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recognized the man — perhaps he’d spoken to him once or twice before. 
    Ok, Jensen, what the hell do you do now?
    He never had time to come up with an answer. 
    Thwap. 

BRYCE’S WEEK HAD BEEN A blur. After Mr. Whittenfield left him at the infirmary, Bryce made his final preparations and packed for his departure. The last 72 hours he’d been traveling nonstop, first from the forward operating base to the airstrip four hours south. From there, he’d been flown to an aircraft carrier off the coast and then to a military base outside of London. His wounds, healing quickly, still hurt and provided him with an excuse to continue taking the powerful painkillers the doctor in Iraq had given him. While he was at the base in London, he charged his cell phone and placed a call to his mother’s home in Utah. 
    Linda Ortiz, the nurse charged with providing the at-home care, answered and updated him with details on his mother’s health over the past few weeks. It had been awhile since he’d called, so he listened quietly as Linda gave the same response he’d heard countless times. 
    “She’s doing well; about as well as can be expected. She’s not hurting, but the symptoms haven’t changed. I’m sure she misses you, too, Mr. Bryce.”
    “I know. Thank you, for everything — actually, I may be able to get back sooner than I’d expected. I’ll let you know for sure. Thanks again, Linda.”
    He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket, slowly, as his left arm was feeling tight. He stood, walking to the window, and tried to picture his mother before the virus had taken her livelihood. 
    She was a great woman; strong, but in a gentle way. After his father had passed away six years ago, she’d moved from Denver to the quieter life of a sleepy Utah town. Bryce moved regularly during his first few years in the military, but he had recently rented an apartment in Salt Lake City, less than an hour from her place. 
    Good thing, too. He remembered the night she called; confused, frantic; unable to feel her feet or hands. It had taken her three tries just to dial his number. 
    By the time he got to her house, she was on the floor in the living room, unable to move.
    The doctors kept her in the hospital for two weeks, but weren’t able to figure what was wrong. Experts in viral and bacterial infections were flown in, but could not isolate the foreign strain that was holding Bryce’s mother hostage. It seemed to be a rare occurrence of an infection chemically similar in composition to Encephalitis, but without the continuing negative side effects. Instead, she was paralyzed from the neck down but stable. Bryce had argued and negotiated, but finally persuaded the hospital staff to set up a bed in his mother’s home where she would be continuously monitored and cared for. 
    That was over two years ago. 
    Bryce’s life now was split between the Army and caring for his mother. When he wasn’t deployed, he stayed at his mother’s house, taking an odd job here or there to pay her enormous bills. 
    As he thought more about the mounting stack of bills he’d be facing upon his return to the states, he remembered the great deal he’d been offered. Sure, it was probably dangerous — you didn’t offer someone two million dollars just to play security guard — but like Whittenfield had said, he’d be able to pay the remainder of his mother’s bills and have more than enough to keep them both comfortable for a while afterward. He sighed, the swelling in his arm and shoulder reminding him of his healing injuries, and walked back to the main hallway. 
    Surprisingly, Whittenfield was there to meet him. They shook hands and Bryce followed the older man out to the tarmac where a sleek, business-class Learjet was waiting. Next to the military planes and vehicles surrounding it, the jet seemed out of place. This guy must have some friends in very high places, Bryce thought as he boarded the plane. 
    A flight attendant,