. You might, fingers crossed, get a couple of days before they come here to question you. I gave them copies of all the video footage we found, and our prisoner. I got more than a few sidelong looks, since the guy was naked and bleeding, but hey, I didn't tell him to ditch his clothes."

Ted did not think Brian was as well as he let on, because he didn't offer a single, snide remark over the naked bit. Everett continued as Jennifer silently unpacked the duffle bag.

"His type of tattoo is like a business card or resume'. Long story short, he's a professional hitman. I'm not going to get into that here and now, but I will give you a copy of my written statement that I am doing for the police, as well as those of my men. You will get all the nitty gritty from that and I will answer any questions you have or clarify if you need it."

Brian had no expression on his face as he rubbed his thumb over his index finger and Everett continued.

"I never really bought that the stabbing was random, though it could have been, but now I'm pretty damn sure they are connected. So far we have managed to keep a lid on all of this, a small miracle in our favor, but at some point it is gonna come out. Maybe not the attempted murder part, but someone here is either going to recognize you or your name, and spill the beans. Because whatever information leaks, whether truth or lies, is going to end up on the news, my advice to you, would be to come up with a statement, and head it off before it gets out of hand. Control the content. I can help you with that if you like, write it up, and bring it to you for your approval."

Brian nodded "I agree. I also think, once the cops have their statement from me, I should get out of town for a while." Three pairs of civilian eyes locked onto him in surprise. Brian was not one to run away scared. "A little vacation...to recuperate", he qualified, gesturing to his injured arm, as he stared pointedly at Everett. Jennifer, Emmett, and Ted all relaxed, exactly as Brian had intended, but Everett heard the meaning loud and clear. Brian was thinking that his leaving would draw the danger with him, leaving the people he cared about in relative safety. Everett nodded his agreement.

Brian squared his shoulders, as much as the awkward cast would allow, and turned his focus to Ted.

"I want you to work closely with Cynthia and Everett to give the cops whatever they need from Kinnetik's end of things. They will both be in and out of the office, so you will hold down the fort. Any direct calls for Cynthia will go to Jacobson, and I trust you to field the rest. I imagine she will want to reschedule some things while I am here but you need to be at the office every day so the employees see there is still someone in charge, and do their jobs. I know it seems like babysitting, but the show must go on. Can you do that Theodore?"

Ted swelled with self-importance. "Of course, Bri, whatever you say".

Brian tilted his head in the direction of the door and just before Ted reached it, he said "Do not, tell anyone back home about this."

"But, Michael..."

"NO ONE, Theodore. Understand? You do remember what happens if you fuck up?"

Ted nodded vigorously as he left.

Brian was scratching his neck and chest, making Jennifer smile to herself. She carried some things to the bathroom, happy she had made the right call. She set his expensive bottles and tubes of toiletries on the shelf, in the shower stall, and walked out of the bathroom as a doctor came to check on him.

He took a look around the room and seemed a little perturbed to find an audience, but Jennifer gave him credit for not being stupid enough to say anything. The doctor watched Brian's heart monitor for a few minutes then listened to his lungs, making sure they were clear of fluid before adjusting his IV lines.

"How's the pain, Mr. Kinney?" He asked, without looking up from the chart he was writing in.

"Feels like a Wookie ripped my arm off and beat me over the head with it. How do you think it feels?" Brian was losing patience quickly.

"I'm not surprised. The soft cast is going to mean a slightly higher level of pain in the arm as it heals since it does not completely immobilize like a hard cast would. However, we did not risk the hard cast, fearing the weight would put too much strain on the clavicle and cause complications, hence the contraption you are currently sporting. You will definitely need physical therapy, but we will talk about that before you are released. I am going to stop the heavy painkillers you are getting through the IV, and switch to something a little less potent you can take orally, since you are awake and seem to be okay, considering the circumstances. You can't have the pills for about another hour and a half, but I will put the order in now, so you don't have to ask for them later."

"Gee, thanks Doc." Brian said.

The doctor asked him if he had any questions, but Brian just stared him down until he gave up and left. As soon as the door closed, Brian snarled and did his best to throw the covers off his legs onto the floor. Emmett, sensing a queen-out of epic proportions, hastily picked them up, and stood with his mouth gaping as Brian clawed at the skin on his legs with his good hand until they were beet red. Jennifer carried thick toweling to the bathroom, turned on the taps in the stall to heat the room, then went to stand by the bed where Brian was trying to reach a difficult spot on his back.

"What are you two staring at?" She crossed her arms and gave Emmett and Everett a look guaranteed to make them feel five years old. "He needs a shower. He has dried salt water and whatever pollutants they dump in the ocean here, all over him. He smells like a fish market, no offense Brian, and if he is going to be moving around, he needs to do it before the heavy-duty painkillers wear off entirely."

Emmett sensed he was not going to like the answer to his question but asked it anyway. "What are we supposed to do about it?"

Brian snarled at him, Everett rolled his eyes, and Jennifer gave him a look usually reserved for the village idiot.

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Justin's covert bodyguard, Geri, watched from her car in the pick-up lane at the airport, as Justin got in the car parked half a dozen spaces ahead of her. She called Everett to let him know the shit was gonna hit the fan before pulling into traffic and following.

Her next call was to get one of Justin's regular security detail members, hopefully Noah as they were close to the same age, to head to the apartment and do his best to explain what was going on, before Justin heard it from someone else, and assumed the worst.