When the satellite phone shrills a ring, I nab it, pressing the button to put it on speakerphone so I can keep my hands free. Setting it on the ledge beside me, I glance at the skillet, deciding to give it a few more moments.
“Got the laptop,” I say by way of greeting as I move it to the stone ledge beside the phone. “Booting it up now.”
“Got Bebe here,” Kynan replies. “And a chopper headed your way.”
Bebe doesn’t spare any pleasantries. “Connect to the Wi-Fi.”
It takes just a few seconds to complete. “Done.”
“Okay, give me just a few minutes,” she mutters, and I can hear her tapping away on her own keyboard through the speaker.
“What’s your physical situation?” Kynan asks.
“Bullet through and through just below my clavicle,” I say as I pick up the hand towel and use it to grab the edge of the skillet. “Taking care of that now.”
Pulling the handle from the flame, I take a deep breath and decide to address the wound on my back first. It’s going to be the hardest to reach, and I’m going to be fucking addled with pain after this first attempt.
“How’s that?” Kynan asks, but I don’t answer.
Instead, I take another breath, grit my teeth, and raise the skillet over my shoulder. I bring it down, twisting my neck as far as I can to get as good a view as possible, then press the red-hot end to where I approximate the wound to be. Luckily, the handle is probably twice as wide as the bullet hole, which increases my odds of getting it right. However, I can’t help but scream as the wound starts to burn and sizzle.
“F-u-u-u-c-k,” I bellow at the top of my lungs, forcing myself to hold the cast iron to the wound so it can cauterize it closed.
I manage to pull the skillet back up and over my shoulder, feeling as weak as a baby now—not only from the blood loss, but also from the smell of burning flesh and the realization of what I just did to myself. I manage to drop the skillet onto the ledge, placing the end back in the flame to get it hot again.
“Sounds like that hurt,” Kynan mutters sympathetically.
Pressing my hand onto the ledge to hold me upright, I take a few deep breaths to try to calm my heart rate. I can still feel blood leaking from the front wound, already dreading going through that process again.
“It looks like Barrett sent out two emails yesterday,” Bebe says brusquely, and that helps to distract me a bit. “One to her research assistant asking him to check something she needed to finalize her theory. She only logged on for an extremely brief time before she logged right back off. I can see on his end that he read it, but he didn’t forward it to anyone else. Instead, he replied directly to her about ten minutes later. Barrett logged back on about an hour later, read the answer, then sent a second email to her uncle telling him she’d finished the formula. Her total time online was incredibly short.”
“Then how the fuck did they find us?” I ask.
“It would be almost impossible given the minimal amount of time she was online,” Bebe muses, still tapping away on a keyboard on her end. “But let me check something… hold on.”
I glance back at the skillet. Might as well knock that out.
While Bebe works her magic, I grab the hot iron once again. After taking a few seconds to psych myself up, I cauterize the front wound with the hot metal. I manage to keep my teeth clamped down, but there’s no stopping the pained groan I emit as I fight the nausea brought on by the smell of burning flesh.
“Sounds like that one hurt like a mother,” Kynan comments as I pant through the pain.
“I’m fine,” I grit out, but I’m on the verge of passing out. I toss the skillet onto the floor, then press my palm down again onto the stone ledge so I don’t topple over.
“This is interesting,” Bebe says, and I blink hard a few times. It helps to reorient me.
“What’s that?” I ask as I look down at the wound on my chest and it’s blackened with red blisters around the edge. At least it’s not bleeding.
“I checked the server at her lab,” she replies succinctly. “It wasn’t compromised in any way.”
“But the one to her uncle?” Kynan prompts.
“Again, I can’t find any indication it’s compromised,” she says. “And I imagine hacking the president’s email is impossible, although it would be a challenge I would certainly find interesting.”
“Bebe,” I snap, a little cranky right now… given everything going on. Barrett being kidnapped, me being shot, and everything else.
“Sorry,” she mutters under her breath. “At any rate, there is something very suspicious.”