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“Brigadier General Earl Kreitzer, sir.”
Wilson filed that one away. “What about this hospital?”
“Overall is Colonel Wyman, sir. He’s the task force medical commander, but Lieutenant Colonel Brunkhorst is the medical chief of staff.”
“Are either of them here right now?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Brunkhorst is, sir. May I ask what this is about?” The man snatched the handset out of the cradle. “She’s going to want to know.”
“It’s about that rude woman you have in ICU . . . Something, something Sergeant Sanchez.”
The eyes on the young man from Kansas grew large with recognition and he placed the handset back in its cradle. “Command Master Sergeant Sanchez.”
“That’s right.”
The Kansan looked over both shoulders. “Technically, sir, Lieutenant Colonel Brunkhorst is senior in the chain of command, but truth be told, Command Master Sergeant Sanchez runs this place.”
“Shit.” Wilson slapped his hand on countertop.
“I hope you didn’t do anything to upset her, sir.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “She’s not someone you want to get on the wrong side of.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Wilson was on the verge of really losing it, when the most surprising sight caught his eye. Coming down the hall toward him was one of his former FBI special agents, Sydney Hayek. They had once had a deeply complicated relationship that Hayek had ruined. According to Wilson’s very credible information, she was now working for the CIA. Wilson stepped away from the desk. “Sydney,” he shouted with a friendly wave. “You’re the last person I expected to find here.”
Hayek, normally good at masking her emotions, was incapable of doing so. Joel Wilson was the sole reason she had decided to leave the FBI. “Why are you here?”
Wilson flashed the boyish grin that he was so proud of. “I’m the one asking the questions around here.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she took a quick step back. Wilson tried to cover and said, “You look good.”
Hayek crossed her arms, her eyes glancing at the men behind Wilson. “Why are you here?”
“Well, it’s good to see you as well, Sydney,” Wilson said in an easy tone. “It’s too bad I had to fly to the other side of the planet to run into you. Do you have time to grab a cup of coffee?”
There was no answer. Hayek couldn’t process what she was hearing. Standing before her was a man who had tried to destroy her lif
e. A man who had sexually harassed her and made her actually contemplate suicide. He knew all these things, yet here he was, standing in front of her, acting as if they were old friends.
“We’re not going to have coffee,” Hayek said, remembering how her therapist had told her she needed to be firm and unambiguous.
“That’s too bad, because I could really use your help on something. I hear you’re out at Langley these days.”
“What I do is classified. None of your business.”
Wilson laughed heartily. “You must not be aware of my new job at the Bureau. I’m running the Counterintelligence Division. You know . . . who watches the watchers, and all that stuff.”
Hayek shrugged in an effort to convey what she was thinking, which was: I don’t give a shit what you do.
Wilson leaned forward and with a suave smile said, “So your business actually is my business.”
Hayek wanted to crawl out of her skin. She took a step to the side and said, “I need to be someplace right now.” Two steps later he grabbed her arm.
“Slow down there, missy.”
Hayek pivoted and came back at Wilson with her left fist cocked. “Take your damn hands off me!”
Wilson let go and put his hands up in the air. “You need to calm down. Striking a federal agent will land your pretty little ass in jail.”
“How about sexually harassing a federal agent and stalking her?” After having kept it pent up for years, and thinking she was free from this imbalanced egomaniac, she could no longer keep her feelings bottled up.
Wilson had handled her before and he could handle her now. “I see that Arab temper of yours hasn’t gotten any better.”
