Nathan’s cell woke him. He immediately scanned his surroundings, unsure of where he was. The ER’s waiting room. Having confirmed Holly had survived but remained in surgery, Nathan had planted himself and promptly fallen asleep. He looked at his watch. Four hours had passed. Sitting directly across from him, Bruce Henning had also dozed off, but Nathan’s phone had awakened him as well. The LCD indicated a restricted number.

“Hello.”

“Mr. McBride?”

“Who’s calling?”

“FBI Director Ethan Lansing.”

Nathan didn’t respond.

“Are you there, Mr. McBride?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got your green light. Don’t do anything until we talk again.”

The line went dead.

Henning looked haunted. “Holly’s awake, barely. She needed emergency surgery to relieve pressure on her brain. She wants to talk to you.”

“How’d she look?”

“Not so good. She’s been in and out of consciousness for the last hour. They’ve got her pumped full of morphine.”

“Her burns, how severe are they?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I called her cell. A paramedic answered it.”

“They’re mostly on her legs and back. Not too bad, considering where she was. The doctors think something large struck her head, a piece of a desk or chair. Could’ve been anything.”

“Where were you when it detonated?” Nathan thought it strange he hadn’t asked this until now.

“Second floor, far side of the building. The air… It seemed to shimmer for an instant.”

“The compression wave. How are your ears?”

“Still ringing. I hope it goes away.”

“It should. Might take a day or two. Can you take me up to see her?”

“Yeah, sure. I didn’t want to wake you. You know, I… ah… never thanked you the other night for saving my wife’s life up at the compound.” Henning attempted a smile. “I hear she tried to kill you.”

“Tried being the operative word. Is she okay? Was she in the building?”

“No.”

“I’m on your side.”

Henning nodded. “I know that now. I’m sorry about being rude the other night.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Will you keep your visit brief? She needs to sleep.”

“No problem.” Nathan followed him through the emergency room’s foyer, past four Sacramento police officers, and down a narrow hall lit with fluorescent lights.

At a bank of elevators, Henning pressed the button and took a step back. “We’ve got twenty-one dead, fifty-eight with serious injuries. Seven of them critical.”

Nathan said nothing.

“It’s not hard to guess who did this. You going after them?”

“Big-time.”

“I want to help. What can I do?”

Nathan turned and faced him. “You’re a hardworking and honest public servant, Henning. SAC Simpson told me as much on the drive up to the cabin. Don’t blow everything you’ve worked for over this. It’s too high a price.”