Dr. Goldberg left the waiting room, and I gave him a few minutes to clear out, then I went into the corridor and followed the signs to the ICU.

At the nurses' station I identified myself as John Corey, the husband of Kate Mayfield, who had just arrived from the OR. I showed my creds and also said I was a Federal law enforcement officer. The nurses seemed sympathetic to the former and indifferent to the latter.

In situations such as this, Murphy's Law is in effect, and I couldn't be certain that the ICU staff had gotten the same information as the OR staff, so I said, "My wife was the victim of an attempted murder, and the assailant is still at large and may attempt to gain access to her."

That got their attention. I asked if they'd been told about this, and asked if there were any State Troopers in the unit. They hadn't been told anything, and they said there were no State Troopers in this unit.

I informed them, "You are not to disclose this patient's location or condition to anyone except an authorized medical person, or a law enforcement officer who can show you identification. Do you understand?"

A nurse, who identified herself as Betty, a supervisor, said to me, "I understand, and we will call security."

"Thank you. And also call the OR nurses' station and tell them to have the State Police reassigned here."

One of the nurses picked up the phone to make the calls.

I said to Betty and the other four nurses, "If anyone is looking for Detective Corey, I'll be at my wife's bedside."

Betty was scanning a clipboard-probably Kate's chart-and said to me, "I don't have any orders yet about visitors."

"You do now."

Betty made a note of that on her chart and escorted me toward the ICU.

On the way down the corridor, she informed me, "We're not used to these things here."

"And I hope you never get used to it."

She pushed through a set of double doors and I followed.

Betty, chart in hand, led me toward Kate's bed and said in a quiet voice, "Don't be alarmed by her appearance, or all the monitors and infusion tubes." She added, "She's on a ventilator to help her breathe." She assured me, "Dr. Goldberg is a wonderful surgeon."

But no one, including Dr. Goldberg, knew what was going on, or not going on, in Kate's brain.

We reached Kate's bed, and I stood over my wife and looked at her. Some color had returned to her face, and her breathing, aided by the ventilator, seemed steady. There was a thick dressing around her neck, tubes in her arms, and wires running under the blanket that connected to three different monitors. I looked at the screens and everything seemed normal, though her blood pressure was a little low.

Betty glanced at the monitors and assured me, "Her signs are good."

I took a deep breath and stared at Kate. I could see the swelling around her mouth where Khalil had hit her. Bastard. I bent over and kissed her on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful."

No response.

Betty advised me to sit in the bedside chair, which I did, and she said to me, "Press the call button if you need anything." She informed me, "No cell phones." She turned and left.

I took Kate's hand, which was cool and dry, and I could feel her pulse. I kept looking at her face, but it remained expressionless. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, and I glanced at the monitors several times.

Having nearly bled to death myself, I knew what Kate had gone through in those minutes when her blood was pumping out of her body-the very frightening, runaway heartbeat, the falling blood pressure that caused an awful ringing in the ears, the sense of being icy cold on the inside, unlike anything you've ever felt… like death… and then, the brain becomes cloudy…

When I had awoken at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital, I had no memory of why I was there or what had happened to me. I wasn't allowed visitors, but my partner, Dom Fanelli, had bullied his way in and engaged me in a long, stupid conversation about why the Mets were a better team than the Yankees. Apparently I didn't agree with him, and he went back to Homicide North and told everyone that I was definitely brain damaged. I smiled at that memory, and the memory of Dom Fanelli, who died on 9/11.

I looked again at Kate and thought, Too much death on this job.

I prayed that Kate would come through this as well as I had, against all medical odds. But if there was some impairment, then I'd quit the job and take care of her. After I killed Asad Khalil.

I continued my vigil beside Kate's bed, holding her hand and looking for signs of her coming out of anesthesia.

My cell phone was on vibrate, and I'd gotten three calls in the last half hour, which I let go into voice mail.

I listened to the first call from Tom Walsh, who said, "The hospital tells me that Kate is out of surgery and resting comfortably. Glad to hear that. Also, I spoke to Investigator Miller about his search for Khalil. No news there. I called George Foster, and he understands the situation." Walsh had paused, then said, "We can't seem to locate Gabe." Another pause, then, "Or Chip Wiggins in California." He ended with, "Call me."

The second call was from Vince Paresi, who said basically what Walsh said about Gabe Haytham, though Paresi added, "I'm a little concerned about Gabe. We can't get hold of his wife either. I'm sending a patrol car to his house in Douglaston. Glad Kate is doing okay. Call me."

I, too, was a little concerned about Gabe Haytham-and his family. Every agent is theoretically reachable by cell phone or text message, 24/7. But if you're off-duty, you might not be checking your job phone as often as you should. In any case, today was a nice Sunday, and maybe Gabe and his family were at the beach, or at an amusement park, or… dead.

As for Chip Wiggins, last I saw him three years ago, he was a cargo pilot. So he could be in the air. Or he could be in the ground.

The third call was from Investigator Miller, who informed me that my vehicle and luggage were in the hospital parking lot and the keys were at the ICU nurses' station.

Inspector Miller also said, "The vehicle and the luggage are clean. We did not find your wife's cell phone in the room or in the vehicle, and the search of the drop zone hasn't yet turned up her weapon or her cell phone." He also advised me, "We checked Sullivan County Airport, and we found an Enterprise rental car in the parking field, and the renter is a man named Mario Roselini, but nothing in his rental agreement checks out. The tire treads on the rental might match the treads we found near the woods. We've taken latex impressions and we're trying to do a match. The car is under surveillance. Also, we checked with the fixed base operators at the airport, and a Citation jet landed there Saturday evening, then took off Sunday about thirty or forty minutes after the incident, destination and passengers, if any, unknown. No flight plan filed. We're following up on this." He added, "Your guy Walsh was not clear if you're the case agent, but call me directly if you need more." He ended with, "The hospital tells me your wife is resting comfortably. Some good news."

I put the phone back in my pocket and thought about Investigator Miller's call. It was fairly obvious how Asad Khalil made his escape-he jetted away. But to where? There was no flight plan filed so it would have had to be a short low-altitude flight.

Another thought was that my colleague, FBI Special Agent in Charge Tom Walsh, hadn't passed on that information to me. But to be fair, I wasn't sure of the timing of all these calls or who was speaking to whom and when.

I turned my attention to Kate and leaned close to her. I tried to see if there was anything in her face that would give me a clue about her mental condition, but her expression revealed nothing.