Chapter Twenty-Two
Sterling pushed open the door to Doyle’s hospital room a little after three in the morning. He wasn't supposed to be there. Visiting hours wouldn't start for another few hours, but Doyle had asked for him, and Sterling had waited.
That had to mean something.
The hallway behind him was packed with suits, badges, guns, and people arguing over who had jurisdiction over which piece of the shit show. FBI. CIA. A couple of men who didn’t introduce themselves because men like that usually believed their silence made them interesting.
It didn’t.
Doyle lay propped against two pillows, his left shoulder wrapped thick under the hospital gown. The surgeon had dug out the bullet, patched the damage, and called it minor. That wasn't much of a stretch for men like Doyle.
Doyle shifted his head. “You look like hell.”
"You don't look any better." Sterling closed the door. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad.” He lifted a cord. "This thing keeps me pumped full of pain meds. I used to think that made me weak. Now, I think they make me sane."
“They give you an odd grin is what they do.” Sterling laughed.
Doyle shifted against the pillow and winced. “I hear I'm kind of half screwed.”
Sterling crossed the room and stopped near the foot of the bed. The monitor beside Doyle kept a steady rhythm. The IV bag hung limp and clear from a pole near his shoulder. "The text you sent Dawson helps. I mean, you did save our lives."
"Is that how you're spinning it?"
"It's not spin. It's the truth."
Doyle patted his chest. "I'm honestly humbled by that."
“Why’d you do it?” Sterling asked.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Why’d you set me up?”
Doyle let out a breath. “That’s a long story.”
“I just want the basics.” Sterling wasn't sure why he needed to know. It wasn’t like he was broken up about a shattered friendship. But down deep, Sterling did feel betrayed. They were brothers-in-arms. They’d served their country. They'd bled together. There was camaraderie in nearly dying together that most men would never understand.
Doyle did, and yet, he broke it.
“It started in Bogotá," Doyle said.
Sterling’s hand tightened around the metal rail.
"You have to understand, I didn't know the wet team was coming.”
"What do you mean, you didn't know?" Sterling asked.
"I was pulled in much like Juniper was." Doyle rubbed his temple with his good hand. “All normal channel stuff. Came from superiors, and to this day, I'm not even sure if they were actually Shrike, or being manipulated by Koda,” Doyle said. “I was just supposed to give intel. Next thing I know, I'm being told to let the wet team in so they could extract you, and if it meant killing everyone, so be it.”
“That decision killed Marlow and Driscoll.”
“I held my ground. I took a bullet that day.” Doyle shifted his gaze, catching Sterling's. "The second I realized that I was going to be the only one who walked out of there alive, I decided that I wanted no part of that."
“Two good men still died, and you still ended up working for Shrike.”
"I can't deny that." Doyle reached for his water and took a sip. “Koda doesn’t walk up and ask you to betray your country. He finds the part of you that already believes you're doing the right thing, even if you know you’re crossing the line.”
