Payback

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Red spun, the warning from Spock through the comm heard only by him, the others wondering what was going on. Red’s arm shot out, pushing Henderson into the corner as McKinnon and Savalas realized something was going down, putting themselves between the Vice President and the unknown threat, the crowd thick and loud leaving Red without eyes on the target.

  “Your two o’clock!” Red spotted Spock pushing through the crowd, the start of a commotion resulting as Red adjusted his gaze to the right. Suddenly he recognized “Uncle” Bai Gondor from his immigration photo darting out from behind a large man not two feet from Red.

  “For my people!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he rushed forward, “For my people!”

  His hand was raised high in the air, a knife gripped tightly. Red reached up, grabbing the man’s wrist and stepping into the attack with his left foot, spun the man over his outstretched leg as he broke the grip, the knife clattering to the floor as screams filled the room. Gondor hit the marble floor as Red spun, his knee hammering into the man’s midriff, taking the wind out of him. He glared at Red, his eyes filled with rage at his failure, when suddenly Red felt something jab into his thigh. He looked to see Gondor’s free hand pushing the plunger of a syringe.

  Red crushed the man’s windpipe with a single jab to the throat then batted the hand away, the syringe skidding across the floor as he pushed his knee harder into Gondor’s stomach.

  Somebody bent over to pick it up.

  “Don’t touch it!” shouted Red. “It’s got Ebola in it.”

  More screams were followed by panic as the crowd rushed for the exit at the far end. Spock shoved through to his side.

  “No, stay back!” ordered Red, standing up, rubbing his thigh as Gondor gasped for air. He pointed at Henderson. “Get him out of here but keep him isolated. Nobody leaves here.”

  Savalas and McKinnon were already on their own comms barking orders as Red backed away from everyone, not sure what to do. His heart was racing with the adrenaline of the situation, but for the first time that he could remember since joining The Unit he felt fear.

  Not the healthy, rational fear that you might feel in the field under fire. That just kept you sharp and alive.

  But the fear of not being in control, the fear of the unknown.

  The fear of never seeing his wife and son again.

  Or worse, seeing them, but not being able to touch them before he died.

  For he knew the numbers.

  Up to ninety percent died.

  And he had just been injected with an entire syringe full of the virus.

  The room was almost silent now, empty save Spock and McKinnon, Savalas and his men having evacuated Henderson and his wife within seconds.

  Footsteps echoed across the floor and Red turned to see Vice President Kargbo walking toward them. He stopped.

  “It is unfortunate you interfered.”

  Red hid his shock, rage instead building inside. “So you admit to being involved.”

  “Of course. Your Vice President voted against increased funding for Ebola at the very time we needed it most. If that funding had been approved, thousands could have been saved. Instead he played politics, all over a pipeline. He and his family deserve to die.”

  “And I deserve to die?” asked Red, rage gripping him tightly. “What of my family? Do they deserve to see me die?”

  “You are American, you are part of the problem.”

  “You’ll go to prison for this,” said Spock, stepping toward Kargbo, Red holding up a hand, warning him to keep his distance.

  Kargbo laughed. “I have diplomatic immunity. I can’t be touched.” Spock charged toward Kargbo but the man wagged a finger, opening his jacket and withdrawing a gun from a shoulder holster.

  The criminal was the only armed man in the room.

  But Red had never let that stop him. He lashed out with both hands, hitting the inside of Kargbo's wrist hard while striking the top of his hand, the weapon clattering to the floor as the bastard cried out in agony. He kicked the gun to Spock who grabbed it, covering them.

  Red yanked on the man’s tie, pulling him toward the syringe that still lay on the floor nearby, Kargbo struggling as the tightening tie slowly cut off his oxygen supply. Red bent down and grabbed the syringe as McKinnon’s jaw dropped.

  “This is what I have to say to your diplomatic immunity.”

  He jabbed the syringe into Kargbo’s neck and shoved the plunger the rest of the way, injecting what remained of the virus as Kargbo, brave and full of bravado a moment before when he couldn’t be touched, gasped in shock, his eyes bulging with fear.

  Red jerked the syringe free, shoving the man away from him, releasing the tie.

  “Now you die too.”

  Samaia, Sierra Leone

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

  Sarah Henderson shook her head at Dawson. “I don’t care what you think you can’t allow, but I’m not abandoning these people. They’re sick and they’re dying! We just got the supplies we need to save them and I have no intention of leaving before relief arrives.”

  Dawson frowned, knowing there was no point in arguing with the woman. What she didn’t know was that he could put her on a helicopter whether she liked it or not, there no chance of prosecuting him for violating her rights since he wasn’t here.

  But he didn’t want to do that, because the woman was right. Abandoning these people would be compounding an already horrible crime. He turned to Captain Grimshaw. “When can we expect medical personnel?”

  “It’s being organized now. Several hours at least.”

  “Then we’ll wait those hours.”

  Dawson’s comm squawked. “Bravo Zero-One, Control Actual, I’ve got an update, over.”

  Dawson exchanged glances with the others, Colonel Clancy’s voice sounding odd. He stepped away from the two doctors just in case it was bad news on Henderson’s father. “Go ahead, Control.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news, guys.” Dawson felt his stomach tighten. “There was an attempt on Vice President Henderson’s life. He and his wife are safe, but in the process of saving the Vice President, Red was injected with what we think was Ebola.” Niner kicked the dirt, spinning around as he clasped his hands behind his neck in shock, Atlas and Jimmy both putting hands on his shoulders as they all reeled from the words delivered from thousands of miles and an ocean away. Dawson’s best friend was dying, out of reach, and there was nothing he could do about it, nothing any of them could do about it.

  He had failed.

  If they had arrived earlier, ignored the demands of the Sierra Leoneans in wanting to conduct the rescue themselves, they would have bought valuable hours that might have prevented the attack in the first place. But instead he had sat back and waited while the politicians figured things out.

  “Does Shirley know?” The thought of Red’s wife finding out on the news or through someone outside The Unit killed him inside. I need to be there!

  “Not yet. I’m leaving now to take her to Howard University Hospital. Apparently they’re set up for this type of thing.”

  “Was it Koroma?”

  “Negative. It was someone on this end in cooperation with their new Vice President. He confirmed it was because of Henderson’s tiebreaker vote against increased Ebola funding. We still don’t have a location on him or the other eight.”

  Dawson looked at his men. “We’re done here, but Doctor Henderson wants to stay to take care of the Ebola patients until the medical team arrives.”

  “Negative. She’s a target and your job is to get her to safety. Do whatever it takes, I’ll back you. Now I’ve got to go see Shirley. Out.”

  Dawson joined the huddle, his men grieving an impending death, a death that might take weeks, or never come. It was the uncertainty, the complete lack of control over the situation that Dawson found the most difficult.

  And he wouldn’t be able to even comfort his friend for at least half a day.

  Or longer
if Henderson continues to be a problem.

  He looked over his shoulder at Henderson as she spoke to the other doctor, both beginning to gear up.

  To hell with this.

  “Dr. Henderson!” he called, walking swiftly over to her. “I have news about your parents.”

  Sarah froze and he could see the apprehension in her eyes. He felt a little bad about his delivery, but he was in pain and wanted to see the best friend he had ever known, and perhaps a little dose of reality might convince her to not make this situation more difficult. “Are they—?” She stopped, Tanya putting an arm around her.

  “They’re fine. There was an attempt on your father’s life, but one of my men stopped it. Your parents are safe, but my man has been injected with Ebola.”

  “Oh thank God!” cried Sarah, collapsing to her knees as her friend supported her. Tears rolled down her cheeks when she suddenly stopped and looked up at Dawson. “Wait, what? What was that last thing you said? Did you say someone was injected with Ebola?”

  Dawson nodded. “My second-in-command.” His voice dropped. “And my best friend.”

  Sarah reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing, Ebola protocols apparently forgotten. He ignored the gesture, instead pulling her to her feet. “Ma’am, you’re a target. As long as you’re here, the perpetrators could return to kill you in revenge for their attack on your father failing. We need to separate you from this location immediately.”

  Tanya squeezed her friend’s arm with both hands, looking at her friend. “He’s right. I’ll stay, you go. It’s only a few hours.”

  “No, you can’t stay here! If it’s not safe for me, then it’s not safe for you either.”

  Tanya shook her head, putting her mouth to Sarah’s ear, her whisper still audible. “I have to stay. After what I did, I just have to.”

  Sarah turned toward her friend, placing a hand on the Ukrainian’s cheek, then suddenly hugged her tight.

  Dawson stepped away, his job done. “Captain, we’ll be leaving in two.”

  Grimshaw nodded, immediately radioing for one of the choppers to standby, both now in a field behind the repurposed community center. He could hear one of the choppers begin to power up as the two doctors finished their goodbyes.

  He just hoped he wasn’t returning home to say goodbye to his friend.

  Outside the Republic of Sierra Leone Embassy, Washington, DC

  “Is he contagious yet?”

  “No,” said the paramedic, shaking his head at Spock as Red lay on a gurney, something he felt was ridiculous. He had wanted to go under his own power in the back of the ambulance but apparently somebody somewhere had determined that wasn’t a good idea. He agreed to bow to their presumed superior knowledge. “But he might be contaminated. Just a drop of this stuff can infect you. I can’t allow it.”

  Red knew the man was right, and he knew Spock knew as well. They had both read the briefing notes on the virus. He also knew he’d be doing nothing different if he were in Spock’s shoes. He’d want to travel with his fallen comrade.

  It’s just what you did.

  Spock pointed at the man, dressed head to toe in a bunny suit with face mask, a special ambulance having been dispatched since it wasn’t a life threatening emergency. “Then give me one of those suits you’re wearing.”

  “I can’t. Protocol dictates—”

  “Spock, let it go,” said Red, raising himself up on his elbows, looking over at his friend. “I’m okay. Just make sure my wife and kid get to the hospital safe, okay?”

  The reference to his family nearly choked in his own throat, but it had the desired effect, Spock nodding and immediately rushing away as a plastic transparent bubble was pulled over his body.

  He felt like ET.

  Now I know why they wanted me on the stretcher.

  It made sense. The biggest threat of spreading the virus was from sneezing or coughing up blood, or bleeding on someone through a leaking orifice. None of that applied in his case, but the protocol was the protocol, and what did apply was that there could be droplets of contaminated blood on his person.

  It made perfect sense and he didn’t begrudge these brave souls for doing their job in a way that would not only protect them, but anyone else from becoming infected.

  As they had waited, McKinnon had kept them updated on what was happening outside. Apparently a large number of the party guests had managed to get outside the building before the lockdown could be put in place. The guest list was now being checked so everyone could be monitored for the next several weeks.

  He didn’t envy them.

  At least he knew he had the damned disease.

  There’s no way I’m avoiding this one.

  Now the question was whether or not he’d survive. He knew the numbers were grim, as bad as a 90% mortality rate, though with it being caught immediately, and being in a country with the most advanced medical system in the world, he was much more confident it would be closer to the 50% mark the literature said was possible.

  Fifty-fifty.

  He’d take those odds right now if he didn’t have a wife and son depending on him, but as he was loaded into the back of the ambulance, isolated from the world around him, reporters gleefully snapping photos as gathered throngs held up their cellphones to get their fifteen minutes of YouTube fame, he felt dehumanized. With hundreds of eyes on him, he suddenly realized what his own father must have felt like after his heart attack a few years ago. Loaded onto a stretcher in full view of his neighbors, pushed into the back of an ambulance while strangers and friends watched on, all the while trying to put on a brave face, instead feeling completely humiliated inside.

  And as the doors slammed closed, the prying eyes of those who should never see you in your most vulnerable state finally shut out, the cold, clinical interior of what might be your final ride in a vehicle, a mobile coffin if there ever was one, eliminated that last bit of humanity you were clinging to as people you’d never met until minutes before asked you about the intimate details of your life while hooking you up to monitors. And as a siren blared, the rear windows you faced provided a unique view of life in reverse as you pulled away from the cars behind you, as if pulling away from life, from existence, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever see your loved ones again, wondering what would happen to them if you were to die right here, right now, without ever getting to say goodbye.

  Because you had put on that brave face and acted as if it were nothing, when deep down you were terrified you’d never see them again.

  Today he knew how his father had felt, yet at least he knew he wasn’t going to die soon, he at least knew he’d get to say goodbye.

  But the thought didn’t comfort him much.

  For the first time in his life he felt fear. Genuine fear.

  And it threatened to overwhelm him.

  The very thought that his son might have to grow up without him, grow up to probably forget him, to never be able to remember the love his father had for him, was devastating.

  A tear rolled down into his ear, surprising him.

  There’s no crying in baseball!

  His drill sergeant’s voice echoed in his head, the line delivered during basic training to the young recruits who had been broken down on their way to becoming men. It was a lifeline thrown at his sinking self, allowing him to refocus if only for a moment.

  But it was all he needed.

  He had never let the bastard see his pain.

  And he wasn’t going to start now.

  He turned his head toward one of the bunnies.

  “What do I need to do to beat this thing?”

  The paramedic leaned over him so Red could see his eyes through the face coverings.

  “Fight.”

  Belme Residence, West Luzon Drive, Fort Bragg

  Shirley Belme closed the door of the dishwasher, hitting the button to start the cycle when she heard car doors slamming shut outside. Glancing through to the living room, she spotted Colonel Clancy walking up t
he driveway with Maggie.

  Maggie!

  She began to untie her apron, excited Maggie was back, when it suddenly hit her.

  The Colonel!

  Her heart slammed into her ribcage as she gripped the countertop, desperately trying to hold herself up as her world closed in around her. The doorbell rang, the sound distant, as if from another world, a world no longer hers, a world that no longer included her beloved husband, for there was only one reason the Colonel would be here.

  Something’s happened to Mike.

  Her knees gave out and she collapsed to the kitchen floor, the linoleum cold and unforgiving as she slid along the cupboards, her shoulder coming to rest against the side of the fridge.

  “I’ll get it, Mommy!”

  Bryson’s voice was as far away as the doorbell, the pounding of heels as her son rushed down the hallway almost as fast as her heart. The door opened, voices faint then a cry followed by feet pounding on parquet flooring.

  “Shirley! Are you okay?” cried Maggie, a hand gently lifting her face off the side of the refrigerator. “Can you hear me?”

  A shadow crossed in front of her and she felt a strong hand grip her shoulder. “Mrs. Belme, I need you to listen to the sound of my voice. Try to take deep, slow breaths, okay? Deep… slow… breaths…”

  The Colonel’s voice was steady, strong, monotonous. His repeated words began to sink in and she suddenly took a long, deep breath in, then slowly exhaled, repeating the instructions as her world slowly came back into focus.

  Suddenly everything snapped back and she reached out, grabbing Clancy by the arm. “What’s happened to Mike?”

  Clancy helped her to her feet then into a kitchen chair, Bryson, terrified, raced over to her, hugging her as hard as he could, burying his head into her side so he couldn’t see the others. Maggie knelt on her other side as the Colonel took a knee in front of her, looking up at her tear streaked face. He took her hand in his.

  “Mrs. Belme, Red is alive, but there’s been an incident.”

  “Is he going to live?”

  “He was injected with something we believe to be Ebola.”