Page 166 of Bound By Fire
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Ridge
The hangar is quiet. Many of the non-essential staff have left for lunch at the cafeteria. That gives me a window. Not a big one, but enough.
I make my way past the main bay, where a dragon is sleeping. I’m sure he’s heavily sedated. A junior tech is sitting on a stool a few feet away, reading something on her phone. She looks up when I pass and nods at me.
I nod back and keep walking.
My laptop bag is slung over one shoulder. Inside it is the first evidence bag. It’s double-sealed and tucked between the laptop and the lining.
I have my Council clearance hanging on a lanyard around my neck. To anyone watching, I’m exactly what I’m supposed to be – the male carrying out the final sweep of a security assessment. I round the corner and almost walk into Dr. Jenkins coming out of the pharmacy back room.
She’s in green scrubs with a white coat over the top, her dark hair twisted up and clipped at the back of her head. She has a clipboard tucked under one arm and a coffee in her other hand.
“Commander.” She steps to one side to let me through. “How’s the review going?”
“Almost done,” I say. “Wrapping up the final checks today.”
“About time you let us get back to normal.” She gives me a small, tired smile. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m just hoping the new keypads aren’t too complicated. I can barely remember my own birthday these days.”
“They’re straightforward, Doctor. There will be a quick training session for everyone who has access.”
“Good.” She nods. “I’ll get out of your way. I’m late for my rounds.”
She moves off, and I watch her until she turns the corner. Then I go to the pharmacy’ backroom door and key in the override code Robyn organized for me a few days ago. The lock thunks open. I step inside and pull the door closed behind me.
The room is small, maybe ten feet by twelve. There are shelves on three walls, all of them stacked with labeled vials and bottles. A small refrigerator hums in the corner. There’s a desk against the far wall with a logbook open on it and a pen lying across the page. I start methodically. I work the shelves first, taking each row from one end to the other, checking behind the bottles, between them, on top of them. I check everything, including the refrigerator, both inside and out. I even check for hidden panels or compartments.
Once done, I scan the room one more time before I move on. The next room is the records office behind the nurses’ station.
I go through the motions there, too, searching every cabinet, every shelf, every single space methodically. There’s nothing. I close everything up the way I found it and step back out into the corridor, which is still empty.
I make my way down to the last restricted room – the small specialty storage off the main bay as you near the entrance to the main hospital wing. It’s the high-end equipment room. Only the surgeons and the charge nurses have access. I key in and step inside. This space is larger than the other two, packed with rolling carts of imaging equipment, a stand of high-end suturing kits in their sterilized pouches, and an autoclave against the far wall. There’s a workbench down the right side with a desk lamp clipped to it and a chair pushed underneath. It smells strongly of disinfectant.
I start at the door and work my way around the perimeter, checking everything. I go to the workbench. There are two drawers on the underside of it. The top one is full of small tools and labeled containers. I dig through it and find nothing. The bottom drawer is heavier. I pull it open. It’s mostly empty – a couple of clipboards, a few stray batteries, a packet of nitrile gloves. I lift the clipboards out. Underneath them, taped to the wooden base of the drawer with a single strip of clear packaging tape, is a phone. My stomach drops. I crouch and look at it for a long moment. It’s cheap, the kind you buy from a gas station and throw away. The tape isn’t even properly stuck down at one corner. Someone put it there in a hurry.
I snap a couple of pictures with my phone. Then I grab a pair of rubber gloves from my bag and a second evidence pouch. I pull the gloves on. I peel the tape away and lift the phone out, careful to handle only the edges. There may be prints on it. I’m sure they’ll be Robyn’s. It’ll be the same setup. The messages on this cellphone will all be from Robyn to the Mainland. All untraceable and all damning.
My jaw is tight. My chest too.
I fucking hate this.
I slide the phone into the evidence bag and seal it. I put that bag into a second one and seal it too. I close the drawerthe way I found it. I check the floor under the bench. I check the workbench top. I check around the chair. Everything looks exactly as it did when I came in.
I drop the evidence into my laptop bag next to the first one and zip it shut. I peel the gloves off and stuff them into an inner pocket. Then I leave, locking up behind me.
Thankfully, the hangar corridor is empty on the way back.
I go and see Carla.
“Hey, Ridge. How are you?” she asks when she sees me. “Is there something you needed?” She lifts her brows, smiling.
“Yes, actually. Do you have a list of names of staff who have access to the surgical storage facility at the end of the hallway, right by the entrance to the main hospital wing?”
“Of course. Anything else?” she asks, already typing.
“That’s it, thanks.”
