No phone calls.
No bail.
No light.”
“Understood, Director,” the lead operative replied, his voice flat, professional, and merciless.
Before Arthur could scream, my men moved with terrifying precision, binding their wrists in heavy-duty flex-cuffs and sweeping them toward the service elevators like garbage being cleared from a showroom floor.
I turned on my heel and walked rapidly back toward Clara’s room.
My heart hammered against my ribs, not with fear, but with an icy, lethal adrenaline.
When I reached the ICU suite, Dr.
Thorne was standing near the automated medication dispensary at the nurse’s station, typing a code into the digital keypad.
His hand was trembling slightly.
He pulled a small glass vial with a bright purple cap from the refrigerated drawer and filled a syringe with five milligrams of a clear liquid.
I recognized the vial instantly: Vecuronium bromide.
A neuromuscular blocking agent.
In high doses, it causes complete respiratory paralysis.
