J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [304]
“We’re not out of it yet,” he told them.
When Phury looked at his watch again, it was thirty-three minutes later.
Twenty-three civilians, medical staff, and household doggen had been evac’d from the garages. The ambulances and cars had taken off not from the regular doors that faced the back of the house, but from retractable rear panels that allowed the vehicles to shoot out into the shallow woods behind the mansion. One by one, they’d driven off without lights on and without brakes being used. And one by one, they’d made it free and ghosted away into the night.
The op was a total success, and yet he had a bad feeling about it all.
The lessers had never come back.
Wasn’t like them. Under normal circumstances, once they infiltrated, they swarmed. It was their SOP to take as many civilians as possible for interrogation and then strip whatever premises they’d gotten into of anything of value. Why hadn’t they sent more men? Especially given the assets in Havers’s clinic and house, and the fact that the slayers had to know the Brothers would be all over the place, ready to fight.
Back in the clinic, Phury walked down the hall, double-checking that all the patient rooms were empty of the living. It was a pitiful review. Bodies. Lots of bodies. And the whole facility was totally trashed, as mortally wounded as any of the dead who lay strewn about. Bedsheets were on the floor, pillows scattered, heart monitors and IV poles knocked around. In the corridors, supplies were dropped randomly here and there, and there were all those horrid smudges of black-soled boots and red, shiny blood.
Rapid evacs were not a Martha Stewart kind of thing. Neither was fighting.
As he headed for the registration area, it seemed eerie that there was no more hustle and bustle in the place, just the HVAC system and the computers humming. Occasionally a phone rang, but it wasn’t picked up.
The clinic truly had flatlined, with just remnants of brain activity left.
Neither it nor Havers’s beautiful mansion would ever be used again. The tunnels as well as all intact exterior and interior retaining doors would be locked and the security systems and shuttering of the house engaged. Those entrances that had been blown open as well as the elevator doors would have sheets of steel welded in place. Eventually, an armed escort would be permitted to go in and remove the furniture and personal effects through the tunnels that had not been compromised, but that would be a while. And was dependent upon whether or not the lessers finally came back with their shopping carts.
Fortunately, Havers had a safe house, so he and his servants had somewhere to land, and the patients were already being settled at the temporary clinic. Medical records and lab results were stored on an off-site server, so they were still accessible, but the nurses were going to have to quickly stock up on more supplies at the new site.
The real issue was going to be kitting out another full-service, permanent clinic, but that was going to take months and millions of dollars.
As Phury came out to the registration desk, a phone that was still in its cradle went off. The ringing stopped as the call dumped into voice mail, the greetings of which had just been changed to, “This number is no longer in service. Please refer to the following general information number.”
Vishous had set up the second number as a place where people could leave their contact information and their message. Once their identity and inquiry were verified, the staff at the new clinic would call them back. With V routing it all through his Four Toys back at the Pit, he’d be able to capture the numbers of anyone who phoned in, so if the lessers sneaked a peek, the Brothers could try to trace their lines.
Phury paused and listened hard, his grip tightening on the SIG. Havers had had the smarts to stash a gun under each