by Vanessa Kier
“So,” she said wearily. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. The Greater New Accra Region is pretty suburbanized. We should have several options for roads out of here.” He tilted his head toward his rucksack in the back seat. “The maps and a small flashlight are in the front pocket of my pack. It’s not safe to use the overhead light.” He reached up and turned the light to the permanent off position. “Check to see where this road ends up.”
“Can’t your phone tell us where to go?”
“No. It’s a satellite phone. It’s pretty basic and doesn’t run apps.”
“Well, darn.”
His bag was close enough that Emily simply reached into the back seat to retrieve the maps. Then she settled back in her seat, spread a map over her lap and clicked on the flashlight. Even with the sun coming up, the interior of the Jeep was still dim. “Where are we?” she asked. “Can you give me a reference point?”
He gave her the name of the main road north and the street the safe house had been on. “Look for a bridge north of that. We’re on the first side road on the right, heading roughly due east.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her moving her finger across the map. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
“Where does this dead end?”
“Hmm… It looks like there’s a T-junction with a smaller north-south road coming up.”
“Good. Can we reach the border on that road? You might need to grab the national or regional map for that.”
Emily flipped through the other maps until she found the one she needed. While she figured out which one to use, he kept an eye on the road behind them. He thought he’d seen a flash of light on a windshield a minute ago when they’d been on a long, straight stretch of road, but then the road had turned and he’d lost visual contact. If he’d actually seen something. He might have just caught a glimpse of someone turning their house lights on.
Or maybe he wasn’t being paranoid and the rebels really were following them.
“The north-south road twists and turns,” Emily said, “but eventually it runs northwest and joins the main road not too far from the way station.”
“Okay.” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again. Damn. That was definitely another vehicle behind them.
WAR Headquarters
The Democratic Republic of the Ivory Coast
West Africa
“DID MAX GET out of the capital ahead of the rebels?”
Kristoff Wren turned away from his desk at WAR’s headquarters to see Wil Lansing wheeling his chair into the room. “Just barely,” Kris said. “According to Rene, Max and the girl left minutes before the rebels took over the block the safe house is on.”
“Is Rene okay?” Wil asked, pushing his wheelchair forward with a powerful thrust of his arms. Lines of strain marked his face and Kris clenched his fist in order not to reach out and offer the man comfort. The fact that Wil had resorted to his wheelchair meant that something wasn’t right with his new prostheses.
“Yeah, Rene’s fine,” Kris answered. “He called me from a triage center in town.”
Wil nodded. “Figures. He always manages to end up wherever the wounded need him.”
Kris glanced at the phone on his desk, then realized his mistake when Wil paused halfway across the room. “What’s wrong?” Wil demanded.
Wishing he could avoid this conversation, Kris gave him a tired smile. “Ziegler got hold of Max for a couple of days.”
Wil sucked in a breath. “He’s okay?”
Kris shrugged. “You know Max. Always downplaying his injuries. Rene said the worst of Max’s injuries are a couple of damaged ribs and a shallow knife slice across his lower back that only required a few stitches. He cleared Max for duty, so it can’t have been that bad.”
“Dammit.” Wil slammed his hands down on the chair’s armrests. “You know as well as I do the agony Ziegler can inflict with those fucking needles of his.”
Once again Kris had to stop himself from touching Wil. He wanted to let the other man know that he wasn’t alone in worrying about Max. Dammit, Max why’d you have to go rogue, you selfish bastard? It was hard enough watching his best friend put himself at such risk while refusing all of Kris’s offers to help bring Dietrich down. Kris would have eventually forgiven Max that, because he didn’t expect anything else from his stubbornly protective friend.
However, Kris couldn’t so easily forgive the worry Max was causing Wil. Max’s brother was still adjusting both to life without his lower legs and to being back with the now decimated counterterrorism group that had been the target of the attack. With the U.S. focused on events in Iraq and Afghanistan, there’d been little political will or funding to restore the West African counterterrorism group. The remaining members of the group barely had the resources to take care of their first order of business, revamping security at U.S. military and diplomatic facilities in West Africa. Chasing down and neutralizing potential terrorist threats had become a secondary mission. The last thing Wil needed was the added stress of wondering if Dietrich was finally going to kill his brother. Or if the U.S. government was going to haul Max in and put him on trial for insubordination or treason.
Max’s superiors at Unit 3 had ignored his resignation, instead declaring him AWOL. That only solidified Kris’s belief that Dietrich’s sponsor planned to sacrifice Max in order to protect Dietrich. Yet despite his team’s best efforts, Kris still hadn’t been able to discover the traitor’s identity.
With Wil determined to protect Max, Kris feared that Wil would become the traitor’s next target. So Kris had told his team to keep an additional ear out for any chatter regarding moves against Wil. Because Wil could be even more stubborn than Max when it came to ignoring threats to his life.
He’d have done the same for any friend or teammate. The fact that his world would be a darker place without Wil in it hadn’t influenced his decision at all.
Knowing he was lying to himself, Kris crossed his arms over his chest. The only thing about the situation he felt grateful for was that he’d been spending a lot more time with Wil. Not that the other man had given any sign that he felt even the slightest bit attracted to Kris. Understandable. Wil hadn’t just lost his lower legs in the explosion. His lover had been one of the first men killed by the blast. But even if Wil never returned his affection, Kris would at least be able to look back on these days and remember the mix of anticipation and respect that swamped him every time he was in Wil’s presence.
Kris shook his head. Shit. He had it bad. The hell of it was that even if Wil did reciprocate the attraction, there wasn’t much they could do about it. Homosexuality was not acceptable in Africa. While the guys from Unit 3 knew Kris was gay, none of the other members of WAR did. Kris had no idea how the African members would react if they found out. Even Azumah, the leader and founder of WAR, who Kris considered to be a very open-minded guy, might not be able to handle the news.
Things were only marginally better at the U.S. compound. Because there were so many locals working with the Americans, Wil mostly kept his sexual orientation a secret. And no matter the loosening of restrictions, being gay in the military still wasn’t safe.
Logically, Kris understood all this. Emotionally? It killed him. He hadn’t come to Africa expecting to fall for someone. Hell, all the guys in his group had pretty much given up any hope of a social life by signing up with WAR. Hard to date when you weren’t even technically supposed to be on the continent.
But once Kris had met Wil, well…
He rubbed the back of his neck. He was willing to wait until Wil showed signs of easing back from his total dedication to his job enough to notice Kris’s interest. But then what? Even if Wil did eventually return his affection, they’d have to sneak around if they wanted any romantic alone time.
Suck it up. At least you’re alive.
“Yeah,” he muttered, aware that it was a sad state of affairs that he was talking to himself. Where there’s life, there’s hope,
right?
“Who do we have in the area that can help him?” Wil demanded, cutting into Kris’s thoughts.
It always surprised Kris how thoroughly Wil had embraced WAR and Kris’s special unit within it when Max, who’d been their teammate for years, still insisted on shoving them away.
“At the moment? No one,” Kris said. “With the fighting in Ivory Republic nearing the northeast border with Volta, we might have a team in place in a few days that could offer support.”
“So, Max is on his own?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Wil cut his hand through the air. “Don’t be. Maybe it will push him into realizing that he can’t do this all alone. That—God forbid—he actually needs help.”
Kris knew that despite the tough love attitude, it would devastate Wil if anything happened to his brother. “I’m looking into our current assignments to see if there’s anyone we can move into place sooner.”
“Thanks.” Wil’s voice was gruff. He wheeled over to the map on the wall. After staring at it for a long moment, he picked up a red push pin and set it in place. “The embassy in New Accra has been evacuated. According to the ambassador, the Voltan president ordered all foreigners, including the diplomats, to leave or be thrown out by the military.”
“Why?”
“The president thought it might buy time if the rebels knew there were no more foreigners in the capital.”
Kris rolled his eyes. “That didn’t work out so well.”
“Yeah.” Wil shook his head. “No one expected the city to be attacked so quickly.”
Kris heard the frustration in Wil’s voice. Like his brother, Wil assumed more responsibility than was due him. “What about civilians?” Kris asked “Any casualties?”
“Not yet. Unfortunately, rumor has it there are foreign nationals trapped at the airport while the rebels and the government forces fight on the perimeter. We’re working on an evac plan.”
“That confirms what Max said. Emily just missed the last plane out yesterday.”
“That’s when Max called you.”
“Yeah. They were going to try to get her on a plane this morning, but the rebels attacked.” Kris nodded at the map. “What about the embassy’s tech?” One of the weird characteristics of the rebel movement was that despite their public statements condemning all technology as a form of Western oppression, the rebels had been stealing computers, servers, and other forms of technology and storing them in an unknown location.
“The security team trucked out as much stuff as possible on the day the ambassador called for the evacuation. They did their best to destroy the rest of it.” Wil shrugged. “Is it enough to screw up whatever plans the rebels have for the technology? I haven’t got a clue.” He glared at the map, as if by force of will he could stop the rebels’ path of destruction.
Kris wondered if he’d ever get the chance to be the target of Wil’s fierce concentration, then mentally chided himself for being so easily distracted.
“No word yet on who the buyer is in Dietrich’s upcoming deal?” Kris asked, standing up and walking over to stand next to Wil.
“No. We’ve only got eight days. If Dietrich finds the plane and retrieves the weapon in time, then we’ve got maybe two to three weeks after that to figure out the target for the attack.” Wil gestured angrily toward the map. “Thanks to bureaucratic red tape and contractor delays, we’ve only upgraded the security at three of the smaller diplomatic missions. There’s not enough time.” He rubbed his hand over his face, then sighed. “I have another meeting with the head brass in the morning to urge them to speed things up, but they’re starting to look at me like I’m as crazy as Max. I seriously think that Dietrich’s protector is working against me.” He sighed. “Or maybe I really am as obsessed and delusional as my brother.”
Kris put a hand on Wil’s shoulder. “You’re doing the best you can. And we both know that Max isn’t nuts.” Underneath his hand, Wil’s shoulders rose, then fell dejectedly.
“More good men are going to die or be critically wounded if this attack goes forward,” Wil said bitterly. “But we’re no closer to finding out the target now than we were a month ago!”
Kris hated to see Wil in so much emotional pain. As the suspected date of the attack grew nearer, Wil had become increasingly grim and driven. So determined to protect other U.S. soldiers from suffering his fate, no matter the cost to himself, that he reminded Kris strongly of Max.
Kris cleared his throat. “You look tired, Wil. Why don’t you call it a night?”
Wil shook his head. “I’m too wound up to sleep.”
Something else Kris could lay at Max’s door. “What time are you heading out in the morning?” Wil had to be careful not to be followed when he came and went from WAR’s headquarters. Kwame Azumah, the former Côte d'Ivoire prime minister before the country split into the Ivory Republic and the Democratic Republic of the Ivory Coast, had founded WAR to be an underground movement to counteract the growing rebel presence across West Africa. Part of WAR’s strength depended on it being shrouded in secrecy. The citizens of West Africa might whisper of mysterious troops that helped fight back the rebels, or unidentified saviors who broke people out of jail and delivered crucial payments that kept hospitals and charities alive, but no one knew the name of the organization except for a few key allies.
Most of the foreign military and diplomatic missions were also not privy to the secret. Only a few select individuals who’d proven they could be trusted.
Wil glanced at his watch. “I leave at oh-four-hundred.”
Kris winced. “There’s not much more we can do tonight. If you really don’t think you can sleep, how about a game of poker?”
Wil raised his eyebrows. “Trying to earn back the money you lost last time?”
“That was a total fluke and you know it.”
Wil snorted. “In your dreams. But if you want to delude yourself that you’re a better player than me, then you’re on.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Republic of the Volta
West Africa
MAX SPED UP.
Emily picked up on his tension and glanced over. “Max?”
“I think we’re being followed.” It could just be a local leaving for an early morning job or heading home after a late night. But his gut didn’t like having an unknown entity trailing behind them. “Can you tell how far it is to the intersection?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the same distance as from the bridge back to the safe house.”
“Okay.” This Jeep, despite having a beat-up exterior, had a smooth, powerful engine, so they should be able to give the rebels a run for their money. If that was who pursued them.
Keeping watch via the rearview mirror, he inched the speed up until he felt balanced on the edge of control. But the other vehicle—he thought it was another Jeep—kept advancing.
Shit.
Max took the next turn too fast and almost overbalanced. Emily yelped and braced herself against her door.
“Hold on,” he said as he straightened out the wheels. A few minutes later he jerked the Jeep around another turn and finally spotted the illumination from the streetlights on the north-south feeder road. Max glanced behind him. That last turn had blocked them from view of whoever followed them. Taking advantage of the moment of anonymity, Max raced toward the intersection. Traffic wasn’t quite as dense here as on the other road and was moving faster. He merged aggressively into the stream of traffic, barely reducing speed. Ignoring the angry honks of the drivers around him, he steered sideways until the Jeep was on the far side of the road. Only then did he slow to match the pace of the other vehicles.
The sun cleared the horizon and the streetlights went out.
Seconds later, an open-topped Jeep screeched to a halt at the place where the side road emptied into this one. A rebel stood on the passenger’s seat. He scanned the passing traffic, then scowled down at someone behind him that Max couldn’t see. Shaking his head, the
rebel soldier fired his AK-47 into the crowd of vehicles.
Emily jumped in her seat. “Not again!” He heard the anger and fear in her voice and wished he could soothe her. But this was how it went with the rebels. With luck, you got away from them. Without it, you ended up shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see a rickety bus ram the rebels’ Jeep.
Both vehicles tipped over. Other vehicles tried to swerve out of the way, but many of them crashed into the overturned vehicles. Then the AK fired. People screamed.
Max lost sight of the crash as he drove away. “Can’t we—?” Emily cut herself off with a choked sob and a shake of her head. “I know we can’t go back and help, that we’re targets because of the color of our skin, but I hate this. It’s not fair. These people are just trying to get to safety. They’re fleeing their homes. Yet that rebel shot at them like they were wild animals.”
Turning in her seat, Emily stared out the back window for a long while before facing front again. “I never had much time to watch TV,” she said quietly. “For years, my days were pretty much ballet from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep. But every once in a while I’d catch a glimpse of the TV news.” She waved toward the other vehicles. “We see images like this, of people fleeing their homes, and while we feel sympathy, as soon as the newscast changes to the next story, most of us forget all about it. We never stop to think about the mothers forced to wake their children and pile them into the car.” She nodded at a battered Toyota 4Runner with three young faces pressed to the rear window. “Or everyone else forced to drop whatever they were doing in order to run for their lives.” She smacked her hand against the dashboard. “I hate being helpless to stop the rebels from killing people.” She threw a glare over her shoulder toward the rebel Jeep. “I swear, I’m normally a pretty even-tempered lady, but if you gave me one of those weapons, I’d be tempted to shoot the rebels myself!”
