Chapter 18 - BACK WHERE IT STARTED
Clara entered her old apartment at 3:14 a.m.
Mercer noticed the time.
“So poetic.”
Clara closed the door.
“You kidnapped the wrong grocer.”
S nodded vigorously.
“I told him.”
Mercer ignored him.
Marcus Vale stood near the window.
Clara looked at him.
“Running out of tunnels?”
His jaw tightened.
Mercer smiled.
“I understand why Victor loves you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I understand obsession.”
“That’s not love.”
Mercer studied her.
“Your father said the same thing.”
Clara’s expression changed.
Mercer had known Nathan intimately.
Not as colleagues.
As enemies who once considered each other friends.
Years earlier, Mercer and Nathan had developed a trauma-research program together.
Mercer believed desperate patients could accelerate medical progress.
Nathan believed desperation made true consent impossible.
Their partnership ended.
Mercer continued without him.
“You think I’m a monster,” Mercer said.
“You experimented on people.”
“And developed treatments that saved thousands.”
“You don’t get to erase the bodies by counting survivors.”
Mercer smiled sadly.
“Nathan always sounded like that.”
S suddenly said:
“Your friend talks too much.”
Mercer turned.
S headbutted Vale.
Chaos.
Clara dove.
Victor entered through the rear door.
Roman through the front.
Vale fired.
The bullet struck Mercer.
Everyone froze.
Mercer looked down.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Vale stared in horror.
“I—”
Mercer shot him.
Once.
Vale fell.
Clara ran to Mercer.
Victor caught her.
“No.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“I’m still a doctor.”
Victor released her.
Clara pressed her hands against Mercer’s wound.
He laughed weakly.
“Nathan would be proud.”
“Don’t speak for him.”
“Still stubborn.”
“Save your oxygen.”
Mercer survived.
Vale did not.
Before paramedics removed Mercer, he whispered something to Clara.
“There are more islands.”
Clara leaned closer.
“How many?”
Mercer smiled.
“Ask Rebecca.”
Clara went still.
Across the room, Rebecca Arden stood beside Roman.
Her face changed.
Victor saw it.
“Rebecca?”
She ran.
Roman caught her before she reached the stairs.
Inside her coat they found a satellite phone.
Seven messages.
All sent to Mercer.
Clara stared at her.
“You brought him to us.”
Rebecca began crying.
“My father doesn’t know.”
“Why?”
“They have my son.”
Silence.
Clara’s anger vanished.
Rebecca showed them a photograph.
A nine-year-old boy.
Lucas.
Taken six months earlier.
Mercer’s people had threatened to kill him if Rebecca stopped cooperating.
Clara looked at Victor.
Victor looked at the frightened mother.
Once, he might have called betrayal unforgivable.
Now he asked one question.
“Where is the boy?”
Rebecca whispered:
“I don’t know.”
May you like
Victor picked up the satellite phone.
“Then we find him.”
