by S. M. Butler
“You’re on.” Irish couldn’t resist the temptation and bent to capture one rosy nipple in his mouth, sucking gently on the tip before letting go with a sigh. “Preferably in a nice soft bed.”
They gathered their clothing, dressed, ate the last of the granola bars and drank half of the water left in the bottles. The day would be a long one of traveling backcountry.
On the road again, Irish drove north. Without a map, he did the best he could. With the sun angling toward its zenith, he wasn’t always sure he was headed in the right direction. He only hoped their fuel would last long enough to get them back to a town with a gas station.
After driving a little over an hour, Irish noticed a flock of birds circling in the sky ahead.
“What are those?” Claire leaned forward. “Buzzards?”
Irish squinted in the bright sun, wishing he had his sunglasses. “Appear to be.”
“But there are so many.” Staring ahead, she frowned. “That’s a village.” Her voice sounded strained.
Irish slowed the vehicle as they neared the traditional mud and stick buildings with their grass roofs. The birds dipped down and rose up from a point ahead.
“I don’t see any people moving about,” Claire said. “No women or children. Like the village is deserted.”
As they passed between the first of the structures, Irish could see why. Or more to the point, he could smell why.
Bodies lay in the dirt, near the doorways, inside their homes and in the road. Bloated, picked over by the scavengers. Dead.
“Stop the car,” Claire demanded.
Irish did, but before Claire could open the door and jump out, he grabbed her arm. “Are you sure you want to get out? What if they have some disease that wiped them out? Are you willing to risk your life?”
Claire bit her lip, her fingers gripping the door handle. “I can’t just ignore this.”
Irish understood her desire to help, but these people were beyond help. “You have to. You don’t have the HAZMAT equipment to move among them. If they have a communicable disease, they could contaminate you and then you’d spread it to the next place we stop.” He pressed his foot on the accelerator, sending the Land Rover through the village and out the other side, dodging dead bodies.
Claire closed her eyes and nodded. “You’re right. There was nothing we could do, but drive on and report this to the CDC. They will escalate. If the country wants help, they will send out people.”
“And they will be better prepared.” Irish increased their speed, putting as much distance between them and the stench of death, the haunting images of people lying in the dirt, mothers holding babies with their eyes turned skyward, lifeless.
The road ultimately connected to another, sending them into a small town. There, Irish bartered the spare tire for fuel for the vehicle, keeping a close watch on the road in and out, ready to make a run for it, should trouble catch up to them. When he was finished at the pump, he climbed in and shifted into gear. “There’s a store a block from here. We can get food and water.”
Irish parked in back of the rundown building that barely looked habitable. “Much as I love it, your blond hair will draw attention.”
“I’ll stay here and keep a low profile.”
He nodded. “Along with the low profile, keep your eyes open for any men carrying guns.”
With a serious expression, Claire saluted and ruined it with a grin. “Yes, sir.”
He shook his head, leaned across to kiss her and climbed out of the SUV. “I’ll hurry.”
As soon as he entered the small store and couldn’t see Claire anymore, Irish’s gut clenched.
Far enough away from the al-Shabaab fighters, he felt certain they would be relatively safe, but they’d left an angry Umar nursing his wounds. Based on intelligence, the man carried a grudge and wielded a pretty big stick that extended across the small country of Somalia, as well as into Ethiopia. The sooner they made it into Djibouti, the better. He spoke briefly to the storeowner, learning the border was closer than he’d thought, within an hour’s drive.
Somewhat relieved, he made his purchases of bottled water and uncut fruit. He threw in a colorful shash, a headscarf Somali and Ethiopian women wore over their heads, and a plain brown kaftan. After paying for the items, he stepped out of the store and rounded to the back.
At first glance, he didn’t see Claire in the passenger seat. His heart skipped several beats until he remembered she’d said she’d keep a low profile. Picking up the pace, he crossed to the vehicle and peered in the window.
The passenger seat was empty.
Irish tossed his purchases into the back, and stared around the parking area and street beyond. Where had Claire gone? His heart thumping against his chest, he moved past the vehicle and ran to the edge of the building.
He found her there, crouched in the bushes, looking beyond to the main road passing through the little hamlet. Dropping to his haunches beside her, he stared through a gap between the branches. “What’re you doing here?”
She nodded toward the street where a truck pulled to a stop and eight armed black men climbed down and scattered in different directions.
He grabbed her hand. “Time to go.”
They raced back to the Land Rover and climbed inside.
Irish eased out onto a secondary street, hoping to bypass the men carrying the guns. He traveled several blocks and ultimately pulled behind the ruins of a building. The only way out of the small town was on the main road headed north. Staying put wouldn’t be an option, either. If the men searched hard enough, they’d find the Land Rover.
“For safety’s sake, let’s get away from this vehicle,” Irish said.
Claire nodded. “Do you think they’re looking for us?”
“They could be. The owner of the gas station saw us and so did the guy at the market. Anyone else might point out where we’ve been and which way we were headed.” He reached into the back where he’d stowed the purchased clothes and handed them to Claire. “Put these on.”
She studied the kaftan and scarf and quickly pulled them over her clothing and hair, wrapping the ends of the scarf around her face, hiding as much of her hair and pale skin as possible. “What about you?”
“I’ll stick to the shadows.” He removed his military gear from the back of the vehicle, stashed it beneath the crumbled masonry, and then he pulled the bolt out of the weapon he’d taken from the Somali rebel, rendering it useless.
Claire stuffed the water and food into her doctor bag and slipped it over her arm. It wasn’t in keeping with her outfit, but they didn’t have time to worry about that fact.
“Stay here for a minute.” Irish slipped away, hugging the shadows, heading back toward the truck and the gunmen. He stopped a block short and counted seven of the eight spread out on the street, talking to residents. They turned and pointed to the store where he’d purchased water and food.
Parked at the side of a street a few blocks north stood a weathered farm truck half full of green bananas, the driver squatting on the ground, drawing figures in the dust, talking to another man.
One of the armed men shouted to them.
The men straightened and waved toward the truck.
The gunman nosed around it, peered inside the cab and into the back where the fruit was piled high. When he’d satisfied himself there was nothing of interest in the truck, he moved on and the men squatted again to their drawings in the dust.
Irish had an idea and hurried back to where he’d left Claire.
She rose from her position in the shadow of the ruins and hurried to meet him. “Are they still there?”
“Yes, and from what I saw, they’re asking about us. It won’t be long before they’re directed to this location. We have to leave the Land Rover. Driving it out of town with the men on the main road would be too dangerous. But I have another idea.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Follow me.” He led her through the alleys and less-traveled streets, b
acks against the walls, moving from building to building. When he neared the road where the banana truck was parked, he paused. The driver stood, nodding to the man he’d been talking with and headed for the driver’s door.
“It’s now or never.” He grabbed Claire’s hand.
“We’re riding in a banana truck?”
Irish took off running, pulling her along with him. The truck’s engine grumbled and coughed, spewing a thick black fog of diesel fumes, perfect to provide a modicum of concealment as he lifted Claire, bag and all, and set her in the truck.
He leaped up beside her and pulled her close to the stacks of bananas, dragging down several heavy stems to place behind them.
“Lie flat,” he whispered.
Claire dropped to the bed of the truck and made herself as small as possible behind a growing stack of banana stems bunched with bananas.
The truck engine settled into a loud roar and jerked forward. Irish dropped down beside her, flattening himself behind the bananas as the vehicle pulled out onto the main street.
Through a gap in the bunches of bananas, Irish spotted a few of the armed men rushing in the direction he’d driven the Land Rover. Four remained in the street, shouting at the residents, brandishing their guns.
Leaving the Land Rover had been a risk. He didn’t like being without dedicated transportation, but he hadn’t had much choice.
“Think they will catch up and search this truck?” Claire whispered.
“Maybe. But one of the men already searched it. With only an hour to the border, I’ll bet this truck is going to Djibouti.”
“Could we cross the border in the truck?”
He heard the tension in her voice and kept his calm. “They’ll be checking the cargo. We’ll drop out of it when we get close.”
For the next hour, they bumped along in the back of the banana truck as the road led closer to their destination.
Irish prayed the crossing would be uneventful, he’d rejoin his team and they’d put this disaster behind them.
Unfortunately, reaching their destination would be the end of the adventure with the beautiful doctor. Irish would be on his way back to home base in Little Creek, Virginia. Claire sat up in the back of the truck, breathing diesel fumes and choking on the dust the truck spun up behind it, her thoughts churning through all that had happened. From helping villagers, to treating the al-Shabaab, almost being raped and now on the run with an all-too-sexy SEAL through potentially hostile territory, she had to admit her life had changed dramatically.
What worried her was the image of all the dead in the remote village and the whereabouts of her colleague, Dr. Jamo. As soon as she got to someplace where she could get help, the better. Whatever had decimated the village could spread to others. The sooner she notified the powers that be, whether the CDC, WHO or some other organization, she had to raise awareness to prevent what could turn into a pandemic and wipe out the entire continent of Africa if left unchecked.
She must have fallen asleep. When the truck rumbled to a stop, she felt lips brush hers in a soft caress.
“We’re here,” Irish whispered against her ear.
Claire sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
They were in an urban area, surrounded by people in vehicles and on foot. The hour was near dusk. Everyone looked tired and dusty, similar to the way Claire felt. What she wouldn’t give for a cool shower and shampoo.
Irish climbed down from the truck and held out his arms. “We’d better continue on foot.”
“I have my passport, but what about you?” she asked.
“I’ll see you to the border guards and leave you there.”
“How will you get across?” The thought of splitting up didn’t sit well with Claire. Irish had been her rock, her protector. Without him, she was a lone woman in a strange country. And not knowing where he’d be, or whether he’d be caught, made her nervous.
“If we had time, I’d stay and try to push the issue. As it is, I’ll make sure you get through. Then I’ll find you on the other side.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Don’t worry about me. Once you’re in Djibouti, if I’m not there right away, don’t wait. Catch a ride to the Djibouti International Airport. Camp Lemonnier is located there. Ask for the Joint Special Operations Command. I’ll meet you there.”
The more he talked of leaving her, the tighter the knot grew in her belly. She’d never felt safer than with Irish. Even when they’d been chased by the al-Shabaab. He was the highly trained fighter. Not her.
“Okay?” He raised her hand to his lips and stared into her eyes.
Claire’s heart fluttered against her ribs. Despite her misgivings about going through the border crossing alone, she nodded. “I’m okay. But promise me…I’ll see you on the other side.” Her fingers tightened in his.
“Count on it.” He grinned. “I’ll be watching you. If anything happens, I’ll be there for you.” Then he kissed her lips and disappeared into the crowd.
Knowing Irish would be watching her passage through the border crossing gave Claire a little more confidence. She pulled her passport out of the satchel and waited while four ramshackle trucks pulled forward, one of them being the banana truck she and Irish had stowed away on.
After the banana truck pulled through the crossing, it was her turn. She handed her passport to the guard with the military rifle and waited.
The guard stared at her passport and said something in Arabic.
Claire understood enough to realize he was asking for her papers. Pretending she didn’t understand, she pointed to her bag and said the Arabic word for doctor.
With a frown, the guard called out to the man standing at the doorway to the guard shack.
He came over and took the satchel from Claire and rummaged through it, pulling out her stethoscope, laughing as he fit them in his ears.
Claire held her tongue and fought to keep from snatching back her things from the guard. She wanted to turn and find Irish’s face in the crowd of people. Just when her nerves reached a breaking point, she saw the guards look past her to the road she’d arrived on.
Turning enough to glance behind her, Claire sucked in a breath, her heart leaping to her throat.
A truckload of Somali rebels rolled into the crowd. People scattered to get away, crying out.
The guards shoved the bag and Claire’s passport at her and waved her through, raising their rifles to the ready position in the face of the oncoming truck.
With her clearance to pass through, Claire gathered her head scarf tighter around her face and hurried past the guards toward the banana truck, praying she could catch up to him before he left. From the way the other vehicles were taking off, the drivers wanted away from there before the rebels started causing trouble.
Claire walked fast, without turning back. She had almost reached the passenger door to the banana truck when she heard a shout behind her. Grabbing the handle on the side of the truck, she stepped up on the running board and called out in Arabic, “Please, take me to Djibouti International Airport.” She shot a quick glance toward the border, praying Irish had found another way through farther along. Like he’d said, she couldn’t stand around and wait. Not with rebel forces converging on the border patrol.
The driver waved at her, shaking his head.
Refusing to take no for an answer, Claire yanked open the door, shoved aside the trash on the passenger seat and slid inside, slamming the door behind her.
Another shout rose from the guards.
Claire glanced in the side mirror.
The rebels yelled at the guards, brandishing their weapons. The guards shook their heads and pointed toward the trucks leaving.
Her heart lodged in her throat, Claire ducked lower, praying the rebels and the guards hadn’t seen which truck she’d climbed into. The driver beside her yelled, his Arabic too fast and garbled for her to translate. She didn’t need a translation to know he wasn’t happy she’d gotten in his truck, especially with
the rebels behind them starting their way.
In Arabic, she said, “Go.”
The driver shoved his shift in gear, popped the clutch and the engine died.
Holy crap. Claire could drive a manual transmission better. At this rate, the rebels would be pulling them out of the truck before they’d gone two feet.
A loud explosion ripped the air, shaking the ground beneath the truck.
Claire ducked, fully expecting the rebels had fired something horrible in their direction. In the side mirror, she watched as the rebels who’d been on their way toward the trucks most recent across the border, had dropped to their haunches, turning, their rifles aiming back across the border into Somalia.
A billowing, black column of smoke rose into the desert air from a burning vehicle.
The rebels turned and ran back across the border to where the fire burned in their truck. They shouted to each other and fired their weapons into the air.
With the knot in her chest easing, Claire smiled. That move had Irish written all over it. He’d created a diversion so that she could get safely away.
Starting the engine, the banana truck driver shifted into gear and eased his foot off the clutch. The truck surged forward, jerkily, and headed north on the coastal highway to Djibouti City.
Claire glanced in the mirror, praying Irish found a ride and that she’d see him very soon.
Chapter Six
‡
After he left Claire in the line, Irish had ducked behind a building. From his vantage point, he could see the border crossing and the road leading up to it from the south. He’d noticed the truckload of rebels as soon as they rolled into the small border town. Their faces were hidden behind red plaid or green scarves.
Meanwhile, the guards at the border crossing played with the items in Claire’s doctor bag.
Thankfully, it was a busy day at the border. The truckload of rebels was forced to slow their approach.
When they all jumped from the truck and advance on the border guards, Claire was waved through.
She didn’t wait around, moving through as soon as she got clearance.
