by S. M. Butler
“Darlin’, we’re surrounded by miles and miles of desert. You know that if we follow a vehicle across it, they are sure to see us. I have a better idea, but I need my buddy Swede’s assistance.” He found the majority of his team eating breakfast at a table in the far corner.
“Irish, Dr. Claire, join us,” Tuck invited, scooting over to allow them to sit in the middle.
Claire liked the easy camaraderie among the team and the teasing way they treated each other. She had no doubt they would take a bullet for each other, but they didn’t take each other too seriously when they had downtime.
“Swede,” Irish started without preamble. “Did you bring along any of your gee-whiz gizmos?”
The tall man with pale blond hair seated directly across from Irish frowned. “What do you mean gee-whiz gizmos?”
“In particular, did you bring any GPS tracking devices?”
Swede sat back, smiling. “You know I come prepared for anything.”
Irish lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “Including tracking a vehicle through the deserts and potentially the jungles of Africa?”
Swede’s smile faded and his body tensed. “Why? Have we got a mission?”
The entire team leaned in to hear what Irish had to say.
“Not official. I’m not sure it has anything to do with anything, but if it does, we need to take this chance.” He explained about Dr. Jamo and the white vehicles with the dove logo on the side door.
“Is that all you need?”
“For now. I might need you all to run interference for me should I need to bug out and find Dr. Jamo at a moment’s notice.”
“Count me in,” Tuck said.
“Me, too,” Big Bird agreed.
Everyone else piped in, offering his assistance.
“Thanks, but for now, I’d like to keep this goat rope to a minimum.” Irish’s jaw tightened. “If I go AWOL, I don’t want any of you going down with me.”
Claire bit her lip. She didn’t like the idea of the guys getting in trouble.
“What’s our timeframe?” Swede asked.
“Less than twenty minutes to plant the bug.”
Swede leaped from his seat. “I’ll be back.”
“You gonna tell the C.O.?” Tuck asked.
Irish stared at his teammate. “Not if I think it’ll jeopardize the mission.”
“Gotcha.” Tuck glanced at the door to the mess hall. “There’s Captain Copeland now.”
Claire swiveled in her seat. Her head spun with everything happening so far, her hopes high that they’d be able to find Dr. Jamo and deliver him safely back to Djibouti.
Captain Copeland spotted her and headed toward the group at the table. “The company that truck belongs to is owned by the government of Ethiopia. It’s an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company. They occasionally ask to use our medical lab facilities when they experience power issues.”
“Power issues?” Tuck’s brows wrinkled. “A pharmaceutical company with power issues?”
“A part of our ability to operate out of Djibouti means we have MOUs, memos of understanding, between local medical facilities,” the captain explained.
“Ethiopia isn’t local,” Irish stated.
“That question’s between Ethiopia and Djibouti.” Captain Copeland straightened. “Colonel Mathis would like to speak with Chief Petty Officer O’Shea and Dr. Boyette as soon as possible.” With that parting comment, the captain left the mess hall, probably expecting Claire and Irish to follow.
When Irish didn’t immediately rise, Claire remained seated, wondering what more he had to say to the others.
Irish faced Tuck. “You’ll make sure the tracking device finds its way onto that vehicle?”
Tuck nodded. “Don’t worry. Swede will take care of it. I’m going with you.”
“Dr. Jamo helped save my life.” Irish stood. “I’d like to return the favor.”
Claire’s heart swelled at Irish’s words.
As they walked out of the mess hall, one of the SEALs stepped up beside her and held out his hand. “I’m Jack Fischer.”
“The one they call Fish?” she asked as she clasped his hand.
He grinned. “That’s me. Just wondered if you’d considered working as a doctor anywhere else but Africa?”
She glanced up into his face. “Why do you ask?”
Irish joined her. “His lady is a doctor, too.”
Butterflies erupted in Claire’s belly. Irish had intimated she was his lady. After their short time together, she hadn’t expected any commitment from the man. But the loose connection felt good. “Where does she practice medicine?” Claire asked.
“She’s founded a non-profit, floating doctor boat.”
“Boat?” How does that work?
“Yeah, they travel to Central and South America, providing services to people who can’t afford or don’t have access to good medical attention. They could always use another doctor on board.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“She bases out of Norfolk when she’s not touring south.” Fish shrugged. “Just saying. They could use the help, should you decide Africa is too dangerous.”
Irish snorted. “Not like Central and South America are terror free.”
“No, they’re not.” Fish had the decency to blush. “But at least I get to see Natalie a few times during the year.”
“Sounds interesting,” Claire said, and meant it. To work alongside another female doctor doing what she loved most might be nice. Helping others who can’t help themselves. But that was all assuming they rescued Dr. Jamo alive before the SEALs had to bug out on another mission somewhere else in the world.
What would it be like to come home to Virginia where the SEALs were based? She’d lived so long in Africa, the relocation would mean an adjustment to live in the States. The thought of having someone to come home to appealed to her more than she cared to admit.
If she took a job with the doctor boat, she might have a chance to get to know Irish when she was in port. She’d like that.
“Let’s go see what the colonel wants.” Irish rested his hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the Special Operations command center.
Tuck followed.
Claire prayed Colonel Mathis didn’t put the kibosh on the potential rescue mission. She owed it to Dr. Jamo to get him out alive.
Chapter Eight
‡
“I take it Captain Copeland gave you the information.” Colonel Mathis stood in the briefing room, his hands on his hips, combat boots spread wide.
Irish nodded, unable to gauge the colonel’s take on the information. “He did. The trucks belong to a pharmaceutical company out of Ethiopia.”
The colonel watched as Tuck entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Good, I’m glad you came, Tuck.” He stepped aside to reveal Gator seated at the table behind him. “Gator is up on the intel. I’ll let him fill you in.”
Tuck glanced toward Claire. “Does the good doctor need clearance to hear what you have to say?”
Claire tensed beside Irish.
The colonel glanced from Irish to Claire and back. “Since she was in Samada when the shit hit the fan, and she also pointed out the connection to the pharmaceutical company, we’ll let the clearance slide this time.” He tipped his head toward Gator.
“We got word from Langley that they think they found Umar. Satellite photos indicate he might be at one of the Ethiopian pharmaceutical company’s locations in the desert.”
“You think he’s working with them?” Claire asked. “Why?”
“Langley’s been tracking a string of occurrences in a pattern on the border of Somalia and Ethiopia. It started with Umar’s raids on outlying villages. Consensus was that at first, he shot all his victims, but a special team was sent in to the decimated villages after the attacks. They discovered the people didn’t die by the usual bullet to the head or beheading. Their bodies and heads were intact. Every last one
of them died of something else.”
“Biological warfare?” Irish asked.
Claire gasped. “Like the village we passed through on our way here?”
Gator nodded. “They suspected the pharmaceutical company, but didn’t have anything to go on until you identified the vehicle in Umar’s camp as one similar to that of our weekly visitor to Camp Lemonnier.”
Claire’s face got even paler. “They could just as easily have brought whatever chemical or disease on the post.”
Gator’s lips thinned. “My first thought.”
“The team that investigated the dead villagers sent photos of the blood samples,” Colonel Mathis said. “We have our medical lab technicians testing the blood of all those who came into contact with the courier. We’ve delayed him for the time being, claiming the tests he wanted run were taking longer than expected due to equipment malfunction.”
A knock on the door interrupted their discussion.
“Enter,” the colonel called out.
Captain Copeland opened the door and set one foot inside. “Negative on the blood samples. All clear.”
“You can release the courier,” Colonel Mathis said.
“We’re feeding him now since his samples took so long. We’ll have him out of here as soon as possible.” Captain Copeland left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Which leads us to the next action,” Mathis said.
Gator pushed to his feet, limped to a computer and clicked the mouse. A satellite photo popped up on a white screen behind the SEAL. “These are the images Langley sent.” He clicked the mouse again and a map overlaid the satellite photo. Gator pointed to a spot on the map, in the middle of a desert. “This is the pharmaceutical company’s factory. Note the field of white beside the structure. Those are solar panels they use to power the manufacturing processes.”
Pointing to a different position in the rugged hills, Gator said, “And this is another building they’ve identified. Trucks from the factory move at night to this location. It is also the location to which they’ve tracked Umar.”
Irish glanced from Gator to Colonel Mathis. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
Colonel Mathis tapped the screen over the building in the hills. “That also happens to be the location of Prince Yohannis’s country palace, the favored son of the most powerful figure in Ethiopia and one of our allies in the region. He’s a Harvard-educated chemical engineer with connections to some of the richest Saudi family members.”
“In other words,” Irish said, “we go in there, and we stir up an international incident.”
“Exactly.” Colonel Mathis paced the floor. “I’m usually a man who believes in playing by the rules. But if Yohannis is in cahoots with Umar, then we have a problem that will take more than diplomacy to resolve.” He stared at the men in the room. “If you get my drift.”
Irish’s eyes narrowed. “I have a feeling a few Navy SEALs are going rogue tonight.”
The colonel’s lips curled into a wry twist. “Can’t imagine that ever happens. Nor can I imagine the guard falling asleep on duty on the flight line where the 160th Night Stalkers keep a couple Black Hawks at the ready.”
“And if we’re caught, we’re on our own,” Gator finished.
Irish stared at the LT. “Sorry, old man, but you’re grounded.”
“It’s just a nick,” Gator protested.
“Can’t have you slowing us down,” Irish argued with a shake of his head.
“Now, I’m just stepping out of the room to ensure I don’t hear a thing about any kind of defiant behavior among members of the Joint Special Operations Command.” Mathis paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Keep the casualties to a minimum, but take out Umar once and for all.”
Irish gave the commander a salute. “Yes, sir.”
The colonel opened the door, and half of the team fell inside. The C.O. chuckled. “I think these might belong to you.”
Big Bird, Dustman, Fish, Nacho and others poured through the door into the room and dropped into the chairs positioned around the conference table.
“Dr. Boyette, you might want to check in with the medical clinic and see how they are coming with the results on those samples,” Tuck suggested.
Claire stood tall, her jaw set. “I want to stay and hear how we’re getting into Yohannis’s compound.”
Tuck was already shaking his head. “Not we. You won’t be going with the team, ma’am.”
She frowned. “Why not? I know what Dr. Jamo looks like.”
Irish nodded. “So do I. But this will be a military exercise. It’ll be dangerous and you don’t belong in the middle.”
“What if someone is injured?” she argued. “I could act as the team medic.”
“I’m sorry, Claire.” Irish took her hands in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “We travel light and fast. Having a female among us will distract us from our mission.”
“I can help,” she insisted.
“A lot of people here need your assistance. No use taking a bullet in hostile territory, depriving others of your healing touch.”
Claire bit down on her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing.
Damn, she was sexy when she was angry. But under no circumstances would they take her with them. She would be a liability and make them lose focus on the mission. “Darlin’, you can’t go with us.”
She nodded, her lips firming into a tight line. “I see.”
Irish could tell she didn’t see at all. If the stubborn tilt of her chin was any indication, she wasn’t finished arguing, only waiting to get him alone to press her point.
“Dr. Boyette, you’ll have to leave.” Gator nodded toward the door. “We have work to do in order to get in to extract Dr. Jamo.”
And neutralize Umar, Irish added silently.
“I’ll stop by to see you after we’re done here,” Irish promised.
She gave him a tight smile. “I wouldn’t dream of distracting you.” Claire spun on her heels and left the room, closing the door behind her with a loud click.
“Sorry, Irish.” Gator said. “You know as well as I do she would be in the way.”
He sighed. “I know.” Irish clapped his hands together. “Let’s bring down Umar.”
Claire really did understand why she’d been excluded from the operation planning. She didn’t have the training and would be more of a liability than an asset. Still, she wanted to be there for Dr. Jamo. But not at the expense of SEAL lives.
She sighed and walked back toward the clinic, curious about the courier and the role he played in the murder of the remote villagers.
The white truck stood where she’d originally found it, parked beside the clinic. At first, she didn’t see the driver until he straightened at the tailgate.
Claire swung wide, noting that he’d shoved a box beneath a tarp in the bed of the truck.
The courier had his back to her, a cell phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear. As he turned, he caught sight of her, his dark eyes narrowing, his gaze following her as she angled toward the clinic’s front door.
A trickle of alarm dribbled down her spine. Claire hurried into the clinic and stood beside a window, staring out at the driver.
“May I help you?” asked the cheerful army female behind the counter.
“No, thank you.” Claire shot a quick smile her way. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“I don’t blame you. The AC is nice in here.”
Claire didn’t respond, her gaze on the man standing outside the window in the alley between buildings.
He finished his conversation and walked away, leaving his truck unattended.
Her heart leaping into her throat, Claire opened the door to the clinic and peered out. She didn’t see the courier anywhere. If she wanted to find out more about the box in the back of the truck, now was her chance.
“Have a nice day,” the female soldier called out behind her.
Glancing right and left, she exi
ted the building and hurried to the back of the vehicle and lifted the tarp. The box was made of hard plastic and had latches on the front. She flipped them loose and opened the box. Inside were vials of blood, packed in foam. The case was insulated from the heat. Nothing about the samples raised any alarm bells. As she closed the case and secured the latches, she wondered what she’d hoped to find.
The rattle of gravel warned her she wasn’t alone. But before she could turn to face the man behind her, she felt a hand slam into her back, and she was thrown forward, banging her head against the hard plastic box. Stars swam before her eyes. When she tried to straighten, she felt a sharp prick of pain in her shoulder. Arms came around her body, clamping hers to her sides. She fought but she was no match for the superior strength of her opponent, and her muscles weren’t cooperating.
Claire opened her mouth to scream. No sound passed her lips. The bright Djibouti sun snuffed out.
An hour later, Irish excused himself from the planning, his mind on Claire instead of the dangerous insurgency they planned. She’d left the room appearing to be angry at the way Tuck brushed her off. He couldn’t blame her. At the same time, he hoped she’d get over it quickly, and they could pick up where they’d left off early that morning. The night ahead promised to be difficult and extremely dangerous. If they slipped up even a little, their weaknesses would be used by Umar to his advantage. The same way they felt about Umar, he’d feel about them. No prisoners would be taken. Umar would kill every last one of the SEALs if he had his way.
Their team’s job was to see that didn’t happen.
Irish headed for Claire’s quarters, jogging in the heat to get there. She had to be champing at the bit to find out how things went in the briefing session. Not that he could give her specifics about the operation. Secrecy was vital to surprising the enemy.
One knock on her door resulted in no response. After the third knock, he grabbed the handle and twisted.
