O’Neill pulled the headphones down until they circled his neck. “Did Cap clean up the section where Nantz is talking about his labs?”
“That is the cleaned version.” Wolf’s even tone screamed frustration. “Can you identify any words?”
“Maybe...one.” O’Neill backed the footage up and listened again, while watching the movements of Nantz’s mouth. “I think he said tower. No sure about the other four words though.”
“Tower.” Wolf nodded, with a fleeting expression of satisfaction. “This is the word others have identified as well.”
“Great.” O’Neill huffed out an exasperated breath. “So we know the labs are located in a tower...somewhere.” He shook his head. “Even if the word he used is tower, the fucking thing could be anywhere.”
“Indeed.” Wolf’s voice was back to placid. “Capland is developing a program that will assess all of Nantz Technology’s properties, using the parameters we have established—seclusion, size, height.” He paused, then sighed. “Perhaps he will identify the location of this secret lab.”
No wonder Wolf had requested that O’Neill use his spirit gift on Nantz. The dude was desperate. Hell, they were all desperate.
O’Neill’s gaze narrowed. “We should put the Nantz building in D.C. at the top of Cap’s list. Embray said Nantz moved all his people from there to a new location. The timing there is suspicious as hell.”
Wolf simply nodded. “His DC building has fifteen floors. Perhaps he considers that a tower?”
“Could be,” O’Neill agreed.
Wolf pulled into a parking slot in front of the ER. “You are certain that linking with a comatose mind will not be a danger to you?”
“Shouldn’t be.” O’Neill slid out of the passenger seat. “You said over theNeealahothat Kait tried to heal him. No luck?”
“No. Nor has One Bird, or any of the other healers.Woohantamedicine keeps him breathing for now.”
Wolf led him through the emergency room waiting area, through the clinic, and into the back section, where those in long-term care were housed. Like Nantz. And Samuel.
O’Neill glanced at Wolf, wondering if he was going to visit hishee-javaaneewhile they were here. If that was Wolf’s plan, it would be best if O’Neill left the clinic first. Hisjie'vanpresence might fuck with the fallen warrior’s ability to heal.
Wolf stopped in front of a room full of beeping, whooshing, and whirring. Apparently, every medical machine known to man was keeping the billionaire alive.
“I will remain here,” Wolf said, resting his back against the wall.
O’Neill approached the bed. He’d been in enough hospitals, as a patient and a visitor, to recognize the scent permeating Nantz’s room—a mix of bleach, alcohol, and disinfectant.
O’Neill stepped up to Nantz’s shoulders, squeezing in front of a boxy white ventilator. Nantz looked frail, his face bone white against the pillows. His chest rose and fell beneath the ventilator tube plunging down his throat. Death shrouded him, even though he was still breathing. At least they had his hard drive files. Those were the only secrets they’d be prying from him now.
Maybe his role as bodyguard had been a mistake. If he’d been on that plane when they dragged him onboard...if he’d been on base while the bastard was awake...he might have seen or heard something in his mind that would have given them a location.
Or Wolf could be right, and the mission would have failed—spectacularly—from the outset.
Before, in Nantz’s office, he’d started to link with the bastard by touching his neck and mouth. But there were too many tubes in place. So he pulled down the thin blanket, and then the lightweight cotton hospital gown instead, baring the dude’s chest.
Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and tried to empty his mind, as Benioko had instructed before sending him to Petropavlovsk with Wolf’saggressteam. He’d never mastered this gift, partially because of his reluctance to use it, and partially because there were few opportunities prior to his arrival at Shadow Mountain. And even afterwards, to a certain extent.
He let his hands settle on Nantz’s chest and waited for the electrical buzzing and butterflies to hit his brain. They came, but weakly.
Still, he hadn’t felt anything—no buzzing, no butterflies—when Chetza had been dying beneath his hands. At least this link with Nantz was giving him something. He waited, letting the connection settle, waiting for the flashes of foreign images and sounds to start scrolling through his mind.
But nothing came. At least no images or sounds. He saw fog instead. Thick, whirling fog. There was something beneath the fog, moving within it, pushing it up in waves, but he couldn’t see what it was.
Couldn’t see what the fog was hiding.
When the fog didn’t lift, and Nantz’s memories didn’t surface, O’Neill opened his eyes and lifted his hands. Yeah, this attempt was useless.
Perhaps it mattered where he touched? Perhaps if he touched the dude’s face like he had in London, he’d get a clearer connection. He moved further up the bed and carefully leaned across Nantz’s chest to rest his palms on either side of the ventilation tube.
Once again he closed his eyes and emptied his mind. But nope, just more fog.
