Chapter 543
Chapter 543:
The sky over Boston was a bruised, heavy gray. Thick, wet snowflakes fell steadily, melting the instant they touched the tarmac.
The cabin door swung open. A blast of freezing, biting wind rushed inside. Eliza shivered violently and pulled her wool coat tighter around her body.
Waiting on the runway was a convoy of three black armored SUVs.
Standing beside the lead vehicle was a man smoking a cigarette. He wore a wrinkled white medical coat over a black turtleneck, his hair a chaotic mess, his eyes carrying the particular hollowness of someone who hadn’t slept in days.
This was Dr. Ander Rhys.
Simmons and another guard carefully carried Dallas down the stairs and settled him into his waiting wheelchair.
Dr. Rhys dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. He walked over, a cynical, sharp grin spreading across his face.
“Welcome to hell, Ghost,” Dr. Rhys said, his voice raspy.
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Dallas scowled, brushing the snow from his lap. “Shut your mouth, Rhys p>
Eliza stepped forward and extended her hand. “Dr. Rhys? I am Eliza Koch p>
Rhys ignored her hand. He looked her over with piercing, analytical eyes.
“So you are the reason he is willing to let me slice his spine open?” Rhys smirked. “Good taste, Ghost. I always figured you’d end up married to a sniper rifle p>
Eliza flushed slightly but held her ground.
“Let’s get off the tarmac,” Dallas ordered, shivering as the cold bit into his damaged nerves.
They loaded into the armored SUVs. The convoy sped out of the airport and drove toward the city center.
Eliza looked out the tinted window. The historic red-brick buildings of Boston and the freezing waters of the Charles River swept past in a blur. It was a beautiful city, but it felt deeply hostile.
“Are we going directly to Massachusetts General Hospital?” Eliza asked.
“No,” Dallas said, his eyes tracking the passing cars in the rearview mirror. “We are going to the safe house. Julian Royal has eyes everywhere. I am not sitting in a public hospital until the last possible second p>
The convoy turned into the private gated garage of a massive historic brownstone in Beacon Hill — the most exclusive and secure neighborhood in the city.
Once inside the heavily fortified living room, Dr. Rhys wasted no time.
He ordered Dallas onto a leather examination table, produced a portable ultrasound machine, and began running the wand methodically over Dallas’s scarred legs.
As he studied the digital monitor, his cynical grin faded. His face turned deadly serious.
“How bad is it?” Eliza asked, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Rhys grabbed a towel and wiped the gel from Dallas’s legs.
“Worse than the scans showed,” Rhys said bluntly. “The scans you sent me were optimistic, and based on those I gave you that eighty percent figure. But seeing the damage in person — the reality is much grimmer p>
He pointed to the screen. “The bone fragments in your knees are completely pulverized. They look like a jigsaw puzzle. And the nerve degradation is accelerating faster than I anticipated p>
Rhys looked Dallas dead in the eyes.