WAR: Intrusion

by Vanessa Kier

  Now he twisted his picks until the clinic’s main lock clicked open. He glanced around one more time, but there was still no night watchman. The fellow had probably stayed at home, figuring no one would venture out on such a night.

  Lachlan pushed the door open and stepped inside. He pulled a towel from his pack and quickly dried himself off, then wiped up the puddle that had immediately formed under his feet. When he stood, the scent of antiseptic immediately assaulted him, although this time his visceral reaction wasn’t as powerful as it had been earlier this evening. Still, his belly automatically tightened with nerves. In the faint glow from the outdoor security light, the room bore no resemblance to his father’s waiting room, yet Lachlan still fought the urge to look over his shoulder to see if his father loomed in the doorway, waiting for his patients to leave for the day so he could use his fists against his son.

  Lachlan shook his head. His father was dead. By all rights, he should have outgrown his fear of the man by now, yet certain sights and smells always threw him back to a time he’d rather forget.

  Wishing he could use his torch, yet knowing he couldn’t risk someone noticing a light moving inside the clinic, he took a deep breath. When that failed to calm him, he picked up the closest of the hand-carved statues from the coffee table. In the illumination from the next flare of lightning, Lachlan saw that the heavy ebony wood had been shaped into the form of a man squatting on the ground with one leg bent in front of him and his wrist draped over his knee.

  Definitely not something his father would have allowed inside his clinic.

  Lachlan exhaled heavily and his nerves settled. He carefully replaced the statue, then waited for another burst of lighting to show him the rest of the room, confirming his earlier impression that there was no place to hide weapons here.

  The interior door separating the waiting room from the rest of the clinic was locked, but it took only a moment for Lachlan to open it. Odd that Layla’s Foundation had put such care into external protection yet neglected to provide a second, challenging barrier to reaching the sensitive area of the clinic. Was that a result of the Foundation’s financial difficulties?

  Stepping through the doorway, he found himself in a corridor that led straight to the back of the building. The receptionist’s office was to his left. With the window to the waiting room shuttered, and no exterior window, Lachlan felt safe in pulling out his torch. A quick search turned up nothing but the usual office supplies and blank forms. Yet the file cabinets held only empty hanging folders.

  He shone his torch around the room but saw no evidence of a safe or other hiding place. So, where were the financial records and other reports typical of a medical facility?

  Hmm. Had Dr. Kirk learned he was coming and hidden evidence of wrongdoing? Or did the paranoia of Layla’s Foundation extend to hiding all records each night? Suspecting the answer might be both, he walked across the hall into an exam room.

  As with the receptionist’s office, the exam room and the subsequent ones he searched contained just the bare basics, such as boxes of gloves, gauze, and cotton wool. Nothing that would have allowed Dr. Kirk to create a cast for Ottah’s broken leg. No imaging equipment to reveal that the bone had indeed been broken. Odd.

  Adding that to the list of growing inconsistencies, Lachlan moved into the adjoining room, which proved to be Dr. Kirk’s office. Well, now. The doctor certainly was organized. The only items on top of her desk were a calendar blotter and one of those multi-purpose carousels that held pens, scissors, and other necessary office supplies. Her filing cabinets were also empty of any paperwork or patient files.

  What was going on here? Was the clinic simply a front to hide the weapons smuggling? Had Ottah been faking his broken leg? Feeling a tingle of excitement, Lachlan continued his search. But the staff room, the storage closet, the wash room, and the kitchen held no clues. Finally he unlocked the last door.

  The scent of new paint assaulted his nose. Counters ran along three sides of the room. Two of the counters were bare and the light from his torch reflected back from half a dozen new electrical outlets dotting the walls. A closer examination of the countertops showed no dust rings to indicate that equipment had been in the room earlier and moved to the same hiding place as the records and medical supplies. Had Dr. Kirk temporarily moved the equipment in order to clean up for the grand opening? Did the equipment even exist? Or had she received funds to purchase equipment then used them to line her own pockets or purchase weapons?

  A rack of test tubes sat next to a microscope on the next counter. The imaging machine he’d wondered about was shoved into a corner next to a humming refrigerator. He opened the fridge and found bags of blood sitting on the shelves along with neatly labeled slides and test tubes of patient samples.

  So, perhaps Dr. Kirk did perform some medicine here. Yet, he hadn’t seen any syringes. So how had she drawn blood? He wandered back through the clinic, this time searching for a hidden storage area. But he found nothing. Well, then, he’d simply make certain to accompany Dr. Kirk to the clinic tomorrow and stick close by her side. He’d know soon enough if she brought the missing items out of hiding, or only pretended to perform medicine.

  After checking the exterior to make certain the night watchman hadn’t suddenly arrived, Lachlan slipped outside and headed over to Tony’s camp. The violence of this storm made their satellite phones next to useless. Which reminded him, he’d seen no landline telephone at the clinic, just a shortwave radio in Dr. Kirk’s office.

  “Come to boast you have a dry, warm place to stay?” Tony grumbled once Lachlan had given the verbal signal and been admitted into the tent.

  “Ach, now. What’s wrong? Is the poor, fragile Englishman not enjoying this impressive show of nature?”

  “Sod off, Scots. What d’you want?”

  Lachlan reported what he’d found during his search.

  “You’re right,” Tony said, “the missing records could be explained by the Foundation’s extremely security-conscious view of life.”

  “If there’s a hidden storage room, I didn’t find it,” Lachlan replied. “And I’m not convinced that Dr. Kirk actually has laboratory equipment.”

  “Why would Layla’s Foundation brag about this being a state-of-the-art facility with advanced diagnostic capabilities if they can’t follow through?” Tony asked. “The grand opening is the day after tomorrow. Someone’s going to find them out, and from what our research showed, the Foundation desperately needs the money a successful event will bring in.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “Whatever’s going on, it explains why the doctor was so determined to see the back of me.”

  “Didn’t I warn you that you’d rub the woman the wrong way? Should have let me handle her.”

  “I think even Dev would have a hard time charming this lass.” Lachlan told Tony the story of how he’d rescued the bairn and ended up on the wrong end of the doctor’s shotgun.

  Tony burst out laughing and it took him a good two minutes to stop. Thankfully the storm was still raging, else his guffaws would have woken the entire village.

  “For that,” Tony finally gasped out between chuckles, “I forgive you for having a real bed to sleep in tonight.” He slapped Lachlan on the shoulder.

  They spent another few minutes going over Tony’s similar lack of progress on locating any weapons in the village, then Lachlan slipped back out into the storm, which was finally winding down.

  When at last he reached the gate into Dr. Kirk’s courtyard, he glanced toward the security bars covering her windows. He hoped the lass slept well tonight, for tomorrow he intended to get some answers.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER A RESTLESS night thanks to the violence of the storm and her worry over what MacKay might discover before she sent him on his way, Helen dragged herself out of bed at dawn. She grabbed a quick bite to eat before getting ready to head to the clinic. As she was locking up, MacKay emerged from the storage room looking well-rested, his rucksack slung ov
er one shoulder. The soft morning light did nothing to hide the disapproval in his gray eyes, though.

  Reining in her annoyance, she forced herself to be polite. “Good morning.”

  “Do you always start this early, doctor?”

  “Yes.” Helen pushed open the gate to the courtyard. The dirt path leading to the clinic was muddy after last night’s rain and it squelched beneath her day hikers. “Many of the villagers are farmers. We open the clinic in case they want to stop by on their way to the fields.”

  Normally Helen enjoyed walking to the clinic when the day was fresh and the air was cool. But this morning she hurried along the path, finding no pleasure in the early morning hush. She’d just come into sight of the clinic when she caught the faint sound of a plane’s engine.

  Oh, no. Why did it have to arrive now?

  Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t tell from MacKay’s stony expression if he’d heard the plane or not. Okay. As she hurried up the clinic’s driveway, she decided that once inside, she’d turn on the wireless and crank the volume. Blasting the news should mask the sound of the plane. Then she’d tell MacKay that she had to treat an elderly patient in the village who wasn’t able to make it to the clinic. She’d explain that for privacy reasons MacKay would have to stay behind, but that Leticia or Theodora would give him the grand tour.

  But when Helen reached the front door, she found it locked. Didn’t that figure? The one morning when she needed the help of the other staff, she was the first to arrive. As the engine noise grew steadily louder, she fumbled with the keys before finding the correct one and managing to unlock the door.

  “That sounds like a plane. Are you expecting a delivery?”

  Helen jumped and dropped the keys. “Don’t sneak up on me!” MacKay stood right behind her and she hadn’t even sensed him moving closer.

  “Sorry, lass.” He bent down to retrieve the keys, but he didn’t sound sorry at all. Instead, he sounded almost smug.

  “Are you?” he asked again, dangling her keys over her outstretched palm. “Expecting a delivery?”

  “Yes.” She snatched the keys from him and strode into the clinic. “I’m due for some supplies.”

  Now what? She couldn’t leave MacKay here alone. He’d start searching the premises and soon find the under-equipped lab. Yet she didn’t dare take him with her. She sighed. If she stayed here to babysit MacKay, what would happen to her boxes of equipment? Normally she had to sign for any delivery to the clinic. In her absence, would the pilot accept Kwesi’s signature? Would Kwesi even think to sign off for her shipment?

  Helen unlocked the door to the hallway and her office, but left the remaining doors locked. Now what? With MacKay following her around, she wasn’t comfortable retrieving the clinic’s sensitive records and medical supplies from the underground emergency shelter.

  Helen tossed her keys toward her desk, where they landed with an angry clatter. What had happened to delay Leticia and Theodora? Xetsa wouldn’t start her shift for another few hours, but the nurses usually beat Helen to the clinic.

  A horn honked out front. Once. Twice.

  Helen rushed to the door, expecting to find someone delivering a critically injured patient. Instead, it was Kwesi in his gutted-out minivan. The vehicle had once served as a public taxi, but Kwesi had torn out the seats and painted over the exuberant mural on the exterior with a slightly more somber geometrical pattern.

  “Kwesi, what’s wrong?” she asked in the local language.

  He shook his head. “No problem, doctor. Theodora and Leticia wished me to tell you that the storm caused a tree to fall down in the village. They are helping their neighbors clean up and therefore will be late to work.”

  “Oh. Okay. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” She glanced back at the clinic, met MacKay’s questioning eyes, and quickly returned her attention to Kwesi. “I heard the plane,” she murmured.

  “Yes. I am on my way to the airfield now.”

  “Would the pilot allow you to sign for my delivery, do you think? This man is investigating the clinic and the villages for one of the investors. I do not want to leave him alone here, yet I think it unwise for him to accompany me to the airfield.”

  “Ah. I thank you for your concern, but there is none of my special cargo on this flight. Only the gifts from Mr. Natchaba for the festival day.” He gave her a sly smile. “We could use the white man’s strength while unloading the boxes, since my workers are also helping with the fallen tree.”

  Helen nodded in relief. “Okay. We will bring the truck and join you shortly.” She stepped back and watched Kwesi turn his van around and return to the road. The sun lifted over the horizon, outlining the trees in pale pink and gold. Optimism replaced Helen’s worry. This would all work out. The laborers were due to arrive in an hour to start installing the lab equipment, so assuming that the storm cleanup didn’t delay them too long, her timeline should remain intact. She’d figure out a way to spin the delivery to MacKay without mentioning the vandalism. Tomorrow’s grand opening would go off without a hitch and the investors would be generous in their donations.

  “What was that about?” MacKay asked when she walked back into the clinic.

  Helen explained about the downed tree as she grabbed her keys. She left a note on the door for Leticia and Theodora, telling them to have the laborers wait, on the promise that no matter how long it took for Helen to return, they’d be paid for the full day.

  A few minutes later, she steered the clinic’s ancient pickup truck along Kwesi’s tire tracks in the drying mud. The SUV would have better traction, but she needed the large bed of the pickup to hold her equipment.

  The trip to the tiny airfield normally took twenty minutes on a good day, but between the mud and the debris left from the storm, today it took nearly twice that. By the time they arrived, Helen’s nerves were taut, thanks to MacKay’s gloomy, silent presence. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was searching for an excuse to tell his boss not to fund the clinic. She’d have to use extreme caution when explaining this unusually large delivery.

  She parked alongside Kwesi’s van, relieved that the plane was still there. That was one of the advantages to having Mr. Natchaba offer to pay for a chartered plane to bring in this last delivery of sensitive lab equipment. The regular pilot for the clinic’s deliveries had warned them that he’d only wait ten minutes after landing. If she or Kwesi arrived later than that, too bad. He’d be gone, with their cargo still on board.

  “Who is this fellow?” MacKay asked as he followed Helen over to where Kwesi was signing paperwork.

  Relieved that she didn’t have to lie, Helen answered readily. “Kwesi Woyongo. He’s a local businessman.” As she and MacKay approached, the unfamiliar white man wearing a pilot’s uniform nodded to Kwesi, then ducked his head and disappeared around the front of the plane. Puzzled by the furtive reaction, she glanced at MacKay. He was frowning in the pilot’s direction.

  Was the pilot afraid of being seen by MacKay? If so, why?

  MacKay shook his head and returned his attention to Helen. “Why is Woyongo here?” he asked. “I thought this airfield was restricted to your use only.”

  “No, you’re mistaken. This is a public airfield. Kwesi uses it to bring in the goods he sells at the market over the border. But today he’s picking up boxes of gifts that will be distributed tomorrow at the festival.”

  MacKay gave one of his habitual grunts. But when Helen asked him to pitch in, he started lifting boxes off the plane and separating them into piles without hesitation.

  Once all the cargo had been unloaded, Helen tracked down the pilot so she could sign her paperwork.

  “Hey!” Kwesi shouted.

  Helen thrust the clipboard at the pilot and ran around the plane.

  Kwesi was marching over to one of his boxes, which MacKay had slit open with his knife. “Leave that alone,” Kwesi demanded. “It is private property.”

 
“Just checking that there’s nothing suspicious inside,” MacKay said. “I heard that there are smugglers in this region. My boss won’t invest in the clinic if there’s illegal activity nearby. Too dangerous, you know.”

  Helen’s stomach plummeted. Oh, God. Had MacKay been sent to investigate Kwesi’s smuggling?

  She studiously avoided looking at Kwesi. Thank heavens none of his usual cargo of smuggled high-end electronics and alcohol were on board. MacKay would certainly have demanded to see the non-existent customs papers.

  MacKay pulled a small box out of the packing peanuts and opened it to reveal a shiny MP3 player. “Rather expensive gifts,” he commented.

  “Put that back,” Kwesi ordered.

  MacKay ignored him and riffled through the rest of the box’s contents.

  “Mr. Natchaba is a very generous man,” Helen said. “He enjoys surprising the villagers with gifts.”

  “I told you to put the gift back.” Kwesi took a threatening step toward MacKay. Helen sidestepped between them, but MacKay reached up and hooked his arm around her legs, pulling her to the other side of him, away from Kwesi.

  That was…unexpected. Was MacKay being protective? Or simply removing her as an obstacle in case he decided to attack Kwesi?

  The two men glared at each other as the sun rose over the horizon. MacKay’s hand moved toward his lower back and Helen saw the outline of a gun beneath his shirt. Oh, God.

  Shivering under the threat in the air, Helen cleared her throat. “Please, Mr. MacKay,” she said in her most reasonable voice. “Return the MP3 player to its carton. You have no right to go through these boxes. They have nothing to do with your inspection of the clinic. They’re gifts for the children.”

  MacKay shot her a speculative glance.