His stomach knotted. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he knew he was going to get sick. Just one day earlier, he had been a junior resident. Now, whatever happened in the hours ahead to hundreds of patients putting their trust in their caregivers, he was the ultimate authority. There was no one looking over his shoulder. No one with reassurance that he was doing the right thing—making the right decision. His panic lasted for more than an hour, and he twice got physically ill. But when the first code blue was called, the fear ended abruptly, and his life as a doc moved up a notch.

Now, as then, he was paralyzed.

“Hey, pal, what gives?”

Vaill’s voice, ironically, from over his shoulder, brought him back to their reality.

Lou turned slowly, wondering if, as in the V.A., he was going to get sick. “I’m okay.”

“That isn’t the look of someone who’s okay,” Vaill said, pulling his flashlight from Lou’s face and directing it through the trapdoor, where a flight of corrugated metal stairs disappeared into darkness. “I’m surprised this didn’t all hit you awhile ago.” He set his hand on Lou’s shoulder. “You’re doing amazing, doc. Better than I could have ever expected. Look, we have no idea what’s waiting down those stairs. I’d be worried if you weren’t scared. You didn’t bargain for any of this, but you never backed away. And you could have. There have been plenty of chances. Hell, this is a chance right now. I promise I wouldn’t think any less of you if you decided to just head into town and take your chances with the locals there.”

“Don’t worry, I’m in,” Lou said. “Thanks for the props.”

He turned, about to go down the stairs, but Vaill brought him back by the elbow. The agent’s eyes were flint.

“If you’re in, you’re in all the way,” he said. “Somebody could be down there right now waiting to ambush us. If they are, I don’t want any hesitations. None.”

Lou unholstered his Glock and straightened his Kevlar vest. God, but he wished he could hold Emily one more time.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Just keep doing the next right thing, doc. You do that and don’t hesitate, and we’ll be all right.”

The stairs, maybe ten of them, led down to a surprisingly wide, dank, coal-black tunnel, hewn into the rock, and permeated with the distinct odor of the ocean. The rugged ceiling was low enough to make for an uncomfortable, stoop-shouldered passage. Footprints in the dirt-covered floor, like the tire tracks outside, suggested the setup was still in use.

“We’ve got to be passing under the moat,” Lou said.