by Fiona Quinn
“Breakfast, morning snacks set out to be available for nibbling—I’m thinking fruit and cheese kinds of things. Different each day. Then lunch. Hors d’oeuvres and cocktails or other drinks for the non-imbibers in the mid-afternoon. Evening dinner, say around eight. And finally midnight chocolates and nibbles, champagne? Yes. I think champagne and brandy.”
“Bruno knows this already?”
“Yes. Like I said, Bruno is developing the menus and will pass them on to you for approval. Once they’ve met your standard—like the profusion of generosity I experienced with your family in Qatar, that’s what I want it to feel like—refined decadence.”
“Okay.” Kira scrawled reminder words on her pad.
“Bruno will then prepare everything and freeze them, or otherwise make them storable. He’ll develop an instruction sheet that will need your translating.”
“For Tanzanian nationals? London, I don’t speak Swahili.”
“Oh, isn’t that the same as Arabic?”
“Close, but no,” Kira said.
“Well, find someone who is educated enough to know what these items are and have them write the instructions. The help, as you remember, speaks only a little French and a couple words of English, though the property manager and the head of security speak English well enough. If you can’t get this translated, we’ll just depend on them. Okay, so you’ll look over Bruno’s work and fix any issues you see. Also, I need you to get in touch with a florist and get arrangements made. We’ll have eleven guests, plus William and I, and you. Each bedroom should have a lovely arrangement, smaller ones in each bath, one glorious one to set on the entry table as a statement piece, a low spread for the dining table. Etcetera. Use that local place—the one down the road from your house. They do a beautiful job.”
“All right. And what do I do with all of the products?”
“I’ll send the jet to Dallas to pick up the food. Then to you in Durham. From there, the pilot will fly you to Dar es Salaam for refueling, then on to the Range.” She paused and tapped her bottom lip. “Maybe I should just have Bruno come along to…no, I can’t do that. He reminded me that he has a vacation on the books to go to Antarctica on a cruise of all horrible things.”
“Wait, you want me—?”
“The plane will land at Davidson Range. You are to direct the staff on how to set everything up. I need you to make sure everything is clean, attractive, soothing, and calm for when we get there.”
“How are you going to—?”
“The jet will leave you there to get things in place while the pilot comes and picks us up. We’ll be a day behind you.”
“But…”
“Now, once our party arrives at the Range, we’ll refresh ourselves then join you for a welcome cocktail party. You’ll hostess the first evening. I will be William’s dutiful wife and will also care for Archie—his nanny is having an operation. I wish she could have put it off until after all of this. It makes my life complicated. But I have you!” She stopped and smiled at Kira. “Cigars! And whisky. I’ll text the contact information for the shops William uses for that. Just have them charge it to William’s account and have it sent over to Bruno to go on the plane with you.”
“I…”
“Now, the next morning, the three of us—you, Archie, and I—will get back on the plane, fly back to Dar es Salaam for refueling, and then home. Well, to D.C. so you and I can finish arrangements for the wedding reception. So pack accordingly. Mmmm, not the ‘reception,’ what would you call this?”
“Maybe call it a celebration?” Kira drew in a breath. That had all been a lot to take in. “London, there are holes in this plan. It’s usually frowned upon for people to bring food products and fauna into a foreign country. And I need a visa to go, don’t I?”
“Yes. Yes.” She waggled a dismissive hand. “That’s all been arranged. I have the proper letters for you. I’ll attach them in an email. The official one with the stamp is being overnighted to you.”
“What about Princess Beatrice?”
“I hate for her to go to the Range. There are all kinds of horrible things that could befall her. Poisonous snakes and monkeys. At the same time, she gets neurotic if she isn’t with either you or me.”
“You. She’s still neurotic with me.”
“Less so than other places. She simply cannot be put under the psychological torture of being placed elsewhere. So she’ll have to come and be on her lead. Besides, I miss her. It’s been too long since I got to cuddle my little sweetie-peetie.”
“I’ll only be there for two days?” Kira glanced longingly at her new project.
“Fly all day Friday. It’s twenty hours. I know. Dreadful. Hopefully, most of the time, you can sleep. I’m not sure what to do about bathrooming my princess, perhaps puppy pads in the bathroom? I’ll let you figure that out. Get things set up Saturday. We arrive Sunday. We fly out Monday morning for home—well, home enough. We’ll be in D.C. to go over the venue and make adjustments for the wedding celebration. We’ll stay at our Arlington home while William finishes up his business. I need to send the jet straight back to the Range—after the pilot gets some sleep, of course. Do you see all of the details I have to keep straight? Archie’s nanny will meet us in D.C that Wednesday morning if all goes well with her medical issues.” She stopped to hold up crossed fingers. “A whirlwind tour.”
“And we have permission to have the dog with us?”
“Yes, that’s on the list. I’ll send you the paperwork, and you can look it over and plug any holes. But it says staff and companionate K9s. Can you imagine Princess Beatrice being called a K9?” She laughed. “So macho for my delicate princess.”
Kira paused to see if London was done.
“Okay?” London asked.
“Yes. Okay,” Kira agreed on a sigh. Her project would have to wait. This was the price she was paying to keep her independence for another couple of months. The last thing she needed was for William to rescind his offer to be her “protector.” Who knew, maybe she could convince William, by jumping through last-minute hoops, that she was a good person to keep around. And her uncle would leave her alone.
London grinned. “Excellent. Yay!” She dipped her head and kissed Archie. “Oh, and Kira, your Uncle Nadir will be there. That should make you happy.”
Uncle Nadir?
No, actually, that didn’t make her happy. At. All.
Chapter Five
Ty
The men of Echo held the perimeter around the helicopter. The Ugandan special forces team spread out amongst the trees, keeping a close eye that there were no surprises.
No bands of extremists or guerillas amongst the gorillas.
The team had no eyes in the skies with overwatch; they’d left any support back in Kenya.
Uganda was worried about the ramifications of Russia knowing America was after their helicopter. The Ugandan military wouldn’t even okay the team’s flying their own little bird into the area, necessitating their jump.
This was a probe to see what needed to be done. Was it a quick fix?
That wasn’t for Echo to decide. The deciders were D-Day, Nick, the heli repair tech Jojo, and the engineer guy they called Snacks. Each member of the 160th SOAR team had been strapped to an operator and dropped from the sky. D-Day and Nick had been just fine with their time playing Tarzan in the trees. The other two didn’t enjoy it as much. Ty ducked his head to hide his snicker. Probably once they got home again, this adventure would become one of the great heroic tales of their lives.
But now?
Now, Nitro was swatting the engineer to get him to stop sniveling. “Cowboy up, dude. And if you shit your pants, you’re on your own walking out here. Dawn’s breaking. That’s when the predators wake up and want a snack, Snacks.” He plopped a hand on Snack’s shoulder, making him jump.
As a soft morning glow meandered through the thick canopy surrounding them, the team snapped their night vision back on their helmets and out of their way. The Ugandan
team of four recon specialists—trained by the Green Berets—put their hands on the helicopter, looking it over. Their excitement was palpable.
This was one of the most technologically advanced systems owned by a frenemy state.
A darling on the CIA wish list.
The Mi-25 was a Russian gunship designed as a super-speed attack and transport helicopter.
Without hesitation, D-Day called out, “Let’s get to it, gentlemen.” She pointed to Snacks and Jojo. “Jojo, check under the hood. Snacks, check the blades and exterior. We’re looking for any mechanical reasons this bird might have been left to roost.” She swiveled her head searching out her co-pilot. “Nick, I want you to check the fuel. See if the tank’s empty. If there’s enough go-juice for us to fly out of here, I want you to use the kit to check the fuel's viability. We don’t know how long this beast has been sitting here. If it’s months, the fuel might have gone bad.” She smacked her hands together then looked over at T-Rex.
“We’re at your service, ma’am. We’ll secure the area unless and until you need us for something else.” He pointed at Ty then pointed at D-Day.
Ty stayed put while his teammates spread out, slipping seamlessly and noiselessly into the foliage.
D-Day gave Ty a curt nod and climbed into the cockpit.
Snacks stood at the tail and called forward to D-Day. “How did Uganda expect us to get this out? Did they think we’d dismantle this beast and hump it out on our backs?”
“I guess if it comes to that.” Having settled into the pilot’s seat, she pulled what looked to Ty to be a pre-flight checklist out of a cubby. She shook her head at it. “Russian, of course.”
“That’s why I’m here, ma’am,” Ty said, reaching for the clipboard. “Though some of this vocabulary is probably job-specific, and I wouldn’t have run across it in language school.” His eyes scanned down the Cyrillic letters, letting his brain switch gears from English to Russian.
“Hear me out,” Snacks said as he walked toward them, running his hands over the skin of the copter. “It’s the quicker picker-upper plan of helicopter thievery.”
“We were invited,” D-Day said. “It’s not thievery. It’s more like accepting a sweater from the lost and found bin when suddenly the air conditioning is blasted, and management sees you’re cold.”
“Okay. But listen, we get the air force to bring in a pair of twin-rotor MH-47 heavy lifting birds.”
“Uh-huh,” D-Day tipped her head at Ty and raised a brow.
He held up a finger as he continued to read through the Russian words. It had been a while, and his brain needed to shift gears.
“The MH-47 has the fuel range to get us out of here,” Snacks said. “It has a night-vision-compatible cockpit. Come in low, dead of night. Run some straps under this baby and fly it off.”
“Any body damage?” D-Day asked him.
“None,” Snacks said. “I’m checking rotors now, but from a casual glance, I don’t see anything that makes me nervous.”
Nick slung himself into the helicopter. “Fuel tests fine. No adulterations.”
She tapped the fuel gauge. “This looks like we have plenty. Why would they leave it here like this?” She swiveled to face Ty. “Under your elbow, there’s what looks like it might be the flight log. That might be the best place to start. The instrument panel looks intuitive. For a short, non-combat flight, I think I can feel my way around piloting it. But maybe the Russian crew notated the reason it’s here.”
Ty handed her the checklist back and pulled out the log.
“Look at the last entry, maybe two,” D-Day suggested. “We need to stop and eat.” She put her hand to her mouth and called, “Eat. Now.” Before returning to her conversational tone. “It’s bad to make decisions on an empty stomach.”
“Agreed.” Snacks pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped a smear of grease from his hands.
“This log says they put down here June twelfth—so four weeks ago—per their orders.”
D-Day’s brows drew in tight. “That’s it? Where did the pilot go? We’re in Nowheresville.”
Ty shook his head, reaching out for an MRE that Snacks handed him. D-Day accepted hers.
Nick and Jojo came around and climbed into the fuselage to accept their meals. None of them took the time to heat them. They poured some water into the packets to rehydrate the freeze-dried scrambled eggs and bacon, rolled the tops, and opened their accessory packets.
“Have you spent time in Africa before?” Snacks looked at D-Day as he poured water over the powdered orange drink in his cup.
“Yeah, she has,” Nick said over his shoulder. “Tanzania just south of here on Lake Victoria. Her family has property there, some big safari lodge, right, D-Day? Davidson Range?
“That’s what I’m told,” D-Day’s lips pinched. “I’ve never been there, myself. My father bought it when he wanted to make nice with the government about energy contracts.”
“Yeah?” Jojo asked. “Why haven’t you gone? I think it would be cool to see the wild animals in their natural habitats. I mean, I’ve been to the zoo. It wasn’t a very fulfilling experience. An elephant in the wild? A rhino? Hey, maybe your dad would let you bring your friends to go hang out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” D-Day sounded like she’d like to change the subject.
“I wouldn’t mind being on a guided safari. But I’m down with not seeing anything staring back at me,” Jojo said. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen or heard a single animal. Seems a little freaky doesn’t it?”
“They saw your ugly mug and decided to lay low until you get yourself gone.” Snacks shoveled up a spoonful of granola with some purple “blueberry” milk. “If I could go to a safari lodge, I’d do it. I’ve seen photos of those places. Swanky. You lay on a sofa and watch the sunset. Get you some good Scotch whisky. A servant with a flower behind her ear, swayin’ by with something good to nibble.”
“Heh, heh, heh,” Nick said.
“Don’t be conjuring your porn scenarios,” D-Day said. “I can’t say if there’s a view like that or not. Somehow, I doubt it. My stepmother, London, says that she feels wonderfully safe there. The place is a fortified compound. Tall walls, covered walkways, it doesn’t sound to me like they have much of a view to anything. Nick, can you move your keister over? You’re blocking the light coming in the door.”
“Were you born with a silver spoon in your mouth D-Day?” Snacks asked.
“I was born.” She bit into her tortilla. “I think the only thing in my mouth at the time was my tongue and perhaps some mucus and amniotic fluid.”
“Her dad is William Davidson,” Nick said. “The William Davidson.”
Jojo whistled low under his breath. “And yet you’re here hanging around with us lowlifes.”
“I prefer living with my head in the clouds,” D-Day said. “Literally. To change the subject back to the mission. What do you think? Why is this bird here? Anything stand out to any of you? Should we see what happens when we get the motor whirling?”
“Let’s eat and then give it a go,” Nick agreed, sticking a spoonful of eggs in his mouth. He tapped his MRE packaging with the spoon as he swallowed. “And to D-Day’s point, there’s some good in knowing that having money doesn’t solve all your problems. You know, figure things out with your brain instead of your wallet.” He skated a hand out. “I’m not saying all rich people feel they’re better than those without a fat bank account. But I think that a lot of them look down on us lowlifes that sweat and bleed to eat.”
“We don’t sweat and bleed to eat,” D-Day said. “I don’t. I sweat and bleed to fight for a bigger cause. For the safety of my country, and by extension, the greater world.”
“Nothing like dangling from a tree in Uganda to make one philosophical about stuff,” Ty said with a grin.
“Still, where are the animals?” Jojo pulled his shoulders to his ears. “Isn’t this weird?”
“Afraid some silver-backed ape is gonna think you’re cute a
nd drag you home, Jojo?” D-Day asked.
“Well, if one showed up and—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” D-Day said. “I don’t want to hear about your animal fetishes.”
The group flinched and ducked when the echo of a rifle shot cracked in the distance.
The crew looked around as if to ask if the others had heard that, too. Their brains sifted the new information. Then there was a mad scramble as the crew gathered up their food and thrust it away from them.
Pistols, pulled from chest holsters, were held in the low ready position.
Ty dragged his rifle around as he jumped out into the tiny clearing, searching the foliage for an explanation.
“Echo-zero-one, we have contact.” There was squall and static then T-Rex’s voice came back over the airwaves. “D-Day, is there any way you can get that bird in the air?” His breath came heavy as he ran.
The background noise sounded like he was crashing through the brush.
“On it.” She glanced around. “Any reason that you’ve found that this flight is a no-go?” she asked her men.
There was a rat a tat tat as rifle fire strafed the forest, and return fire sounded very close.
Ty handed Nick his rifle, then climbed into the helicopter to assist D-Day if she needed a label translated so she could get them in the air.
“I’d say there’s every reason to make it a go even if it just gets us a couple kilometers away.”
“Fireballs of an exploding copter or gunfire. I’m not a fan of either,” Nick said, eyeing the copilot seat where Ty had sat down, then turned his back on the helicopter and lifted Ty’s rifle to his shoulder.
“Careful there, cowboy.” Ty’s voice was calm and steady. “We have friendlies heading toward us. Both Echo and the Ugandan operators.” Ty turned his attention back to D-Day to see if he could help her with the Russian tabs.
As her eyes scanned the instruments, she placed her fingers on different buttons and was muttering under her breath. Finally, she reached out and pressed a button, turned a knob, stilled, and listened.
