+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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Tanya was surprised to see Gillian walk into the command post, but Ron signaled not to ask. "Russell is still in surgery," she said, instead.
Gillian's voice was a deadened murmur. "Thanks, T. Now get me Cooper or Cassidy, please."
Fred approached Kurt and studied the readings from the scanner and the satellite. Hank noticed his frown and joined him. A glance at the screens was enough for him to frown too.
"What the hell are they doing?" he grunted.
"Nothing right," Fred replied. "Balken's gonna break their lines in an hour tops."
"On the fence side, right?"
"Yep. And then they'll be in the wind."
Gillian heard them without paying real attention. As usual, the overdrive was receding into a numb autopilot. She only wanted all of it to be over.
"Is there any coffee?" she asked Tanya when the girl handed her the satellite phone.
Tanya pointed at the other end of the tent. Gillian saw a few Portland agents having coffee in paper cups over there. Just a few steps away—too far for her right now. She took the phone, noticing they looked exhausted too.
"Gillian?" said Cassidy on the phone. "Where are you?
"About to leave the command post, sir."
"Brockner and Coleman?"
"They've been taken to Caribou, to the hospital. At least to patch'em enough to bear the flight to Portland. Coleman is in surgery, Brockner is on his way to it as we speak. My team and I are leaving now, sir. We did what we came here to do. Your cowboys are having too much fun screwing up big time, and we ain't gonna take any part in it."
"What do you mean?" Cassidy sounded alarmed. Good, he should be.
"They're doing it all wrong and Balken is about to escape with a bunch of his fellas. But the cowboys didn't follow my instructions before, so I ain't picking up a fight with them about this."
"They what?" That was Cooper.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. We've just spent three hours in the woods under heavy fire to extract Agent Brockner. If you don't mind, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."
"Of course. Do you have accommodation?"
"Yes, thanks. We're getting a little sleep here, to head to Portland in the morning."
"Who's at the hospital with Coleman and Brockner?"
"Miles, sir."
Cassidy would've wanted to have Scotty beam him to the Northern Woods, because Gillian's dull voice was even worse than her homicidal overdrive on her way north.
"Alright, Gillian, go. Take with you all the agents not involved in any action right now," said Cooper. "Call me in the morning."
"Thanks. You should ship more Tacs over, ma'am. And a senior officer with a brain to lead them."
"I'll have the jet ready to fly you to Portland in the morning," said Cassidy.
"No need, sir, thank you. We can use the long drive."
* * *
The morning birds sang under the last stars when they arrived at the cabins. The owner was already up and making breakfast for his fed guests, so all of them agreed it was worth a little wait, to have some fresh coffee and a generous homemade meal before crashing for a few hours.
They sat at the long board tables with steamy mugs, lost in a tired silence, when Aldana called from the hospital. As soon as she started talking, Gillian wondered how bad Russell was when they found him, for Aldana to sound so relieved about what she was saying.
Russell was out of the OR and on his way to the ICU. According to the doctors, the simple fact of him surviving surgery was promising. But it would take at least forty-eight hours to tell whether he would make it. Then, depending on how he responded, they could run some tests to establish a complete, more accurate prognosis, and tell what was next for him—including how long it'd take him to be back on his feet. Months, for sure. And intensive rehab treatment to recover full mobility on his hands, after removing the casts in due time. So all in all, it was a day-by-day process. Step by step: Russell was out of surgery alive, and they should be happy about it.
All of them expected Gillian to ask about Brock, but she didn't. She could only stare blankly at the satellite phone, struggling to accept her best friend was in the same situation her mother had been for years—fine today, but tomorrow never knows. She didn't want any more of what that bullshit doctors called good news. She couldn't tell Aldana so, but their predictions about Russell were like a gross prank for her.
"Brockner's in the OR now," said Aldana anyway. "They told me it's gonna take them at least a couple of hours to patch him up, but it should take shorter than Russell."
Ron glanced at Gillian, whose eyes stayed down. "Keep us up, Al," he said. "We're gonna sleep a couple of hours before hitting the road. We'll meet you in Portland early in the afternoon."
