“December Ngomo—the man who helped you into the helo—he is with Hunter. They will be going into Gabon tonight. They will be picking up a doctor at a research station who will help us identify the pathogen you brought with you.”
The hatchet of panic struck right back into her heart. “What do you mean? Do you know what he’s been through? And what about the militia that came across the border—the fighting down there?”
A smile pulled at Rafiq’s lips. “McBride has Cameroonian army support, and he and Ngomo will have air support into Gabon. It’s a simple mission.” He reached forward, placed a hand on her knee. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”
Sarah stared at him, barely able to absorb what he was saying. Hunter had hardly slept in days. What kind of men were these? She turned to look out the gaping doorway. She could see ocean below them now, shimmering like beaten black metal in the pale light of the small moon. She could see the pale purple hint of dawn along an endless horizon. She swallowed, turned back to Rafiq. “My baby needs milk. She…she needs medical attention. She’s an orphan, a newborn.” A sob of emotion choked her. “We rescued her. Her name is Branna.”
Rafiq nodded calmly, as if this kind of thing was done daily. “We’ll have her in the clinic on São Diogo in under two hours. I’ll radio ahead and we’ll have a physician waiting for both of you.”
Sarah sank back against the cold metal and stared down at the sea. She could feel the steady, powerful throb of the machine vibrating through her. They were out of the cloud, and stars spattered the sky. She could see strips of land below, islands. She felt Branna sucking on her finger, her teeny little hands groping. And Sarah knew she could never, ever live with a man like Hunter. She just couldn’t be with a man who got up every morning to do a job like this.
Tears burned behind her eyes. He couldn’t even get on the damn helicopter with them. He had another job to do. He’d said it would be so, and he’d already moved on. That’s how it would always be for him. Whether he loved her or not. She closed her eyes against the emotion that swelled though her. She’d known it would be like this. She’d known this feeling would come. She just didn’t think it would hurt this badly.
If there was one thing she could take away from all of this, it was Branna. Sarah would adopt her. She would give her a future. She would nurture and cherish this innocent little life that had been born out of violence and chaos.
And even though she couldn’t be with him, she would always cherish the man who’d saved them both and taught her how to be strong again.
Chapter 16
03:00 Alpha. Congo-Cameroon border.
Friday, September 26
“Yes?”
Andries du Toit cleared his throat nervously. “We got them.”
Silence.
It made him uncomfortable. “They were both killed in a shootout on the Cameroonian side of the border. The nitrogen in the biohazard canister ignited in a mortar blast. The pathogen has been destroyed,” he lied.
Silence stretched again. Then the man in New York spoke, his voice dead calm. “What about the Cameroonians? What do they think happened?”
Du Toit mopped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief. “They think it was rebels. We’ve done cleanup operations, taken care of their bodies. There’s no sign we were ever there.”
“Thank you,” the man said simply. And the line went dead.
Du Toit swiped his handkerchief across his forehead again, then stuffed it into his breast pocket. He took another swig of his whiskey. He could not let New York know that he’d failed, that the nurse had escaped. Besides, it would all be over before anyone found out, anyway. Still, he’d play it safe. Once he’d collected final payment, he’d disappear—just slip into the wild of Africa. He’d done it before. He would do it again.
The man in New York replaced the receiver on his secure phone and ran his tongue slowly over his teeth. It appeared the glitch had finally been sorted out, thank God. Things could now proceed normally, just as soon as he’d taken care of the last loose end. He pulled open his desk drawer, withdrew a cell phone, the one he used only to contact his “caretaker.” He pressed a button. He had to wait only one ring.
“Yes?”
“Kill Du Toit.”
17:15 Alpha. FDS base, São Diogo Island.
Friday, September 26
Sarah followed the sandy path through the dune scrub, making her way down to the beach. The clinic doctors had tried to give her medication to help her sleep through the day, but she’d refused to take it. Perhaps she should have. She felt both overtired and edgy, as if there was too much caffeine buzzing through her system. But there was no way she could think of numbing herself and going to sleep while Hunter was still out there somewhere.
And this was exactly why she could never be with a man who did what he did for a living. It would kill her—waiting for days and nights for him to come home from his next mission, wondering if he’d come home. Wondering what he’d done, who he’d killed, knowing he’d never talk about it.
She sat on the highest dune, pulled her knees in close to her chest and stared out over the Atlantic. God, she hoped he was all right. She felt sick not knowing. At least Branna was fine. The doctors had put her in an incubator, just to be sure. She’d been a little dehydrated, but otherwise she was in perfect health.
Sarah watched the waves rolling relentlessly to shore, white spindrift blowing in the wind. Hunter had told her to wait for him. She gave a soft laugh. What a joke. She couldn’t leave this little island paradise if she tried, at least not until she’d been fully debriefed and this whole mission of theirs was over. Rafiq had made that politely, yet perfectly clear last night. He’d said he’d debrief her himself tomorrow, once she’d rested a little.
A silver speck over the horizon caught her attention. Sarah shielded her eyes and watched as it came closer, the sound of chopper blades eventually reaching her over the crunch of the waves along the white beach. Hunter?
Her heart began to thud against her chest. She got to her feet, watched the helicopter near the island. The chopper buzzed right over her and came in to land on the helipad just behind the ridge of dunes.
She couldn’t help herself; she raced along the ridge toward the area, then stopped and squinted against stinging sand as the helicopter settled onto the packed earth.
The door opened. December, the soldier who’d helped her into the chopper in Cameroon, hopped out and assisted an older man behind him. The man was stooped slightly, like a question mark. He had a shock of white hair, glasses and a lab coat that flapped about his knees in the downdraft. He must be the doctor from Gabon, the one who’d come to analyze the samples in Dr. Regnaud’s container.
Sarah took a step toward the helipad, then froze as she saw Hunter jump down. He was still in military gear and his face was once again streaked with black paint. Even from here he looked wild, dangerous. Sarah’s mouth went instantly dry and her heart began to jackhammer. She wanted to go to him, to touch him. God, she loved that man…a man she could never have.
December escorted the doctor to a Jeep waiting on the far side of the helipad, but Hunter stopped. He turned slowly, looked at her. He must have known she was there, must have seen her from the air. He stood still, just watching her, the slowing rotor blades whipping his black hair about his head.
Sarah couldn’t hold back; his power over her was too great. She ran across the sand to him. “You…you’re okay,” she said breathlessly as she reached him, her simple words belying the tornado of emotion churning through her heart.
He took one stride toward her, yanked her into his arms and pressed his mouth down hard over hers, claiming her, holding her tightly, stroking her hair as he kissed her roughly, his tongue meeting hers, searching, needing. Sarah melted into him, hot emotion burning her eyes, searing her body. He pulled back suddenly, gazed deep into her eyes. “I missed you, Sarah.”
She glanced away, afraid of what was coming next, of what must be said.<
br />
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Sarah?”
“Irish!” December yelled from the Jeep. The engine was running, the doctor waiting, the pathogen waiting for him.
Hunter glanced at December, then back at her, not easing his hold. But a look of worry had shifted into his eyes. “Sarah,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “We have to talk. I have a plan—”
“A plan?”
“For how we can be together. I want us—”
Her heart lurched sickeningly. She had to say it. She couldn’t allow him to think there was a future for them. “No, Hunter.”
He went stock-still. The rotor blades stopped turning, leaving only the whisper of the breeze through the dune grass at their feet, the thump of waves on the shore and the purr of the vehicle waiting across the helipad.
“No?”
“I can’t be with a man like you. There…there is no us.”
Confusion rippled across his features. “Sarah, I love you. I want to be with you. I—”
She pressed her hand over his mouth. “Don’t do this.”
“Irish! Now!”
He flicked his eyes to the Jeep, torn between duty and her. Again. She’d forced him to make the choice once, at great cost. She never wanted to put him in that position again. It wasn’t fair.
He gripped her face suddenly with both hands, his gaze ferocious. “Sarah, I know you care for me. I know you want me. I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’ve felt it in your body. Tell me you don’t want me, Sarah!”
Her throat went tight. She couldn’t talk.
Desperation flared in his eyes. His hands tightened against her face. “Tell me! I want to hear you say it.”
Tears welled in her own eyes. “I…I love you, Hunter. I want you with all my heart—more than you’ll ever know. And I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me…in ways you’ll never understand. You saved me. But…” Emotion snared her voice. “It—we—won’t work.”
His lowered his face to hers. “You love me. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”
She shook her head. “You’ll kill me, Hunter. I won’t be good for you—”
“Irish!” December barked. “They need you in the war room ASAP!”
His eyes, lit with a mad kind of fury, tunneled right into her soul. “Just wait for me, okay? Promise me you’ll wait, so that we can talk.”
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t want to wait, Hunter.”
The Jeep horn sounded. Despair clouded the mercenary’s eyes, then turned to white-hot anger. “You’re lying.”
The horn sounded again.
“Go, Hunter,” she said. “They need you. Go do your thing.” Go save the world.
He spun on his heels and stalked over to the waiting vehicle.
Nausea churned her stomach, but tears, release, would not come. She was empty, a husk ready to blow in the wind. She wiped a smudge of black paint from her face as she watched him swing himself into the Jeep. He was one of the most incredible men she’d ever met. She loved him. And he loved her. He’d proved it in the most profound way. Yet she couldn’t have him. She watched him go, a cloud of dust boiling behind the vehicle as it disappeared over the ridge.
15:00 Alpha. FDS Base, São Diogo.
Monday, September 29
Sarah pushed open the heavy door that led to the war room, and noticed immediately that Hunter wasn’t there. A mix of relief and pain punched through her. It had been almost three days since she’d seen him disappear in the Jeep. He hadn’t come looking for her, and she hadn’t gone looking for him. He’d probably seen that she was right, that this was for the best. For both of them. So why did it hurt so much?
Sarah stepped into the room and the four men seated around an oval table looked up instantly. The sense of presence and power they exuded was immediate and tangible. A prickle of awe ran over her skin.
The dark-haired man at the far end stood as she neared the table, his silver eyes appraising her with cool, calculated concentration. He was tall, well over six feet, his face all rugged angles. She noticed he had a scar that sliced from the corner of his left eye all the way down to the base of his jaw.
“Sarah, thank you for joining us.” His voice was accented with French and something more guttural she couldn’t quite place. “I am Jacques Sauvage. You know Rafiq Zayed here, and this is December Ngomo. I believe you’ve met briefly.” He turned toward the white-haired man seated to his left. “And this is Dr. Jan Meyer.” Sauvage held his hand out to her, palm up. “Please do take a seat.”
Her eyes flicked around the table. There were two vacant seats. She chose the one closest to the door, eyeing the renowned Dr. Meyer. She’d heard about him. Every medical professional who worked in Africa had. He was an internationally renowned expert in rare tropical diseases, affiliated with the Prince Leopold Institute in Belgium, Europe’s answer to the CDC.
“We’ve gone over Zayed’s debriefing report on you,” Sauvage said. “And we’d like you to join us for the first portion of this meeting just to see if there is any information you feel might be inconsistent with your experience. If anything new comes to mind, please speak up. Ça va?”
Sarah nodded, still trying to place his accent.
“Bien.” Sauvage seated himself and Dr. Meyer stood. The man looked tired, his wrinkles etched deep behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He adjusted the collar of his lab coat and hit a key on a laptop. The bank of LCD screens on the wall behind him flickered to life with images of cells taken under an electron microscope. He peered over the rims of his glasses at them.
“Sauvage has asked me to keep this brief. We’ve been working on the Ishonga samples around the clock for three days now.” His English was perfect but his accent was heavily Dutch. “Fortunately, the integrity of the biological material was maintained at cryogenic temperatures due to the nitrogen vapor canister used during shipping.”
Shipping? Sarah felt a ridiculous laugh bubble somewhere deep in her gut. Was that what she’d been doing in the Congo this past week? Shipping biological material? He didn’t know the half of it.
“If you look at these slides here—” Meyer pointed to one of the LCD screens “—you’ll see that the brain tissue of the Ishonga samples is riddled with holes, like a sponge. This disease has been eating through the brains of these patients.” He turned back to face them, eyes intense over the rims of his spectacles. “This is not a virus and it’s not a bacteria, or any other conventional disease agent. This kind of pathology—” he gestured broadly to the images behind him “—is more consistent with what we see in brains that have been infected with transmissible spongiform encephalopathies, or TSEs—”
Sarah leaned forward. “You mean mad cow?” Everyone in the room turned to look at her.
The doctor shoved his glasses up his nose. “Correct—more commonly known as mad cow disease in cattle or Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease in humans. I believe the Ishonga patients were infected with a unique, new form of TSE.”
“But this can’t be,” said Sarah, images of the infected villagers flooding her brain. “This disease moved like wildfire. The villagers went mad and died within days, hours. TSEs take years to manifest. And these patients were violent—that doesn’t happen with TSEs.”
The doctor nodded. “Yes. I agree. This is highly unusual, but nevertheless I believe it is a form of TSE. The violence in this case actually helps facilitate the spread of the disease through the transmission of blood and saliva.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Only once have I heard of anything even remotely like this—in a very rare and elusive band of bonobo chimps that live in a remote reach of the Congo Blacklands.”
Every muscle in Sarah’s body tensed, and for a moment she forgot the powerful men sitting around the table. “You think the bonobo disease has spread to humans?”
“I think the causative agent has been engineered to spread to humans.”
Rafiq cleared his throat. “But if it’s not a virus and not a bacterium, what is
the causative agent?” His Rs rolled over his tongue, his voice resonant with hints of Arabic and French inflections.
“It is my opinion that the verdict is still out on what actually causes TSEs,” said Meyer. “However, the most common current scientific thinking is that the agent is a prion—a defective protein that forces other proteins in the host’s brain to degenerate, leading to progressive dementia, and finally death. My theory is that someone has figured out exactly what causes TSEs—prion or not—and they’ve discovered how to manipulate it genetically. They have thus been able to create a whole new family of TSEs as yet unknown to science.” He paused, eyeing the men around the table, his expression grave. “And from the description of the symptoms you have provided me with, I believe President John Elliot has also been infected with one these hybrid TSEs—albeit one that moves much, much more slowly than the Ishonga sample.”
Sauvage leaned forward. “But it’s the Ishonga one they’re threatening to release as a bioweapon. How do you suppose they will do it if it’s transmitted via bodily fluids?”
Meyer shook his head. “I don’t know yet. It could be made airborne, I think. Or perhaps they’d use a food or water source. I really need more time—”
“We don’t have time.” The deep voice resonated through the room. Sarah’s heart tripped. She spun around.
Hunter McBride stood in the doorway and he looked drop-dead gorgeous. He was clean shaven and he’d had his hair cut, accentuating his eyes. He wore a crisp white T-shirt and faded jeans that should be declared sinful. He stared straight at her, right into her, and for a moment everything in her body stood still. Then her stomach churned with a sick sensation. He looked happy. He’d been away from her and he was…happy. She turned, forced herself to stare at Dr. Meyer, to concentrate on what he was saying.
Hunter stepped up behind Sarah’s chair, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and then went to sit in the vacant chair in front of the window. Her chest cramped tight. Hot emotion seared her eyes, but she blinked it back. How could one touch do this to her? How could he feign casual affection like this? She had to fight not to look at him.
The Heart of a Mercenary Page 20
