The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

“Thanks for saying that,” said Sean.

Harkes slipped something from his pocket. “This is for you. For both of you.” He handed the envelope to Sean.

“What is it?”

“Peter Bunting and Uncle Sam felt strongly that a reward was in order for both of you. They contributed equally to the amount on that wire transfer receipt. The funds are already in your accounts.”

“But we were just doing our job.”

“No, actually, you two did a lot of our job,” said Paul.

Harkes explained. “We knew something was off about the E-Program after a guy named Sohan Sharma failed the Wall and ended up dead. At first we suspected Bunting, but when we started digging deeper, things got a lot more complicated. When the bodies showed up at Eddie’s house we called in Kelly. We knew she’d have every incentive to clear her brother’s name and get to the truth. But we would never have gotten there without your help. And that’s the God’s honest truth.”

When Sean saw the dollar amount on the slip of paper he gasped. He looked up at Harkes in disbelief. “This is way too much, Harkes.”

The man shot another glance at Michelle in the bed. “No, Sean, it’s not nearly enough.”

“I’d like some of this to go to Eric Dobkin’s widow,” said Sean.

“You can do whatever you want with it,” said Harkes. “You earned it.”

After the three of them left Sean continued to sit by the bed. He planned to sit here until Michelle woke up or… Well, whatever happened, he would be there.

He gazed around the room. They’d been through so much together. A maniac from his past who had blown up his house. A serial killer that had very nearly finished them both off. A CIA rogue agent who thought torturing fellow Americans was an entirely legitimate exercise. And political leaders who thought they were above the law. During these times the only person he had really counted on was Michelle. She had saved him countless times. She had always been there for him. Their bond was like a million diamonds strung together and then sheathed in titanium, nothing stronger.

He sat back and listened to the machines keeping Michelle alive. She was young. She was strong. She had survived so much. She shouldn’t lose her life because a traitor had literally stabbed her in the back. She just shouldn’t.

He put his head on the cool bed rail and gripped her fingers with his. He would stay here until one of them stopped breathing.

I hope it’s me.

Night turned to day. And day turned to night.

And Michelle still lay there.

And Sean still sat there.

The machines made their funny little noises.

Sean waited for a miracle.

The nurses and doctors came and went. They would look at him, smile, say some encouraging words, check Michelle’s vitals and charts, and then scurry away.

Yet he knew that each day she didn’t wake up lessened her chances of ever waking up at all.

Fluids pumped in and fluids pumped out.

The clock ticked.

The machines hummed and hissed.

The doctors and nurses came and went.

Sean sat. His fingers intertwined with hers.

He had imagined her suddenly rising up from the bed and smiling at him. Or him coming back from the bathroom to find her sitting in a chair reading a book. Or more likely, knowing her, performing push-ups and eating power bars and sucking down G2 by the quart. Occasionally he would dream that he would find her bed empty because she had passed, but he had mostly willed that thought away.

He lifted his head and looked at her. He blinked to clear his eyes.