Free Lammas Night by Katherine Kurtz

to catch a double meaning.
    But Michael only shook his head and murmured, “Can’t,” blindly weaving his head from side to side with eyes unfocused, reliving his own private nightmares of the past week.
    As Wells worked their way back up Castle Hill, Graham considered pressing the issue of sleep, knowing he could even force it if he chose. The discipline developed between himself and the others of the Oakwood group could bypass Michael’s conscious resistance and send him into pain-free slumber with a touch and a few well-chosen words.
    But the effect could be dramatic, especially with Michael as subject, and this was hardly the place or the audience for involved explanations. Though Denton would never bat an eye, Graham would rather not raise possibly awkward questions on William’s part; and Wells, less than a year in the prince’s employ, was a wholly unknown factor and kept glancing all too unpredictably at their rescued passenger in his rear-view mirror. There remained also the matter of at least beginning a debriefing before Michael was whisked off for obviously much-needed medical attention.
    By the time they pulled into the tower car park again, however, a plan had jelled for dealing with all Graham’s immediate concerns. Almost as soon as the car had stopped, he had his door open and was drawing Denton aside as Wells and the prince began helping Michael out.
    â€œDenny, I hadn’t counted on Michael being quite so bad off,” he said in a low voice, pressing the three film canisters into the other’s hand. “While I take care of him, I need you to have this film processed and see what we’ve got. There’s a photography section somewhere in the Ops complex, isn’t there?”
    With a nod, Denton stashed the film in an inside tunic pocket. “Yes, sir, they’ve set up several temporary darkrooms. Shall I bother with prints for now or not?”
    â€œNot yet. Just process the film and get back to me as soon as you can—and don’t let it out of your sight.”
    â€œRight, sir.”
    â€œAnd ring London and tell Grumbaugh we may be looking at an all-nighter,” Graham added. “If it’s what I hope, we’re going to be very busy for the next few days.”
    Denton raised a hand in acknowledgment as he jogged off toward the headquarters complex. Graham, with a sigh, joined Wells and the prince and helped get Michael upstairs. The young agent groaned, half fainting, as Graham and Wells eased him down on a couch. William headed directly for the telephone.
    â€œI’ll get a surgeon up here right away,” the prince said, already dialing as Wells drew a blanket around their patient. “We probably should have let them see him down at the harbor. Do you think he’s in shock?”
    â€œQuite probably,” Graham replied, sitting beside Michael and feeling for a pulse. “I’ve got to at least begin his debriefing while you hunt for somebody, though. It may be a while before I get another chance.”
    As Michael moaned and opened his eyes, tensing with the pain, Graham noticed for the first time that the pupils were pinpoint, though of the same size, and the gaze a little unfocused. Not a concussion, then, but a drug—probably morphine. That could certainly account for some colorful nightmares, though he doubted it was sufficient to explain what he had experienced on the Second Road.
    â€œJust try to relax, Michael. We’ll have a doctor for you soon. Mr. Wells, perhaps you’d be so good as to find us something to eat,” he said over his shoulder as he turned Michael’s face for a closer look at the eyes. “Tea and sandwiches would be fine, and maybe some hot soup. Michael, did they give you morphine on the ship?”
    As Wells withdrew without a word and disappeared, hopefully for some time, Michael winced and turned his face away from the light.
    â€œSorry. I’m not