“Perfect.” Ranger shook his head.

“And then he got exposed to the S-poxR, and the vaccine caused myocarditis, or the inflammation of the actual heart muscle. Colt here has cascading issues that have led to myopericarditis, and we’re going to need to figure out how to reverse the damage.”

“Clearly he needs a new heart,” Dodge said.

“I know you’re kidding, but if we can’t get this under control . . . yes, he might need a transplant.”

Colt just stared at him. “Seriously?”

The other doctor stepped in. Bearded, wise eyes, a big man that Colt wanted to trust. His baritone voice threaded through him, stopped the strange roil of panic he’d been trying to ignore. “I’m Major Elroy Austin, the cardiothoracic specialist here at the Cape.” He unslung his stethoscope from around his neck, placed it over Colt’s heart, leaned in, and had a listen.

Big hands, and he reminded Colt of Ace, his team leader. Weirdly, it helped him relax.

The major leaned up. “First, we’re going to do a pericardial tap and drain the fluid around your heart. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to take you into surgery and do a pericardiectomy, or the removal of part or most of the pericardium.”

“Wait,” Dodge said, “that sounds dangerous.”

Thank you. What he said.

The major crossed his arms over his chest. “Survival rates are high. About eighty percent five years out from the surgery—”

“Stop.” Colt moved the oxygen mask aside. “Just . . . listen. I’m fine. I’m just a little banged up. We don’t need to start removing pieces of my heart.”

Yes, mea culpa, mea culpa, he should have mentioned something to someone, maybe. The fact that for the past two weeks he had felt out of breath, as if a hand were squeezing his heart. But no need to go overboard here. He lay back. “Let’s do the tap. And then . . . just wait. I can beat this.”

“You can’t will your heart to be fixed, Colt,” Lucas said.

He stared at the doc. “My heart was broken long before Nigeria,” he said softly. “I don’t expect it to get fixed. But I don’t want to surrender it quite yet.”

Lucas patted him on the shoulder. Looked at the major. Nodded.

They walked out, and Dodge and Ranger came up, each on one side of the bed. Ranger’s lips were pursed. Dodge ground his jaw, his arms still folded over his chest.

“What?” Colt asked.

“You should have told us before the assault on the Russian compound that you weren’t okay.”

“I was okay! I just felt a little . . . off.” His chest still burned where they’d shocked him, and fatigue pressed him into the bed, but . . .

Fine. He sighed. “Truth is, I should have been dead a long time ago.”

Ranger glanced at Dodge. Back to Colt. “Are you talking about Nigeria?”