I was taken out of intensive care and placed on the medical/surgical floor. Three FBI agents were assigned to our security, taking round-the-clock shifts. Special Agent Steele was handling the investigation. He was tallish, about my height, but with a much stockier build. I could imagine him playing college football forty years earlier. He had a quick mind and a gentle spirit. I immediately trusted him. He had some questions for me. I answered as best I could remember. Events not just of the past four days but for days before that were hazy. Fortunately, the nanite infection hadn’t hindered access to the Grid or my memory stream, which I had to use to answer many of his questions.

He rose when he had finished questioning me. “Abby indicates that you are in possession of the messages from Ray Caldwell. Can you provide me with access to those?”

I instructed Alistair to give him access to them.

The agent looked at Abby. “I’ll take a look at these and follow up on some of the other information you’ve provided. I—You don’t have neural implants, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Then I’ll tap this room if I need anything else.”

“Agent Steele…” Abby hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Do you think Bryson Nichols may be behind what happened to Creighton?”

He looked at me, then back at Abby. “I prefer not to engage in speculation before the facts are in. Especially in a case like this. I’ll let you know what I find out. Agent Ruiz is outside if you need him.” He walked out.

Abby picked up my right hand and caressed it. In a moment she spoke. “Creighton, I need to ask your forgiveness.”

“For what?”

“For overreacting at my grandfather’s house. I realize you were just trying to help, but I took it as a personal attack. If I hadn’t stormed out…”

I lifted my left hand across my body and placed it over hers. “Abby, I don’t really remember that. But if you think you’re responsible in any way for my not getting medical care fast enough—”

“But if I had been there with you…” She wiped a tear out of each eye. “I never should have gotten you into this. I never should have—”

I shook my head. “Abby, I knew what I was getting into.” I forced a smile. “Besides, I’m still here.”

Half an hour later Agent Ruiz opened the door. Dr. Peter Foreman, the hospital’s chief neurosurgeon, entered the room. He pulled up a visiscreen and examined it. “Discontinue,” he said. He stood at the foot of my bed. “Your vitals look good, Dr. Daniels. And the brain infection continues to be dormant.” He lowered his voice. “Do you understand the nature of the infection?”

I nodded. “Can you tell me what the damage is?”