The team left as soon as they had the cover of darkness, but Hardison sounded tense as they approached their destination. "So, uh, how many men will Moreau have guarding that building?"
"Likely about fifteen, on the outside anyway," Eliot estimated. At least that's how many the hitter had always insisted on when he was the one tasked with protecting a valuable hostage. An asset, as Moreau would say.
The hitter's relaxed demeanor didn't seem to rub off on Hardison in the least, his voice unsure as he asked for further details. "Alright, cool. So, uh, who else is meeting us there?"
"It's just gonna be us, Hardison," Eliot said, knowing the hacker was doing the math in his head right about now. Six people and a van versus an armed force at least triple that size. He was probably imagining how much fun that would be.
After a few moments of silent contemplation Hardison continued. "Ok, Eliot...I know this is your specialty and all and I don't wanna be blunt but, uh, how exactly are we gonna take down two dozen guys with nothing more than a bag of gauze and Parker's lock picks?"
If their situation wasn't so serious, the hitter would've laughed. "Like I said, he knows me. Knows how I work. He'll use that to his advantage," he explained. "He knows if it were me I'd make damn sure to have a small army protecting my asset."
Before Hardison could reply Eliot pulled the van to a stop at the end of the gravel drive and shut the lights off. The location was remote, and the abandoned building in front of them was barely visible if it wasn't for the soft illumination of the moon.
Sophie looked out the window into the darkness that surrounded them. "There's nobody here."
Eliot smiled. "Exactly."
.
.
.
Eliot and Parker entered quietly, with Quinn keeping a careful watch behind the pair as they searched the building. The hallway was well lit – overly so – and one by one they peeked through the small windows of the metal doors leading to each of the individual rooms.
The hitter hoped with everything he had that they'd find Nate here, but room after room was nothing but cobwebs and darkness. If the assumption he'd been working under this whole time was wrong…
He stopped his thoughts right there. Negativity wouldn't do anyone any good right now.
They kept looking, and he could almost feel Parker's apprehension growing as they kept finding nothing but emptiness. He kept his face unreadable for her sake. Neither she nor Eliot said a word as they approached the back of the building.
One room left.
Eliot hesitated for a moment, holding his breath as he approached to the last door. He avoided eye contact with the thief, unsure if he'd be able to keep it together if he had to break bad news to her. If they didn't find him here…
Finish the job, he told himself. He pushed his fear aside and looked through the glass. He squinted, struggling to see through the grime.
As his eyes adjusted he was barely able to make out the figure of man leaning against the wall, a hand pressed loosely to his side. His heart skipped a beat.
Nate.
Eliot let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Finding him was only half the battle. Not even.
He opened the door, light pouring into the otherwise dark room. Quinn stayed behind to keep watch over the hallway as Eliot and Parker entered, closing the door most of the way to keep from blinding the mastermind. The thief stayed right beside him as he walked in.
They stopped just in front of the barred door of the cell, both lost in thought as they took in the scene.
Nate didn't respond to their entrance, his eyes tightly closed. He was shaking, deathly pale, and his breathing was labored but he was breathing. Eliot counted his blessings again for that, even though he knew the man was far from being out of the woods.
He spoke cautiously. "Nate."
The mastermind looked up, tilting his head slightly in confusion as the sight of them. Almost like he was contemplating whether or not they were actually there.
"El...Eliot," he winced. The pain in Nate's voice brought the hitter back to the field, to a time when he'd been too little, too late to save a fallen brother or sister. Eliot stayed silent as his fears started to get the better of him, probabilities swirling in his mind.
Ninety percent of combat fatalities occurred before the injured party even reached the medical facility. It was a statistic that Eliot was all too familiar with, and he hoped to God that the man in front of him wasn't going to be on the wrong end of that number. Not again.
"Parker, the door," he prompted, not taking his eyes off of Nate as he spoke. His mind was already analyzing the mastermind's condition, and he didn't like what he saw. He felt her glance over briefly before she turned her attention to the lock. "Yeah, uh, right…"
Nate shifted his gaze back to the floor. He seemed out of it, and Eliot could easily read the expressions on his face. The uncertainty. At the clank of the lock the hitter instantly changed gears, switching effortlessly into the mindset of the professional he used to be. That he needed to be now.
He entered and swiftly knelt down in front of Nate, with Parker taking up residence on the floor next to him. She seemed nervous, turning to the hitter for answers. "Why's he breathing so fast?"
Eliot slung his backpack to the floor, not even glancing in her direction as he answered. He kept his voice low, hoping to keep the other members of the team from picking up on his fear. "Blood loss."
"Is it bad?" Sophie asked over the comm.
He chose to ignore her. Of course it was bad, but if he didn't focus it was gonna be a hell of a lot worse.
Eliot grabbed Nate's wrist and felt for his pulse, silence ensuing as he started to count. He glanced at Nate's chest as well, tracking the rise and fall of his rib cage.
The grifter's impatient voice was in his ear again. "Eliot, how is he?"
"Yeah, man," Hardison agreed. "You can't be just leavin' us in the dark like this..."
"Gimme a minute," the hitter said shortly. "I'm still checking him."
At that Nate perked up a bit, looking to Eliot with questioning eyes. "Soph…?"
"She's fine," he answered. "In the van with Hardison."
"Eliot, maybe you should let me talk to him –"
John immediately cut her off. "Let's let him work, shall we?"
The comms went quiet.
He finished his count, relaying his findings to John. "Respiration is forty, pulse almost one-thirty. Hypovolemic shock, I'd put him at a class three. Almost a four." He put his wrist to the mastermind's forehead before continuing, not at all happy with how high Nate's temperature was. "Wound's infected, he's burning up."
"What the hell does all that mean, bro?" Hardison asked. "I mean, none of it sounds good but –"
Sophie cut in, her voice even more anxious than before. "Wait, he's in shock?!"
Eliot kept his attention on the man in front of him, completely tuning out Sophie and Hardison. Despite their protests, they weren't going to perish if they didn't get his attention right now.
Nate, on the other hand, very well might.
The hitter didn't bother asking before he swiftly unbuttoned the older man's shirt to inspect his midsection. There was a bandage on his left side, the shade of red staining through it telling Eliot that the wound was still bleeding.
He ground his teeth as he glanced at the numbers on his watch. The blood loss was going to be significant. "He's got a field dressing, looks recently changed. Entry wound in the left lumbar region..." He ran his hand gently along the bandage, feeling across Nate's back. "No exit wound."
"Think the wound is septic?" John asked.
"Can't chance it," Eliot replied. "Gonna give him Invanz."
Given Nate's fever and with the mortality rate for intra-abdominal sepsis being as high as forty-seven percent, the hitter knew he was working on borrowed time. He quickly retrieved a small container from his bag and snapped it open, removing one of the vials and an empty syringe.
Hardison came back over the comm. "Giving him In-what?"
"Antibiotic," John filled in.
Thankful to have someone else available to translate the medical terms, he turned to Nate to continue his assessment. "Did they get the bullet out?"
The mastermind didn't answer, his breathing shallower than before.
"Nate," Eliot raised his voice, making a mental note that he was starting to drift in and out. Not a good sign. Thankfully he responded to the higher volume and groggily met the hitter's gaze.
Eliot asked again as he started to load the syringe. "Did they get the bullet out?"
Nate shook his head.
The hitter clenched his jaw as statistics started to go through his mind again. Nate having the bullet lodged in his side for that long meant more damage and more complications, two things the mastermind really didn't need right now. Not that it would've been much better for him if he'd received that level of care during his stay here, as Eliot knew damn well that Moreau's hostages weren't given the luxury of even a local anesthetic. "He's gonna need surgery."
"I'll forward that along."
He pulled up Nate's sleeve and turned his arm over, exposing the veins of his wrist before expertly inserting the syringe to dispense its contents. "Anything broken?"
Nate's voice was hoarse, but at least he was more responsive this time. "Ribs, maybe."
"Can you walk?"
"Doubtful."
"Wouldn't it be faster if you, you know, slung him over your shoulder or something?"
Ah, Hardison. Always so full of good ideas.
"Not an option with his wound where it is," Eliot replied. "Parker, help me get him up."
The thief was stronger than she looked, and he was beyond grateful to have another pair of hands to help get Nate out of there. His blood pressure was going to be dangerously low, making it a real possibility that he'd black out once he was upright. Eliot took one side and Parker the other, and at his nod the pair lifted the mastermind to his feet.
Nate cried out at the movement, stumbling as he tried unsuccessfully to get his balance. Eliot had been ready for that and shifted his weight to compensate, keeping the three of them upright. Barely.
He tried to soothe the mastermind, who seemed to be on the verge of panic. "You're doing fine, Nate. We got you..."
At that he seemed to calm down, and they walked him out into the searing brightness of the hallway. Quinn turned around from his watch at their appearance, the relief on his face quickly vanishing as he saw Nate's condition. He shot Eliot a concerned look but kept his question to himself. Quinn didn't have nearly the medical experience that Eliot had, but the man knew a bad situation when he saw one.
He gave Eliot the update he was hoping for. "No hostiles, we're clear."
"Good," the hitter grunted. "Let's make this quick."
Unlike the tombs under the Parliament building, this prison was entirely on ground level. Eliot was glad fate was on their side for once, as trying to get Nate up a flight of stairs would've seriously complicated things.
Quinn kept an eye out as they exited the building and made their way to the van. Eliot glanced up at their destination, seeing John start to open the rear doors as Hardison exited the front.
The hacker shouted in relief as he ran up to them, stopping short the moment he got close enough to get a decent look at Nate. As a civilian, he was understandably shocked at what he saw. Still, with all the zombie movies that the hacker seemed to relish Eliot was surprised he didn't have a stronger stomach.
"Get in," Eliot growled, gesturing to the van. They were short on time and right now he didn't need another deer in the headlights. Hardison quickly obliged, scurrying into the front next to Sophie.
John took Parker's position next to Nate when they reached the back of the vehicle, ready to assist Eliot with the lift. He gave the update from his end. "We'll give him Ringer's lactate for now, and they'll have ten units of A negative ready when we arrive."
"Thanks, John," the hitter replied, glad he'd made a point of knowing each team member's blood type early on when they'd started working together. "Let's get him loaded."
The mastermind seemed distant, so Eliot raised his voice to get his attention. "Alright Nate, we're gonna lift you in. Sorry this is gonna hurt..."
Nate met his gaze and nodded.
"On my count," Eliot instructed, making eye contact with John. The other man nodded in readiness.
"One, two, three."
They lifted him into the van seamlessly, but Eliot was concerned at Nate's lack of reaction to what was probably a painful maneuver. Quinn slammed the back doors shut as they laid their patient down, and mere moments later the vehicle was moving.
John rolled up Nate's sleeve and proceeded to start an IV for the fluids he had ready. The mastermind attempted to pull away but the doctor kept a firm grip and continued, trying to calm him down as he worked. "Easy, mate," he said. "It's just an IV."
Meanwhile Eliot didn't waste any time hooking up the leads for the patient monitor, unable to miss that the man's shaking was starting to get worse. As soon as the machine started sounding out a heart rate he turned back to his friend. "Nate?"
He didn't respond, and the hitter could see that he was starting to hyperventilate.
Eliot got in front of him, tapping his cheek to get his attention. "Nate, listen. I need you to slow your breathing."
He seemed to react but it was brief, and Eliot could tell he was on the verge of unconsciousness. "Parker," he barked. "I need you to keep him awake. Hardison, how far out are we?"
The hacker quickly checked the route on his GPS. "Less than fifteen minutes."
Eliot tensed. That was about ten minutes too long. He moved to the side to give the thief a spot next to the mastermind as he grabbed a small case that John wordlessly handed to him.
Parker was trying unsuccessfully to get Nate to open his eyes, and Sophie and Hardison were both shouting from the front of the van as they came unglued. Thank God Quinn was driving. John loaded a syringe with adrenaline as Eliot opened the case and promptly unwrapped pads for the defibrillator, both men grimly aware of what was about to happen next.
The patient monitor started to scream.