by Vanessa Kier
The sound abruptly cut off and Helen’s pulse spiked. She couldn’t hear. Her ears felt plugged up, as if they needed to pop. The loss of hearing made her feel incredibly vulnerable.
Lachlan rolled off her and yanked her to her feet. Halfway between their position and the smoking office, Jacobs lay facedown on the runner carpet. Pieces of metal stuck out from his back and legs and littered the floor around him.
She stepped toward him, but Lachlan grabbed her arm. His lips moved, but she waved her hands at her ears to indicate that the explosion had made her temporarily deaf. He nodded and indicated he had the same issue. The nonchalance with which he dismissed that as unimportant reassured her.
He gestured urgently toward the servants’ stairs, indicating that she should escape. She shook her head, broke free of his hold, and hurried over to Jacobs.
He was conscious, but a shard of metal the length of her forearm pinned his left leg to the floor. She glanced from the wound to the burning office, wondering what had broken apart to form such a deadly projectile. Knowing they had to get out of here in case there was another explosion, she performed a quick visual examination. Luckily, the shard hadn’t penetrated close to a major artery.
Helen’s ears popped and her hearing returned.
“How can I help?” Lachlan asked, kneeling beside her.
Holding her hand near the metal, she felt the heat coming off it. “You can pull out the metal using these.” She handed him a pair of forceps. “Be careful, it’s still hot. Then I’ll quickly irrigate the wounds.”
Lachlan gave her a tight nod.
“Okay, then, on three. One… Two… Three!”
Lachlan yanked the metal out of the floor. Jacobs flinched and groaned. Once the metal was free, Helen poured saline into the wounds—both front and back. As she replaced the cap on the bottle of saline solution, the floor quaked and there was a deep rumbling from somewhere beneath them.
She glanced at Lachlan in alarm. He shoved her medical kit at her, then pulled her to her feet. “Run for the door to the servants’ stairs!”
He picked up Jacobs and pushed her down the hallway. The entire house was now vibrating. Helen stumbled down the corridor, around the corner, then slid open the pocket door that led to the narrow, enclosed servants’ stairs. The house shuddered with increasing force and Helen half-slid, half-fell down the stairs, using the railing for support.
At the bottom of the stairs, the door into the kitchen swung wildly back and forth on its hinges. She pushed through, ran past the dead body of the cook and raced out the back door just as the house twisted violently. She was thrown off her feet and landed hard on her side on the marble porch. Hearing a crack, she glanced up. One of the columns holding up the porch roof had broken free.
She flung herself off the side of the porch and rolled onto the lawn. A second later, the column crashed down beside her.
“Helen, look out!” Lachlan cried.
She turned her head to see a piece from one of the gargoyles on the roofline plunging toward her. She tried to move out of the way, but her hands slipped on the grass and the piece of stone glanced off her skull.
The world went black.
CHAPTER NINE
A CLOUD OF dust and smoke rose into the night sky.
Bloody hell.
Lachlan set Tony safely on the lawn out of range of the debris raining down, then dragged Helen away from the collapsing mansion. He checked her pulse, then applied a field bandage to the bloody gash on the back of her head. Next, he confirmed that Tony was still alive but unconscious before yanking the shrapnel out of his own legs and back—he couldn’t drive with pieces of metal sticking out of him—bandaged his wounds as best he could, then raced for the front. The SUV had a few dents and was covered in dust, but it started.
He loaded Tony and Helen into the cargo compartment, then on instinct drove across the lawn in case the driveway was booby-trapped.
“What…where…” Helen moaned from the back.
Lachlan turned on the overhead light and glanced in the mirror to find her trying to sit up. “Lie still, doctor. A chunk of stone knocked you out. I’m taking us back to the clinic.”
She ignored his advice. Once she’d reached a half-incline position, she took Tony’s wrist to check his pulse.
“Doctor, leave the man alone. He’s alive. With the pain from his wounds, he’s better off unconscious. You need to stop being Dr. Kirk now and let Helen-the-woman-with-a-head-injury rest a bit.”
The SUV hit a rut in the road and Helen gasped in pain. “There. D’you see what I mean now, lass? Just lie still until we reach the bloody clinic.”
She muttered something he figured he didn’t need to hear, then leaned her back against the sidewall.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, woman.” Lachlan applied the brakes to bring the SUV to a gentle stop.
He got out, stalked to the back, and yanked open the rear door. “If you’re not going to lie back down like a sensible woman, then come sit up front where you’ll be comfortable.”
She squinted at him, most likely due to a combination of sensitivity to the overhead light and pain. He held out his hand. When she took it, he tugged gently until he could maneuver her to a sitting position at the edge of the compartment. He studied her eyes, but her pupils appeared even.
“How are you feeling? Nauseous?”
“No. I’m not concussed. There’s no double vision. No nausea. I’m just a little dizzy and have a killer headache. Now. Were you going to let me sit somewhere softer?”
Stubborn lass. “Aye.” He put his arm around her waist and helped her into the front passenger seat, then strapped her in and closed the door. By the time he put the vehicle back on the road again, her eyes were closed. He drove carefully down the winding road, doing his best to avoid the ruts in the dirt road because each rut or hole he inadvertently hit caused Helen to groan.
“I never understood why Mr. Natchaba didn’t pave this road,” Helen said weakly after the SUV had bounced particularly hard over a rough patch. “With his money, he could have afforded it.”
“He probably wanted to discourage unexpected visitors. If that was my house, I’d have a hidden, paved access road for quick escape. Or a helipad.”
“I suppose it’s possible there’s another way down. I never asked.”
“Can you think of any reason why Natchaba would attack the festival? Did he have a fight with any of the villagers? Or the regional governor?”
“No. He kept mostly to himself, except for occasional acts of charity. Although…”
“What?”
“It’s probably nothing. But the first time I attended one of the dinners Mr. Natchaba hosted, I remember thinking that a few of his comments seemed aimed only at David and Kwesi. As if he were subtly pointing out the differences between their standard of living and his own. But neither David nor Kwesi ever gave an indication that they had a history with Mr. Natchaba.”
“Hmm.”
After a long silence, she added, “You know, my life isn’t normally so violent. Patients come to me after the act of violence. It’s not something I’ve personally experienced before. But you and Jacobs…”
“Are soldiers. So aye, we’re used to being under fire.”
“Everything was fine until you showed up,” she murmured. “You’re bad luck, MacKay.”
“It’s not my fault, doctor. Yesterday’s attack was too complicated to have been a spur-of-the-moment act. Most likely the planners thought of the idea weeks ago. Long before I arrived at your clinic. Without the response by me and Jacobs, the shooters would have killed more people. Possibly even you.”
“I was teasing, MacKay.” She waved her hand in the air. “Sorry, I guess I’m not making myself clear.”
“Ah. All right, then.” This was strange, having her treat him as a friend instead of an enemy.
You’re the one who declared the truce though, weren’t you?
The SUV lurched into a rut that was deeper than it
had appeared, sending a jolt though the vehicle.
“Ouch!” Helen braced herself on the dash.
“Sorry, lass.”
“I…ah…think I’ll just close my eyes and be quiet for a bit.”
“You do that.”
Ten minutes later, Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief as the road reached the flat valley floor. He’d seen no evidence in the dirt of the winding, unpaved road that large trucks with heavy loads had passed this way frequently. Yet he hadn’t seen an alternative way off the mountain. Assuming that Natchaba was guilty, it was certainly possible that two or three boxes of weapons could have been put in the back of an SUV and driven to the mansion.
However, if there had been ammunition stored at Natchaba’s place, the explosion would have been much more destructive. And the profile he was forming of Natchaba indicated a man who wouldn’t sacrifice expensive weapons. So, assuming that small numbers of weapons had been brought up to the mansion, either Natchaba had already distributed them to his intended end users, or he’d taken the weapons with him.
Or perhaps Natchaba had only been a financial partner and others had been in charge of taking the weapons from Kwesi and distributing them.
Once Lachlan reached the main road with its slightly smoother surface, he checked that his sat phone had a line of sight to the sky, then called HQ.
“Please tell me you have good news,” Kris said. “The President of Volta is riding Azumah’s ass about finding the terrorists.”
“That’s the job of his own forces,” Lachlan snapped, then lowered his voice so he wouldn’t disturb Helen. “He should have spent more money funding the police and army instead of splurging on jewelry and fancy cars.”
“Yeah, I know. Politics as usual and we’re the ones getting dumped on.” Kris sounded even more weary than before. “What can I do for you?”
Lachlan explained about the murdered staff, the lack of any physical evidence tying Natchaba to the smuggling, and the explosion. “We need an evac. Both Tony and Dr. Kirk are hurt. Tony took shrapnel from the initial blast.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Some team leader he was. Hundreds of civilians had been killed. Even more were wounded. Now he’d failed to protect both Tony and Helen. “The bomb was loaded with shards of metal. Whoever set the trap wanted to inflict the maximum amount of suffering.”
“Do you think Natchaba is responsible?” Kris asked. “Or is he an innocent victim that the local government needs to search for?”
“The house appeared abandoned. That says to me that Natchaba wasn’t in residence when the staff were killed and so is not likely to be a kidnapping victim. My gut tells me Kwesi would not have lied about Natchaba’s involvement in the weapons smuggling. So I’m more inclined to believe that Natchaba killed the staff as a way to tie up loose ends. Either he did it himself, which makes him unstable and prone to personal acts of violence, or he farmed it out. Whoever did the killing, the mansion was set up so that those investigating the scene would trigger the explosions when they were at the point farthest from an escape route.”
“He wanted to trap as many as possible in the building’s collapse.”
“Aye. But he forgot to block off the servants’ stairs. That’s the only reason we got out in time.”
“I’m just going to say this once, because I know what you’re thinking,” Kris said. “Dr. Kirk and Tony getting injured is not your fault.”
Bloody hell, he hated when the man read his mind like that. “I—”
“No. Taking responsibility for your men and caring what happens to them is what makes you a good leader. I know what you’re thinking because I question myself every time someone gets hurt on a mission, even though I was sitting safely here at HQ and had no way of jumping in and preventing the injury.”
“Mother Hen,” Lachlan murmured.
Kris chuckled over his nickname. “Damn straight. But as I told you after the attack, you need to deal with your emotions later. We have to figure out where this guy is going to strike next and stop him.” Kris sighed. “We received confirmation that two of the weapons recovered from the festival grounds were part of a shipment of weapons purchased in Bulgaria with an official destination of South Africa.”
“Now, isn’t that interesting?” This was yet another connection between South Africa and the smuggling of weapons to the West African rebels.
“It gets better,” Kris said. “The purchaser of record is one of Morenga’s front companies. Yet Wil’s informant says that the shipment never arrived.”
“Ballsy. If Natchaba arranged to divert the shipment, it indicates he’s trying to weaken Morenga before he fully consolidates his power. And it raises the question of why the photographs of Dr. Kirk and the boxes of weapons were sent to WAR rather than Morenga. He has private troops of his own. He could easily have sent a platoon in to take out Natchaba, if indeed he is the thief.” And Helen and the villagers would have been caught in the middle of a turf war.
“That, my friend, is an excellent question,” Kris said. “We have learned one new thing, though. Remember the photos Tony took of the pilot who flew in the MP3 players?”
“Aye.”
“Our researchers came up blank when running the photos through their database. However, Marcus saw the pictures and says the man is his evil twin Seth Jarrod.”
“No wonder he averted his face.” Marcus Jones, their hotshot pilot, liked to regale the men with stories of his days flying in an elite military helicopter squad. Many of those stories included a fierce rivalry between Marcus and another pilot that he jokingly referred to as his evil twin. “But wouldn’t Jarrod show up in the American military’s database?”
“That’s what’s so interesting. He should be there. Marcus went through flight school with him. He should have a full military record. But our techs couldn’t find him. We even had one of Wil’s guys run an internal search and there’s no sign that the man ever served in the U.S. military.”
Lachlan could only think of two possible reasons why the man would have been scrubbed from the records. “Either he’s working deep black ops, or he’s gone over to the dark side and is working with Wil’s traitor.”
“Exactly. Marcus is going to put out quiet inquiries to fliers he knows to see what he can turn up. And he says it’s likely that Levine might have shared a posting with Jarrod, so I’ll ask him once the team is back from their current mission.”
Lachlan squashed the ache he felt at knowing the rest of his team were on a mission without him and Tony.
“Here’s another person who has no deep background. Research finally finished their search and according to them, Sani Natchaba exists only as of two years ago. The business name listed on Dr. Kirk’s loan document was briefly tied to another company that we know purchased weapons for the rebels, but both companies have gone dark. Their bank accounts have been emptied, their utilities cancelled, and they no longer occupy office space.”
“Further support for the idea that Natchaba is trying to horn in on Morenga’s role as chief weapons supplier.”
“Precisely. I’ve put word out to our information network that we want intel on Morenga and all possible challengers, Natchaba in particular. Hopefully something will shake out. For now, I’ll notify Azumah of the deaths of the staff and the explosions that brought the house down. He can have the fun job of passing the news on to the regional police.”
“Have our informants mentioned any particular units within the rebels that have been experimenting with advanced explosives?” Lachlan asked.
“No. And Wil’s hit a stone wall regarding missing experimental explosives.”
“Someone’s covering up?”
“Looks like,” Kris said.
Lachlan understood the frustration he heard in Kris’s voice. The deeper WAR became involved in stopping the rebellion, the clearer it became that it wasn’t just the U.S. military that had a traitor helping the rebels. There appeared to be elements from a variety of outside governments that had fo
rmed a cabal to destabilize West Africa. Why, Lachlan didn’t know. But the individuals had enough power to ruin the careers of, or kill off, those who investigated them.
“So, in addition to possibly looking to take over the weapons smuggling side of things, it appears as if Natchaba also intends to run his own operations. If he’s being supplied by outside forces, that could spell trouble. Assuming Natchaba really is behind the festival attack and the situation at his mansion, he’s more cunning than the usual rebel leader. These attacks were well-planned and targeted.” Most rebel attacks relied on brute force and acts of horrific violence to instill terror in the population. “I wish I knew why Natchaba chose this location. Was it personal? Or random?”
“Exactly,” Kris agreed. “We can’t predict where he’ll attack next if we don’t understand who he is and what he wants. Unfortunately, none of the shooters survived to tell us what they know.”
“Ah, but we do have an entire village full of witnesses who can identify Natchaba. Including Dr. Kirk.”
“Do you trust her to tell you the truth?”
Lachlan glanced over at Helen resting in the passenger seat. He couldn’t tell if she was awake and listening in or asleep. “For this? Aye. But our best shot is still to work with a sketch artist.”
“The government only has one artist available. They’ve agreed that you can have access to her, but our contact insists it’s too dangerous for her to leave the capital, so you’ll have to go there. I’ll work on freeing up Marcus and get back to you regarding evacuation. In the meantime, do me a favor, Lach and try to stay out of trouble for at least twenty-four hours, all right?”
With a rueful laugh, Lachlan ended the call. During the remainder of the drive back to the clinic he considered Kris’s question. Did he trust Helen? Did he believe that she led him and Tony into the house, knowing it was booby-trapped yet willing to die along with them? No. She could have run before Tony opened the door. Could have run when Tony was pinned to the floor by that shard of metal. But she’d risked her life to stay and assist.
