Tanya turned the water off and hugged Sarah, tight. Sarah returned the hug, her discomfort slowly increasing as she remembered they were both buck.
“The Americans are coming,” whispered Tanya.
Sarah’s heart leapt. “What?”
“I overheard them. The Americans are on their way. We just need to keep alive until they get here.”
Sarah pushed Tanya away, holding her by the arms, a huge smile of doubtful hope on her face. “Are you sure?”
Tanya nodded, a huge grin on her face. “I’m positive. I overheard them talking. That’s why he was going to rape me then kill me.”
Sarah rushed toward the change area. “We need to get into the clinic and act as if nothing is happening. They could be here any minute, or it could be hours.” As she quickly toweled off she began to think about the blood at the rear of the building and decided to go back outside and at least kick some dirt over it. If someone walked in it there would be no hiding it, but if a casual observer were to look in the general direction, they at least wouldn’t see anything.
She froze.
“We forgot the penis!”
Tanya looked at her, stunned, then suddenly a snicker escaped. And another. Sarah giggled, and within seconds both were laughing uncontrollably, the nervous energy they had been operating under now out of control.
Somebody hammered on the door, silencing them.
“What’s taking you so long?” demanded Mustapha from the hallway.
“I had to shower. We’ll be there in one minute!” shouted Sarah, the moment of levity abruptly over, fear once again the order of the day.
But they’re coming!
Samaia, Sierra Leone
Abdallah pulled a long drag of his cigarette, his last one. He was determined to savor it himself, which meant he had to make sure none of the others saw him—they’d ask him to share.
Not my last damned cigarette.
He had no idea when he’d get more. Mustapha had just arrived with a truck load of bagged water. What the hell they needed bagged water for, he had no idea, though one of the others had said it was actually medicine.
They’re all dead already. We should just kill them now so they don’t suffer.
Both his parents had died months ago and he had no family of his own. It meant he had nothing to lose when Major Koroma had approached him for help. He had been more than willing to. Koroma was like a big brother to him, someone he had known as a little boy, Koroma at least ten years older. He had tried to model himself after the man, joining the army and trying to get assigned to his unit.
He had succeeded, and now was prepared to die to support his childhood hero.
Though he secretly hoped to avoid that.
He was too junior to have been chosen to head to America as part of the strike force, instead he had been chosen to be a decoy, to keep the authorities occupied here should they be found. It would most likely mean his death, but as long as the doctors were dead first, then his job would be done, the authorities hopefully thinking they had killed all involved.
At least long enough for the others to complete their task.
He kicked at something on the ground, it rolling in the dirt, dried grass sticking to it.
What the hell is that?
He bent over and picked it up, his cigarette, dangling out of his mouth, forgotten. Standing straight, he turned it around in his hand.
Then gagged.
Tossing it away, he bent over and heaved, his cigarette hitting the ground before his lunch, as the realization of what he had just picked up set in. He stepped away from it and felt his feet slip out from under him, sending him backward, landing hard on his back with a splash, something soaking through his shirt. He pushed himself into a seated position and looked at his hands.
Oh my God!
“Something’s going on,” rumbled Atlas, lying prone beside Dawson, looking through the scope on his MP5. “Guard at the two-three corner.”
Dawson watched as the man bent over to pick something up, examining it. “What the hell is that?”
“Day old sausage?”
Suddenly the man threw it away as if it were crawling with maggots, jumping back as he did so. He slipped, falling on his back. As he sat up, the back of his uniform was soaked in something dark.
“Is that blood?” asked Atlas.
“I think so. Take him out.”
A single, muffled shot rang out, the man, not yet standing, crumpled to the ground. “Move! Move! Move!” hissed Dawson as he leapt to his feet. Charging forward, using the back of the community center as cover, he and Atlas along with half a dozen British Marines raced across the field toward the small village. It was hot, hard work, all of them dressed head-to-toe in bunny suits and gasmasks, the internal temperature through the roof.
Intel suggested less than 500 lived here on a good day, yet it appeared almost abandoned other than soldiers lazily walking through the streets. Not a single civilian had been spotted since they arrived, most likely all hiding inside out of fear of the soldiers and the disease ravaging their country. If the civilians just stayed inside, this might be a cakewalk.
“Bravo Zero-One, Bravo One-One. I’ve got activity at the front of the community center, over.”
Of course.
“Any sign they’ve made us?”
“Negative, but I’ve got eyes on our two hostages.”
Dawson smiled. “Roger that. Control, did you copy that?” Dawson pressed his back into the wall of the community center, using hand signals to send four of the marines to the three-four corner.
“Confirmed, Bravo Zero-One, relaying information, over.”
Dawson peered around the two-three corner toward the front of the building, no one in sight, then signaled for everyone to advance.
Somebody shouted.
Shit.
“So you think you can save my people?”
Sarah drew in a slow, deep breath, slightly shrugging her shoulders. “I hope so. At least now there’s hope, thanks to you.”
Mustapha smiled, looking at the large stack of supplies standing by the side of the clinic, some of his men moving it inside and out of the sunlight. So far it appeared that no one had discovered that Mohamed was missing and though Koroma was gone, she felt safe from the others with Mustapha here. He seemed to be an honest man who genuinely wanted to help his people, who seemed to understand the need to help those inside the clinic medically. According to Tanya he had apparently expressed doubts about Koroma’s ultimate mission, which gave her hope that he may actually let them live.
He had already saved their lives just by arriving with the supplies, and these past several hours of bought time she had put to good use. All of Zone Two were already hooked up to IV’s, including Koroma’s daughter, and they were now taking a little rest before they tackled Zone Three where there was much less hope of saving anyone, but they had to at least try.
Somebody shouted.
Sarah spun toward the outcry to see one of the soldiers sprinting toward them, yelling something in Krio and pointing toward the rear of the building. Sarah’s heart leapt into her throat as she realized the pool of blood must have been discovered.
Tanya grabbed her arm, trying to will a message to her with only her eyes, a message that didn’t seem to have any fear it, only hope. And that’s when she realized what was being shouted.
They’re here!
She stepped back, away from the approaching soldier when Mustapha’s hand darted out and grabbed her by the arm. He pulled his weapon from his holster as their eyes met.
“I’m sorry, Doctor.”
He raised the weapon to her head and she closed her eyes.
“He’s about to eliminate one of the hostages, taking the shot.”
Niner squeezed the trigger and the target dropped, the two doctors jumping up and down in a panic for a moment, their screams reaching the tree line he was hiding in. They bolted for a door in the community center as other hostiles rushed tow
ard the building, firing blindly at their unseen enemy. He and Jimmy along with two other Brits were covering the northern approach to the village, a British unit of four the south. The river to the east blocked any escape or risk of reinforcements, and the west was where Dawson and the rest were executing their insertion.
He scanned for his next target as Jimmy’s weapon fired a single shot, it now open season on the hostiles. The orders of the day were to eliminate from a distance and not approach. There were only enough bunny suits for the insertion team which meant he and the others had to sit things out on the sidelines while trying to make sure the hostages stayed alive long enough to be reached.
Someone had spotted the team, which meant all hell was breaking loose.
He could hear disciplined shots coming from the other side of the village, the British team engaging the enemy. He squeezed the trigger, another hostile getting too close to the building dropping. Suddenly a group of four burst from a set of doors in the community center and shoved through the other set the doctors had just gone through, no one able to get a shot off before they disappeared.
“Four hostiles just entered the building after the doctors, over.”
Sarah jumped then screamed as she realized the shot she heard was too far away to have been from Mustapha’s weapon. She opened her eyes and looked down as his grip on her arm loosened then gave way, a rapidly growing stain in his chest indicating where he had been hit. More shouting and she saw more of Koroma’s men running toward them, Tanya screaming beside her.
Grabbing Tanya by the arm she rushed toward the clinic doors, pushing them open just as several bullets tore into the ground behind them. Yanking Tanya inside, she shoved the door shut, looking for a lock.
There was none.
She pointed at a nearby table. “Help me move this in front of the door.”
She grabbed it and a still shaking Tanya took the other end. They quickly moved the far too light table to the door as Sarah searched for a better alternative. She spotted a broom standing in the corner and grabbed it, sticking the wooden pole through the door handles.
She knew it wouldn’t hold.
“Gear up, they might not follow us.”
Tanya nodded, rushing over to the area containing their protective gear and quickly shoved her legs inside the bunny suit as Sarah did the same. She zipped up the front of her suit, snapped on her gloves and pulled on her boots as the gunfire and shouting continued from outside. This was it, the moment they had been waiting for, and it could be all over in minutes.
More than enough time for just one of Koroma’s men to execute their final orders.
Kill the doctors.
She snapped her goggles in place then pulled the hood over her head, shoving the plastic visor over her face just as somebody slammed against the door.
Tanya grabbed her by the arm, pulling her through the curious onlookers of Zone One, tossing the sheet to Zone Two aside as the broom splintered behind them, the table shoved aside. Sarah stole a glance over her shoulder to see at least four men rushing inside after them.
“Run!”
Tanya let go of her arm and sprinted as fast as her gear would allow her toward Zone Three, flinging the sheet out of their way. Sarah rushed after her, stealing glances over her shoulder, spotting the men following them without hesitation as they burst into the quarantine area, unconcerned with the risk to their lives.
The door ahead of them burst open, armed men rushing toward them. Tanya dropped to her knees, screaming as she raised her hands, covering her head. Sarah skidded to a halt and cringed, protecting her head as gunfire erupted from the two men in front of them, their weapons belching lead at them, their muzzles flashing in the dimmed light of this abattoir of Mother Nature.
But she wasn’t hit.
She opened her eyes to see the men rushing past her, still firing. She spun, seeing their pursuers dropping as the shots she thought meant for them found their mark, and within seconds they were all down.
One of them turned back toward them as the rest rushed forward. He was wearing some sort of gas mask obscuring his features.
“We’re American and British soldiers. Are you Doctors Sarah Henderson and Tanya Danko?”
She nodded, her chest suddenly beginning to heave as sobs of relief escaped, tears flooding into her goggles as she turned and hugged Tanya, the two of them collapsing into a heap on the floor, exhausted physically, drained emotionally, as the dead and dying around them watched, too weak to react.
“Let’s get outside,” said the man, urging them to their feet with a helping hand. They exited the rear of the building and on instinct Tanya grabbed the hose and began spraying Sarah as several soldiers gathered around, taking covering positions. The gunfire was sporadic, the sounds of several guns firing rapidly, other weapons, fired in single bursts, seemed to be coming from all directions.
She ignored it all, the possibility of being killed by a stray bullet not even crossing her mind as the horrors of the past days were quickly pushed aside with the realization they had been rescued.
Thank you, Daddy!
She took the hose from Tanya and returned the favor, her shoulders still shaking from her sobs of joy and relief, and when done, she ripped her headgear off, tossing it aside as she unzipped the suit, having to catch herself as she momentarily forgot protocol. She took a deep breath and looked at Tanya.
“Protocol.”
Her friend nodded, sniffling inside her facemask as they completed the deliberate process, the last thing they needed now an accidental infection after having survived everything that had happened to them. When they were finally done, she realized she hadn’t heard any gunfire for minutes.
She looked at the soldier that had burst through the doors and saved them, then grabbed the hose, spraying him down from head to toe, finished, she handed the hose to Tanya who began hosing the other soldiers down who had entered the building.
“Is it safe to take this thing off?” asked the soldier who had entered the clinic first.
She nodded.
“Good.” He pulled it off revealing a face she wasn’t expecting to see. He didn’t look like any soldier she had ever seen, his hair disheveled and longer than the usual buzz cut she was anticipating. And the week’s worth of facial hair looked at once sexy and also court martial worthy.
Could he be civilian?
“I’m Agent White, Bureau of Diplomatic Services.” He pulled a satellite phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. “Go for Henderson?” He nodded, then handed her the phone. “Someone wants to speak to you.”
She took the phone, holding it up to her ear, curious. “Hello?”
“Sarah honey! It’s Daddy!”
She dropped to her knees once again, her shoulders heaving at the sound of a voice she thought she’d never hear again.
Gateway Village Apartments, Baltimore, Maryland
Red walked through the small apartment, it cluttered with the necessities of life stolen an item at a time, closets jammed with individual toilet paper rolls, paper towels and feminine hygiene products, along with cleaning supplies in bulk containers. The urinator’s cousin worked as a cabbie but also a janitor at a local hospital, it clear he was pilfering supplies to supplement his family’s meagre existence.
He could have been stealing much worse.
There appeared to be little by the way of luxuries here, a few hand crafted items that looked like they were either carved in his homeland or made by local artisans originally from there, along with an old CRT television and a $30 DVD player.
And no phone.
Red turned to FBI Agent-in-Charge McKinnon. “Does he have a cellphone?”
McKinnon nodded. “Yeah, we’re trying to trace it now but it looks like it’s been turned off.” He held up an evidence bag with a piece of paper inside. “But we found this.”
Red took the bag and frowned as he read the letter from their suspect to his wife and child, apologizing for what he was about to do, bu
t justifying it as punishment for what had happened to their native Sierra Leone. He shook his head.
“This isn’t over yet.”
McKinnon took the bag back, handing it to one of his underlings. “Definitely not. Unfortunately we’ve found nothing yet that tells us where he went. There’s not a single document here or piece of paper here, no computer, no internet access. These people were poor but up until now, law abiding.
“Just like all the rest.” Red pursed his lips, walking into the single bedroom, a double bed wedged in one corner, a single at the foot of it with a bright pink blanket adorned with hand-stitched lions, zebras and giraffes.
Whoever sewed this has skills.
It was too bad those type of skills were no longer valued in mainstream America today. A person who could create such a masterpiece could make an excellent living if they knew how to market those skills, and more importantly, if they knew those skills were actually worth marketing. In today’s America most people looked for the cheapest bed covering, made by slave labor in China or Bangladesh, rather than an expensive handmade item that would last a lifetime.
It was sad that so many immigrants came to America with basic skills that we no longer valued as a society, but cooed over at the local antique shop as quaint and worth top dollar.
And of course we told them their skills were worthless.
A commotion from the main living area drew him out of the bedroom. A woman carrying a small child, maybe Bryson’s age, was shouting at the police guarding the entrance in heavily accented English.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my home? I demand you get out! I know my rights!”
McKinnon quickly headed for the door to try and defuse the situation. “Ma’am, I’m FBI Agent-in-Charge McKinnon. Are you Mrs. Buhari?”
“FBI?” Anger turned to fear very quickly as the woman took a step back, gripping her child a little tighter, tears already running down the little girl’s cheeks.
Payback Page 20
