Chapter 12
The Autobot embassy was built into the side of a towering mesa that rose like a monolith from the wide expanse of desert around it. Sam had seen pictures in textbooks and on the news, of course, but pictures paled in comparison to the real thing. It was enormous – wider than it was tall, the structure was still easily over a kilometer in height. Absurdly, Sam found himself noticing the strangest details, like how its sides were slightly concave, or that the ribbons of different colored sandstone were darker near the top and lighter near the ground. The mesa was the only geological formation in the otherwise empty valley, which stretched to the low, rolling hills in the distance.
Jazz slowed, turning off the highway. Sam's heart climbed up into his throat as they followed the cruiser down the access road, through the chain link fence, towards the embassy entrance. The vehicles slowed to a stop in front of a checkpoint building as two men stepped outside to greet them. Sam immediately recognized them as members of the Island Guard – the human branch of Prime's Special Forces. They were both dressed in identical desert camo with a sidearm holstered to their hip and a radio clipped to their tactical vests. Sam's eyes lingered on the weapon of the nearest man for a moment, his heart beating so hard that it was starting to make him feel lightheaded. Then, the man turned, making his way down the column of vehicles that had pulled in behind them. Sam watched him in the rearview mirror until he disappeared behind the black Topkick further down the line.
"You're okay, Sam," Lennox murmured.
The soft reassurance made Sam realize that his breathing had grown raspy and frightened. The entrance to the embassy loomed ahead of them – a great, dark cavern illuminated by a row of overhead lights extending from the tunnel entrance deeper into the mesa. Reflexively, Sam glanced down at the passenger door lock. The little black latch was flush with the door handle.
"Sam, look at me," Lennox urged.
The lock didn't look as though it was engaged. Would it even matter?
"Sam." Lennox's voice was firmer this time. "Look at me."
It took a moment for the words to filter through Sam's adrenaline soaked brain. When they did, he found himself looking at the older man without giving it conscious thought. Lennox was watching him closely, his brow furrowed in concern.
"You're okay," he promised. "I know this part is hard."
"I don't want to do this." The words tumbled out of Sam's mouth like a confession, although no one would have doubted otherwise. "Lennox. I can't ."
Lennox's expression shuffled through emotions too quickly to parse, before his features firmed with resolve. "Yes, you can, Sam." As he spoke, the Solstice began rolling towards the tunnel entrance. Sam stiffened in his seat, making to turn his head, when Lennox reached out, clasping his knee and giving it a squeeze. "Just keep your eyes on me."
Sam forced himself to look Lennox in the face. The older man leaned closer, maintaining eye contact. "Good, Sam. That's good."
The older man's eyes were two calm pools set in an otherwise expressionless face. Sam stared back at him in stricken silence.
"I'm going to explain what happens now, alright?" As Lennox spoke, the Solstice entered the tunnel. Sam was momentarily blinded by the abrupt shift from daylight to darkness until his eyes adjusted to the lower light. He glanced reflexively through the windshield. The tunnel was even larger than the Ted Williams Tunnel back in Boston. The walls were stark white, contrasting against a dark ceiling that was easily thirty feet above them. Lights flashed by overhead, one by one, as they drove deeper inside the mesa.
"Sam?" Lennox prompted.
With effort, Sam forced himself to look at the older man again. As soon as they made eye contact, Lennox continued. "First, we're going to the ground bridge hangar, which is how we'll get to the island. I promise it's perfectly safe."
Sam's mind completely glossed over the unfamiliar terminology at the confirmation he was being taken directly to Diego Garcia. He had hoped, however foolishly, that they would keep him at the embassy until his paperwork was sorted out. He couldn't imagine the administrative nightmare involved with denaturalizing an American citizen against his will, but he had assumed it would take longer than a couple of days.
"After we arrive on the island, we'll be going straight to medical," Lennox continued. "Ratchet is already waiting for us. He's the Chief Medical Officer. Do you remember?"
Sam opened his mouth to reply, but an upwelling of emotion began behind his sternum and moved up through his chest, tightening his throat. He swallowed against the acrid taste of bile and jerked his head in a nod.
"Okay, that's good," Lennox murmured, gaze flicking across Sam's face. "Ratchet'll check us over to make sure we're alright. It's standard operating procedure after a bad episode. It won't take long – just a medical scan, probably some questions. After that, we'll head to the intake room so you can get settled."
As Lennox was speaking, the Solstice followed the tunnel around a bend. A moment later, the tunnel opened onto a large cavernous room. For the second time in as many minutes, Sam glanced reflexively through the windshield. The first thing that he noticed was a large semi-circular archway seemingly built into the sandstone wall directly in front of them. It was difficult to judge its scale, given the enormity of the space, but it looked to be two or three stories tall. There were people queuing in different areas around the room — one group stood in an orderly fashion near the circular archway, seemingly waiting their turn, while another group milled near a smaller passageway on the opposite wall. The convoy made their way across the cavernous space. Golf carts and utility vehicles that had been trundling back and forth stopped to allow their passage. As they approached the semi-circular archway, a towering figure straightened from behind a complicated looking partition and stepped forward. Sam's entire body stiffened. He had seen the aliens in their bipedal modes, of course, but never before had he done so in person. The figure was tall, easily 18 or 20 feet, and it was paneled in red and blue metal. It towered over the people milling nearby, making them look like children.
"Jesus," Sam choked.
"Nope, that's just Perceptor," Jazz informed him wryly.
"Sam, you might want to close your eyes," Lennox urged. "This part can be… disorienting."
Sam couldn't tear his gaze away from the towering monstrosity in front of them. "...huh?"
A blue-green miasma of light exploded to life inside the circular archway. Sam jerked backwards so hard his head thunked against the headrest. The vortex was pulsating and undulating in front of them almost like a living organism. Sam's breath caught in his throat as he pressed back harder against the seat, as though he could escape through the simulated leather.
"You're okay, Sam," Lennox reassured him, firmly. "Just close your eyes. It'll help."
Sam sat frozen in mute terror, unable to look away. The tall mechanoid consulted a complicated looking readout on a terminal near the archway, and then he inclined his head. Immediately, the cruiser and the Solstice started rolling forward. The sight of the miasma drawing closer and closer triggered something primal and desperate in Sam's hindbrain. In a moment of reckless abandon, he twisted in the seat and reached for the lock without any idea what he'd do if he even managed to get the door open.
His fingers had barely brushed the latch when the seat belt tightened across his chest – not enough to strangle him, but certainly enough to send a message.
"Don't," Jazz warned.
Sam froze with both hands on the door handle. A moment later, reality dropped out from underneath him as they drove through the archway. Sam couldn't see or hear anything – he couldn't even feel the rise and fall of his own chest. He was distantly aware of something prickling across his skin, like white noise and seasickness had somehow manifested themselves into a tangible sensation, and then reality abruptly snapped back into focus. Sam swayed in his seat as they emerged on the other side of the archway into an unfamiliar room. He briefly discerned an impression of brightness and space before his eyes started watering, obscuring his vision.
Lennox made a sympathetic sound. "Sorry about that. The first few times can be rough."
Sam screwed his eyes shut as his stomach gave a threatening lurch. He was distantly aware that they were moving, but he was forced to ignore it in favor of breathing from the bottom of his belly as he tried to keep from throwing-up all over himself.
"That's it," Lennox said encouragingly. "Just breathe. It'll pass."
As Lennox predicted, it only took a few minutes for the nausea to subside to something more manageable. Eventually, Sam lifted his head and squinted through the windshield. They were driving through another tunnel. The walls were gleaming white concrete with utility lines and piping running down each side of the passageway. Other than the occasional access door or electrical panel, the walls had no other markings.
Sam sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Where are we?" he asked, not fully expecting an answer.
"We're in the maintenance tunnel," Lennox replied. "It runs beneath the tram-line from the Hive to the island. It's easier and faster to get to medical this way."
Sam frowned considerately. He wasn't an expert on Diego Garcia by any means, but he knew enough to surmise they were on the northern part of the island. The southern bridge wasn't a part of the tram system. He glanced into the rearview mirror. Although the Chevy Camaro and the ambulance were following closely behind them, the tunnel was large enough that Sam could see all the way to the vanishing point in the distance. The other vehicles were nowhere to be seen.
Sam was abruptly pulled out of his introspection as they slowed to a stop. He glanced through the windshield only to realize they were idling in front of a large blast-door with the words 'AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' stenciled across the red metal. Sam's earlier anxiety returned in full-force, but before he had the chance to panic properly, the doors were grinding open with the rumble of distant machinery. The two vehicles started forward as soon as there was enough clearance to pass through the entryway.
The space within was made of the same gleaming white concrete as the maintenance tunnel, but it was larger and airier, despite being underground. Instead of utility lines and piping, the walls were painted with wayfinding lines denoting different destinations. The red, yellow, and blue lines extended down the hall, while the green and black lines disappeared around the next corner they passed. They continued on for another few hundred yards, before Jazz slowed and pulled into a hangar. Sam's heart skipped a beat as he found himself in a room that could only be the medical bay. There were a number of large table-like structures arranged against one wall, each with a complicated looking technical monitor affixed to the wall beside it. The opposite wall was lined with cabinets and workspace from one end of the room to the other.
Sam's eyes skipped across the room, taking in the unfamiliar machinery and the alien construction, before settling on a red and white mechanoid standing directly in front of them. The stranger had his arms folded across his chest and a supremely unimpressed look on his face.
"Well?" he drawled, apropos of nothing. "I'm waiting."
Beside him, Lennox sighed resignedly. "That's Ratchet," he offered, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Don't let him intimidate you. His bark's worse than his bite."
Sam stared through the windshield in mounting trepidation. The CMO wasn't as tall as the mechanoid in the ground bridge hangar, but he was a lot bulkier. Sam made no move to unfasten his seatbelt. "You can't be serious."
Lennox's face softened in understanding. "You'll be fine, Sam. It'll be quick."
Sam shook his head without taking his eyes off the mechanoid in front of them. There was no way that he was about to let a twenty-foot-tall metal alien with an attitude problem give him a medical exam. There was just no fucking way.
"Hey, it's okay," Lennox coaxed. "Ratchet wouldn't hurt a fly."
Sam tore his gaze away from the medic, who was staring down at them with a pinched expression on his face, to give the older man an incredulous look. "Are you out of your fucking mind? "
Lennox winced at him. "I know this is a lot—"
"No," Sam interrupted.
"—but I promise it's straightforward. Five minutes tops, alright?"
"I said no!" Sam repeated at volume.
Lennox glanced through the windshield, something like consternation knitting his brow, before turning to look at Sam properly. "Listen, I get it. I do."
"I highly fucking doubt that," Sam bit back.
"Look, I'll go first. Alright? You'll see it's fine." As he spoke, Lennox turned and pushed open the driver's side door. The sound of Jazz's engine echoed strangely in the large space. Lennox leaned down, meeting Sam's gaze, before jerking his head in the direction of the metal platforms. "C'mon."
Sam gave the older man a disdainful look. "I don't care if you let him give you a root canal. He's not touching me."
Before Lennox could cajole Sam any further, the driver's side door abruptly snapped shut. Sam had a brief moment to notice the way Lennox's face twisted with irritation, and then the cab was exploding into motion around him. Sam's heart leapt into his throat — more from shock and confusion than genuine terror — as he was curled, compressed, lifted, and moved. He found himself being set on his feet a moment later. He stumbled backwards, adrenaline surging, as Jazz finished transforming in front of him.
"Jazz!" Lennox snapped from somewhere on the floor.
The silver mechanoid folded his arms, twitching one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. "He wasn't going to agree."
Sam backpedaled until he collided with something solid. He startled badly, before twisting to see that he had backed into a hospital bed. The seemingly innocuous piece of furniture was decked out the same as it would have been in any hospital room in America. There was a rolling cabinet on one side of the bed and an IV stand on the other, which was currently plugged into one of the jacks on the equipment headwall. It took him a moment to realize he was standing on one of the metal platforms against the wall. Sam jerked back around, staring at Jazz in wide-eyed disbelief. The (former!) Solstice was shorter than Ratchet, maybe 14 or 15 feet tall, and he was plated in the same color as his alt mode. He was currently staring down at Sam, head cocked to the side, as though considering him. Unlike Perceptor and Ratchet, Jazz had a glowing visor across his face—either covering his eyes or in place of them.
"What… the fuck ?" Sam managed, his voice strangled almost beyond recognition.
"Neat trick, right?" Jazz asked dryly.
Sam's scathing reply was momentarily arrested by Ratchet's approach. The red and white medic set Lennox on his feet at the end of the metal platform. The older man immediately shot Jazz a dirty look, before turning towards Sam, hands held up, as though in appeasement.
"Sorry about that," Lennox apologized. "You okay?"
Sam flushed hotly. He was feeling too many conflicting emotions to pick just one, but anger and humiliation were wrestling to the top of the pile. "No! I'm not okay!"
"That's enough," Ratchet interrupted brusquely. "I haven't got all night. You two aren't my only responsibility, you know." As he spoke, a blue light emanated from a nodule near his left optic, sweeping Lennox from head to toe. The older man immediately grimaced, but he didn't flinch or pull away. Ratchet made a disapproving sound in the back of his intakes. "You're dehydrated, and your glucose levels are below normal. When was the last time you ate?"
Lennox sighed. "Ratchet—"
"Believe it or not, the question wasn't motivated by idle curiosity," Ratchet snapped.
The older man flushed. "It was a busy morning."
"Yes, I heard," Ratchet scoffed, before reaching out to pluck what appeared to be a dixie cup off the overbed table. The disposable paper cup looked absurdly small pinched between the medic's blunt digits. "Here," he said, handing it to Lennox.
Lennox didn't even bother glancing inside the cup before tipping its contents into his mouth. He swallowed, working his tongue across his teeth, before handing the cup back to Ratchet.
"Get something to eat," the medic instructed, in a marginally less acerbic tone.
"Yes, doctor," Lennox snarked dryly.
Ratchet snorted before turning to regard Sam, who immediately stiffened from head to toe.
"Don't," he warned, lowly.
"It's a medical scan, not a biopsy," Ratchet scoffed. "It's painless."
"I don't care," Sam snapped.
"I require your medical information in order to treat you," Ratchet ground out with strained patience. "It's standard procedure for all cassettes."
"You can ask me whatever you want to know," Sam bit back.
Ratchet gave him a scathing look. "I already have your medical records, you little idiot. I need your vitals."
Sam bristled in indignation, but his reply was forestalled by the sound of quickly approaching footsteps.
"I'll do it," an unfamiliar voice offered.
Sam couldn't see the newcomer from his vantage point, but the voice was feminine and confident. Ratchet snorted expressively, before shifting his weight to peer down at whoever was speaking. "Are you certain? He's hardly being an ideal patient."
"Was I any different?" the newcomer asked, wryly.
Ratchet's mouthplates twitched, as though suppressing a smile. "No, I suppose not."
Jazz crouched down, before reappearing a moment later with an unfamiliar woman in his hands. She was young, perhaps a few years older than Sam himself, with mousy brown hair that framed a heart-shaped face. Jazz set her down next to Lennox at the edge of the berth.
"Thank-you, Jazz," she said, smoothing her hands over her lab coat. "Hello, Sam. It's nice to meet you properly. My name is Dr. Charlie Watson."
Sam gave her a dubious look. "Hello, Dr. Watson."
"It's alright, Sam," Lennox said reassuringly. "Charlie's one of us."
Charlie offered him a wry smile as she pushed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. Neither she nor Lennox made any move to approach him. "Like I said, it's nice to meet you."
Sam's discomfort was momentarily eclipsed by his curiosity. Watson looked to be in her mid-20s, perhaps 24 or 25, but she had the bearing and confidence of a much older woman. He glanced over at Lennox. The older man had crow's feet around his eyes and gray hair at his temples, but he didn't look any older than his late-30s — and he certainly didn't like someone who had commanded cavalry for the Union.
Sam's gaze flicked back to Watson. "So, how old are you, exactly?"
Lennox rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Watson just snorted. "I was born in 1968—not far from Tranquility, actually—and I came to the island in the late '80s." Her voice turned wry as she added, "I wasn't any happier about it than you are."
The solidarity hit him unexpectedly hard. He swallowed against the sudden emotion thickening his throat. "Yeah?"
Dr. Waton's expression softened marginally. "Yeah."
Suddenly unable to look her in the eye, Sam angled his head away. He could feel the hot flush spreading across his face. In his periphery, he saw Watson step forward, before pulling up short.
"Here's the deal, Sam," she said, voice firm but kind. "We need to get your vitals. You know about the Allspark, right?" She waited for Sam to nod, before offering him a wan smile. "The Allspark is what makes us different—what makes us special —but right now, it's eating you alive. We need to know how far the damage has progressed so we can determine a treatment plan."
Sam's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean, 'eating me alive'?"
Dr. Watson shrugged expressively. "It can mean a lot of things if left untreated. We found you early, so we expect the damage will be minimal."
Sam flinched. His father had had symptoms for almost twenty years, before rapidly deteriorating around Sam's thirteenth birthday. He could still remember the dining table laid for Thanksgiving dinner — the paramedics had had to shove it aside to make room for the stretcher. To this day, the smell of roast turkey made him feel claustrophobic.
"Is it reversible?" he asked, softly.
Dr. Watson inclined her head. "With treatment, yes."
The confirmation made Sam's chest seize with emotion — grief, relief, hope. He had to take a moment to compose himself, before he could ask, roughly, "What do I need to do?"
"As I said, we need your baseline vitals," Dr. Watson replied, watching him closely. "Ratchet can obtain the information we need with a medical scan. It's quick and painless." She must have read some of his trepidation on his face, for she added, "Or, if you prefer, I can do the medical exam myself."
Sam's gaze flicked over her shoulder. The red and white medic was watching them with his arms folded over his chest. Although his expression was reserved, he didn't seem to be annoyed or impatient – he mostly just looked expectant, as though he was waiting for Sam to decide one way or the other. Sam hesitated. The Autobots might have had the technology to treat him, a fact for which he was deeply thankful, but they were still the Autobots — and he didn't trust them.
Sam forced himself to meet Dr. Watson's gaze. "I'd prefer you, please."
Dr. Watson inclined her head. "Then hop up onto the bed."
The medical exam proved to be anti-climatic, if thorough and unpleasant. Dr. Watson had him strip down to his boxers, before running him through a standard battery of tests. Blood pressure, heat rate, oxygen saturation, body temperature. Sam noted the numbers with a detached sort of interest — elevated, elevated, normal, elevated. She checked his ears, nose, and throat, tested his reflexes, and then shone a light in his eyes to check his pupils. Her expression was perfectly opaque as she asked him to follow her finger as she moved it up and down and side to side. Ratchet stood next to the metal platform ("It's called a berth," Watson explained), sharp-eyed but silent, as she worked.
The only moment of tension occurred when Watson prepared for the blood draw. As she readied her supplies, she glanced up at Sam's face. Whatever she saw caused her mouth to turn down at the corners. "You okay?"
"I don't like needles," Sam replied stiffly.
Watson scrutinized him closely and asked, "Are you a fainter?"
Sam flushed in embarrassment. "No."
Watson stared at him for a moment longer, before inclining her head. "Alright, I'll make it quick. Think of something pleasant." As she spoke, she tied a piece of rubber tubing around Sam's arm just above the elbow.
"Something pleasant?" he echoed faintly.
"Yeah, sure. Think about Jazz getting stuck in the mud or something," she advised dryly. "Can you make a fist, please? Little pinch."
When all was said and done, Dr. Watson had collected six vials of blood. Sam watched as she handed them off to Ratchet, before cleaning up her supplies. The last step of the process was a urine sample, but mercifully, the medical bay had a human-purposed bathroom attached. He made quick work of the sample, and then he washed his hands and got dressed. By the time he stepped back outside, Lennox and Watson were talking to a third man who had arrived while Sam was in the bathroom. The newcomer was dressed in casualwear, but even without a bespoke suit and tie, Sam would have recognized him anywhere.
David Carter.
Sam pulled up short in surprise. Carter was Optimus Prime's Chief Operating Officer. The COO was responsible for running the day-to-day affairs of the island, and as such, he was very much the 'human face' of the Autobot regime. He spent a great deal of his time making public appearances, giving interviews with the media, and meeting with foreign dignitaries. The dark-net was rife with vitriol directed towards the man. Sell-out. Collaborator. Judas. Race traitor. Sam had read it all.
Lennox glanced over, and then he did a double-take. "Oh, Sam, sorry. I didn't realize you were finished. Let me introduce you to—"
"I know who he is," Sam managed.
Carter had turned to regard him as soon as Lennox spoke. The older man had a friendly, open demeanor and an easy smile. It contrasted sharply with the mental image that Sam had constructed in his mind. "Hello, Sam. It's nice to meet you," Carter said, extending his hand.
Sam stared at the proffered hand distrustfully. He had no idea whether or to what extent the information shared on the dark-net about Carter was accurate, but if even a fraction of what he read was true, then the man standing in front of him was responsible for advancing the Autobot's agenda, often to the detriment of his fellow humans.
Sam pointedly turned and looked at Lennox. "Are we done here?"
The older man frowned deeply. "Sam—"
Carter glanced back and forth between Sam and Lennox, before offering an understanding smile. "It's alright, Will. I know it's been a rough few days." He turned, directing his next words towards Watson. "Is he ready to go?"
Watson, who had been watching the exchange with an intense but inscrutable expression on her face, inclined her head. "Yes, almost. He just needs his first dosage."
Sam angled his head to frown at her. "Dosage?"
In lieu of reply, Watson extended her hand towards him. She was holding another dixie cup identical in appearance to the one Ratchet had given Lennox earlier. Curious despite himself, Sam accepted the cup from her. A quick glance revealed that it was half-full of a strange silvery liquid. Sam's frown deepened as he tilted the cup, this way and that. The fluid was thin and watery with a pearlescent sheen. It ran down the sides of the cup, rather than sticking to it, almost like quicksilver.
"What is this?" he asked, confusedly.
"Medical-grade Carrier nanites," Watson replied promptly.
Sam gave her an exasperated look. "That doesn't answer my question."
Watson twitched a shoulder in a shrug. "The chemical composition is complicated. Do you want the structural formula?"
Sam's expression turned pointed. He had only taken a single course on organic chemistry at Harvard — he knew next to nothing about pharmacology. "No, thank-you."
"Look, does it really matter?" Watson asked, folding her arms over her chest in a characteristically Ratchet-like manner. "It's the only treatment option."
Sam grimaced as he glanced down at the thin fluid. "This is it?"
"That's it," Watson confirmed.
"It's not bad, Sam," Lennox said reassuringly. "Just knock it back like a shot."
Sam blew out a loud breath, before shaking his head. "Bottoms up, I guess." He tipped the contents of the dixie cup into his mouth before he could second-guess himself. It tasted cool and metallic and crisp, but it wasn't unpleasant. Sam found himself unconsciously working his tongue around his mouth the same way that Lennox had earlier.
Lennox laughed lightly. "I know, right?"
Watson extended her hand, gesturing meaningfully with her fingers. Sam handed back the dixie cup without further prompting. "How often do I have to take that?" he asked.
"The typical course for new cassettes is 50 to 80 milliliters every twelve hours," Watson replied. "We can adjust the dosage as needed based on the severity of your symptoms."
"Alright," Carter interjected. "Are we good to go?"
Watson nodded. "He's good to go. Intake Room 1."
Carter seemed momentarily taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "Alright. Sounds good." He glanced over at Sam with an easy smile. "You're coming with me. Have you had the chance to meet Bumblebee?"
The question was so nonsensical that Sam was forced to ask, "...What?"
Carter laughed good-naturedly as he started towards the gleaming yellow Camaro that was parked a short distance away. To Sam's surprise, Lennox made no move to follow them. He half-turned, giving the older man a confused look. "You're not coming?"
Lennox offered him a crooked smile. "No, I'm not. I have a debriefing, and then I'm grabbing something to eat and going to bed."
Something uneasy twisted in Sam's gut. "A debriefing? About what?"
Lennox's expression shifted, closing off, growing difficult to read. "We debrief after every S&R assignment."
The answer was too vague to be a whole truth, and all at once, Sam was forcibly reminded that the man standing in front of him was an Autobot operative — one that had pursued him from Massachusetts to Georgia, before dragging him across the country against his will. It shamed him to realize it had only taken a few days and some kind words to forget that fact. Idly, he wondered what Lennox would be reporting in the debriefing. It certainly wouldn't be anything that painted Sam in a positive light. The thought made his shoulders draw tight with tension. Lennox might have been kind to him, but it was to serve his own purposes. The older man wasn't his friend, he was his keeper – and Sam wouldn't forget that again.
"Have fun," Sam bit out, before turning on his heel and walking towards the Camaro. He could feel the weight of Lennox's gaze on his back the entire way. Carter watched as he approached, eyebrows knit together concernedly, but the older man said nothing as he pulled open the passenger-side door. Sam brushed past him and climbed into the seat without another word.
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