ones. ‘That’s all I can say. Thank God.’
Dana smiled thinly at her boss. She was happy to see him, of course, thrilled, actually, but she had an eerie feeling that ‘thinly’ was the only way she’d be able to smile at anyone for a very long time. Wasn’t too much for her to smile about lately, after all.
Pushing herself up straighter in bed, Dana felt a nagging ache in her underused muscles. Then again, what had she expected? That’s what you got when you’d just slept away the last several months of your life while the rest of the world had been out there working. Still, Dana knew that she should be infinitely grateful that aching muscles seemed to be the most severe of her health concerns at the moment. Things could’ve been a hell of a lot worse for her; that much was for sure. ‘Thank you so much for coming, sir,’ she said, not wanting to sound rude but also wanting to get the pleasantries out of the way as quickly as possible. Dr Spinks had said that six people had died in the plane crash, and Dana still didn’t know if Bradley had been among them. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know. ‘It really means the world to me to see you here. I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle for you getting here.’
Krugman shook his head and pulled a plastic chair over to her bedside. Setting down his leather briefcase on the tiled floor next to his feet, he took a seat, tugging at one of the pants legs on his dark gray suit before crossing his right leg over his left. Dana wasn’t at all surprised to see that Krugman’s patent-leather dress shoes featured an impeccable shine. Why would she be? Attention to detail had always marked one of his most admirable traits; representing the main reason the FBI had regained its worldwide reputation for excellence following the Bureau’s laundry list of failures following the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on the United States. ‘No hassle, at all,’ Krugman said. ‘I would have come sooner but Marie is having a few medical issues of her own and I couldn’t arrange for use of the Bureau’s jet until just this morning. Had to wait for it to get back from Panama, of all places.’
Dana studied the lines of exhaustion carved deep into Krugman’s face and frowned. Marie Krugman – the Director’s wife of more than forty-seven years and a woman who’d always been his anchor – wasn’t the kind of lady who got sick. Ever. Sickness was for weak people. People more like Dana.
Marie Krugman wasn’t weak, though. Not even close. After running her first marathon at the age of forty, she’d gone on to run more than a hundred since. Not to mention the fact that she also currently sat on the boards of at least five of the most influential children’s charities in the greater Washington, DC metropolitan area – just a little something to keep her busy following a distinguished, thirty-year career in the nursing field. As far as Dana knew, the woman had always been as healthy as a horse. ‘What’s wrong with Marie?’ she asked, feeling a nervous tickle in her chest.
Krugman pressed his lips into a tight line. ‘Breast cancer,’ he said. He shifted in his chair and averted his gaze. Clearly, the subject wasn’t one he felt comfortable discussing. ‘The doctors think they caught it in time, though. If we’re lucky, she won’t need a double mastectomy.’
Dana widened her eyes, feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut. Breast cancer? Jesus fucking Christ, did it ever stop? Was there ever any good news in this fucked-up world of theirs? ‘Oh my God, sir,’ Dana said, sitting up even straighter in her bed and giving her boss a sympathetic look. ‘I’m so goddamn sorry to hear that.’
Krugman waved a hand briefly in the air and shifted in his chair again. The thin band of gold on his ring finger – a modest piece of jewellery that hadn’t left his hand even once in the forty-seven years since his wife had first slid it onto his trembling finger in a small Presbyterian church on the outskirts of Oklahoma City – glinted in the harsh fluorescent lights above. ‘Thank you very much for your concern, Agent Whitestone. We’re optimistic for a full recovery. Chemo starts Thursday.’
The Director paused and cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, thank you again for your concern.