WAR: Intrusion

by Vanessa Kier

  The leader of that rebel group had neither the intelligence nor the contacts to have planned or completed such a theft. That alone had made Morenga suspicious. But it was the portion of the video that he had not sent to Dr. LaSalle that proved that his greatest fears had come true. The video had shown his son dragging one of the limbless, faceless bodies out of the hospital and tossing it into the yard which had by then resembled nothing more than an abattoir.

  Morenga had known since his son was a small boy that there was something not right about him. He had no empathy for other people, yet could manufacture emotions that he used to manipulate those around him. The boy’s only good trait had been the protectiveness he showed toward his mother. She, in turn, had doted on him. She’d refused to hear even the hint of criticism against her precious boy. Morenga had divorced her over her inability to accept that their son might have deliberately killed a playmate. He still believed to this day that she had bribed the officials to rule the death an accident.

  So when, after years of estrangement, his son had suddenly been mentioned as an up-and-coming leader in the rebellion, Morenga had taken notice. He’d attempted to get spies close to his son but until recently, they had always disappeared. Yet Morenga had managed to gather enough evidence to suggest that his son was attempting to create his own army and form his own alliances with the various rebel groups. The spy who had succeeded in penetrating the organization warned that his son had grand plans of destabilizing all of West Africa at once through a series of increasingly vicious, large-scale attacks.

  Morenga wondered if the massacre at the hospital had been part of that plan. If yes, had his son never considered that instead of cowing the population with fear, the attack had instead turned people firmly against the rebels?

  Whatever his son’s motivation, based on the latest report from his spy, Morenga had already decided to contact WAR even before today’s attack. The attack just gave him a more legitimate reason to make that contact.

  His secure satellite phone rang.

  Ah. Now it begins.

  He waited a moment before answering. Was he certain he wanted to do this?

  Did he have another choice if he wanted to see West Africa live up to its potential?

  The answer was “no” to both questions.

  He picked up the phone. “Good day,” he said. “With whom am I speaking?”

  “You know who I am.” Morenga had an excellent ear for languages, but he still would not have been able to identify Lachlan MacKay’s accent as Scottish if one of his business partners had not played him a tape and explained the differences between Scottish, Irish, Welsh, and the various English accents.

  “Who are you?” MacKay demanded.

  Morenga’s lips twitched in amusement. Ah, these foreigners, blunt to the point of rudeness. “You have watched the video?”

  “Yes.” MacKay’s voice vibrated with outrage. Although Morenga shared the feeling, he could not afford to reveal such emotion or risk being labeled as weak by his rivals.

  “I assure you that I had nothing to do with that attack,” Morenga said. “Had I known such an atrocity was planned, I would have taken steps to stop it.”

  “So you say.”

  “True. You have no reason to trust me. However, I have put myself at great risk in contacting you.” Now that he’d taken over Dietrich’s supply routes his operation had come under even more pressure from WAR’s forces.

  “What information do you have for me?” MacKay asked.

  “The rebel convoy that your team and the government forces took down held several foreign prisoners. But Dr. Helen Kirk was not among them. I believe I know where she is being taken.” He closed his eyes briefly against the ache in his heart. “And by whom.” Despite everything the boy had done, he was still Morenga’s son. He loved him. Or at least, he loved the remnants of the boy he’d once been.

  “Why are you sharing this information with me? Why not go to the government?”

  “Because I wish there to be justice, not slaughter. Your organization has a certain reputation for honesty and fairness that the national government lacks.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because the man who took Dr. Kirk is my son.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes. You understand my dilemma. I am a wanted man. Even if I trusted the government, it would take too long to convince them that I am being truthful. But you and your team have a better understanding of the threat my son poses. To that I will add this information. The place where my son is taking Dr. Kirk is the same place where he is storing the missing mini-explosives. My spy informs me that my son intends to use these weapons to launch multiple attacks against the capitals of the region within the next two weeks.”

  MacKay made a sound of disbelief.

  “Do not be fooled by the lack of full success of my son’s recent attacks. He has been stockpiling weapons and gathering men for months. He has been experimenting. Searching for the most successful methods to achieve his goals and the most effective allies. I believe that his core troops are more than capable of planting these explosives and achieving destruction such as this region has never seen.” He stared at the map of West Africa on the wall behind his desk. “You must stop him. I will give you the location of his military base. My spy will let you inside. Then I trust that you will retrieve the explosives and avert a disaster that would throw this region into such chaos it would never recover.”

  “Is that not what you have been trying to achieve?”

  “No, Commander. I want peace and stability for my people. But foreign corporations and financial institutions have our countries in a stranglehold. I have no objection to breaking that hold with targeted violence. Mass destruction that kills our own people, or acts of butchery such as seen on that video, do not work in our favor.”

  “And by taking down your son, we rid you of a primary business competitor as well.”

  “I do enjoy speaking with an intelligent man.” He glanced at the clock. “Do we have a deal?”

  MacKay didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Now listen closely.”

  Eastern Region

  The Republic of the Volta

  West Africa

  “DOES MORENGA THINK we’re fools?” JC asked later that evening.

  From a wooded ridge above the road, Lachlan stared down at the concrete and metal bridge that spanned a deep chasm. On the other side of the bridge the road ended in a narrow patch of dirt just wide enough to turn a lorry around without running into the cliff face.

  “No,” Levine answered. “Just desperate enough to grasp at his offer without thinking through his possible motivations.”

  “I suspect that Morenga truly does have a spy within Natchaba’s organization,” Lachlan said. “That’s good business practice. But even if Morenga has ordered the man to help us, do I trust that Natchaba’s security will be so lax that Morenga’s spy will be able to let us in? No.” Morenga had sounded sincere in his desire to see his son brought to justice, but between WAR and the government forces, WAR posed the greater danger to Morenga. If their positions had been reversed, Lachlan would have dangled this location as bait, then set up an ambush.

  Which was why his team had inserted into the jungle on this side of the hill across the gorge from the front door, rather than on the back side and the rear door that Morenga’s spy supposedly manned. Lachlan’s team was also three hours early.

  From a distance, the cliff and its covering of vines and other climbing plants appeared to be completely natural. Yet zooming in with his high-powered binoculars, Lachlan had spotted the rectangular outline of a bay door and several sniper slits.

  He imagined both the dirt in front of the cliff and the bridge were booby-trapped as Natchaba seemed to enjoy blowing things up. So Dev and Lance were scouting along the left edge of the chasm, trying to find another way across. Hoss and JC were searching to the right.

  “Anything?” Lachlan said into his lip mike
.

  “Negative, Commander,” Dev replied. “Unless we find a narrow spot between this side and the other, as well as an anchor to allow someone to do a Tarzan swing, we’d need one hell of a long extension ladder to reach across.”

  “Commander MacKay, this is Beta Leader.” A backup team from WAR was stationed along the road to watch for incoming traffic and direct the government forces when they arrived.

  “Go ahead, Beta Leader.”

  “The rebel troop transport is approaching from the north. ETA to your position is ten minutes.”

  “Brilliant. Thank you. Hear that, lads? We’re a go.” When Lachlan had finished talking with Morenga, he’d held a meeting with the leader of the government forces. As a backup plan, they’d decided to let one group of rebels escape from the convoy Lachlan’s team had stopped. A team of the government’s men had followed, on the presumption that the rebels would head to this location. Lachlan was relieved that his guess had been correct.

  “Moving into position,” Obi said.

  “Commander, I’m telling you once more before this operation turns hot,” Hoss said. “Let me be the one to get captured.”

  “Shut it, mate,” Lachlan snapped. “Your objection has been noted and overridden. I’m one of the people who has thwarted Natchaba recently. He’ll want a chance to take his revenge on me.”

  “Which is precisely why—”

  “Trees are down and blocking the road according to plan,” Dev cut in firmly.

  “Obi and I are in position overlooking the road,” Levine said. He would be acting as Obi’s spotter.

  “I’m ready as well,” Lachlan reported.

  “All righty, then,” Hoss snapped. “If y’all are okay letting our leader risk his damn fool neck there’s nothing I can do to stop him. But he sounds just a wee bit too happy about going face-to-face with the rebels.”

  Lachlan heard the unspoken message. Hoss worried that Lachlan would lose control again and derail the mission.

  “I’m not breaking in another bloody team leader, Lachlan, sir,” Hoss continued, “so you’d damn well better survive. Ouch!”

  “Couyan,” JC muttered. Then, louder, “A temporary reprimand has been issued via dope slap, Commander. Me and Mr. Insubordination here are now in position overlooking the bridge.”

  “Roger that.” Lachlan waited behind the cover of a thick bush just before the point in the road where it took a sharp left turn toward the bridge. His stomach tightened into a convoluted ball of knots at the possibility that Helen might have been taken to another location. That Morenga had sent them on a wild goose chase. Yet this was close to the area his team had pinpointed as the most likely spot for Natchaba’s base.

  So Lachlan would hold onto the hope that Helen was inside, and alive. Because he could not fail her. Would not fail her.

  “Here they come,” Levine said over the comm. “The truck is a small troop transport. I spot one driver, one passenger. Both windows are open. Can’t see if the passenger has a rifle on his lap. The back has a canvas top and a high tailgate. Thermal imagery shows three men in the rear.”

  “The driver, I recognize him,” Obi said. “We attended school together.”

  “Ah, Christ man. I’m sorry,” Lachlan said as the lorry came into view.

  “It is not important,” Obi answered. “He has made the wrong choice.”

  The driver slammed on the brakes when he saw the pile of trees blocking the road. Both the driver and the passenger climbed out to investigate. As soon as they’d cleared the lorry’s bonnet, Obi killed both men.

  That was the signal for Lachlan’s group to move in. They surrounded the rear of the truck, and within minutes had secured the three surviving rebels. Meanwhile, JC and Hoss had removed the trees from the road and Obi had changed into the uniform of the driver. Obi now waited patiently by the driver’s door.

  Lachlan climbed into the back of the lorry. He nodded to his men.

  “He’s ready,” Dev called up to Obi. A moment later, the vehicle started moving.

  This next bit depended a great deal on luck. Lachlan hoped that whoever manned the door didn’t know every rebel by sight and wouldn’t notice that Obi was a stranger. If the guard at the door sounded the alarm and the suspected snipers started firing, Obi would give the abort signal.

  Lachlan mentally counted down. They should be approaching the end of the bridge.

  “All appears quiet, Commander,” Obi said over the comm system. “Good luck.”

  The sound of the engine changed as Obi jammed a tree branch between the accelerator pedal and the driver’s seat. Lachlan leaned out the back of the lorry and tossed his headset into the jungle.

  The lorry rumbled onto the bridge. Lachlan scanned the area to the driver’s side of the road. Where was Obi? Had he not managed to jump clear?

  He caught the movement of bushes and spotted Obi’s boot disappearing into the jungle.

  Good. He was on his own.

  Lachlan climbed over the tailgate and balanced on the bumper. As soon as the back end of the lorry reached the dirt on the other side, he dove free and rolled away.

  With no one to stop it, the lorry crashed into the cliff face.

  Lachlan scrambled for the relative protection of the bushes to the side of the dirt patch. Before he reached safety, the snipers fired warning shots in front of him.

  “Sit still and put your hands above your head, Commander MacKay,” a voice called. “Do not fight our men and you will be escorted safely inside.”

  Lachlan made a show of eyeing the bushes, then inched toward them. A shot nearly caught him in his left hand. “All right,” he called out.

  He put his hands up.

  A door slid open in the cliff face and a team of soldiers poured out. Several men formed a circle around Lachlan while the others investigated the ruined lorry. One of the soldiers called out something in an unfamiliar dialect. From his tone, Lachlan judged it to be a statement that the lorry was clear of threats.

  The leader of the group barked out a command and jerked his chin toward the door. A rebel stepped forward and slammed his rifle butt against the back of Lachlan’s head.

  Lachlan toppled forward. Before he completely passed out, he thought he heard a man whisper, “Foolish Scotsman, you should have stuck to the plan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “AS YOU SEE, Dr. Kirk, all of my men have gathered to welcome you.” Natchaba gestured grandly with his arm as Helen’s guards shoved her out of the corridor and into a cavern that soared into darkness above.

  The space was larger than the hospital, with stalactites and stalagmites ringing the edges. And it was packed nearly wall-to-wall with men in rebel uniforms.

  Terror rocketed through her.

  The crowd parted before Natchaba and he led Helen and her guards to a wooden stage in the center of the cavern. Four people occupied the platform. Mrs. N’Dorah, bound and gagged, sat on a chair at the far end guarded by two burly rebels. Helen’s heart sank. She’d thought that Natchaba had no leverage against her, but she’d been wrong.

  Natchaba mounted the stairs and Helen’s guards dragged her after him, shoving her forward until she faced the fourth person.

  Oh, God. It was the young rebel who’d attacked Layla’s Foundation. The one Lachlan had shot and she’d doctored.

  The one who had used his machete with such glee against Kofi at the hospital.

  Ice slithered over Helen’s skin and she attempted to step back from the hatred in his eyes. There was not a single indication that the man owed Helen for patching up his leg so that he didn’t bleed to death.

  Instead, he leaned in so close, she could smell his foul breath. “That’s right, Dr. Kirk. Fear me.” Faster than she could track, he pulled a knife from his belt and held it to her cheek. “You will scream and you will beg me for your life.”

  Bile rose in her throat. Oh, God.

  He shifted the knife so that its tip rested against the skin behind her ear. “Perhaps I
will start by removing your ear.”

  Is that what Natchaba intended for her? To let this boy dismember her piece by piece while the rest of his forces watched?

  Despite fear turning her insides to jelly, Helen kept her gaze up and her body as relaxed as possible. She had to stay strong and project an aura of confidence. Whatever happened, she would face it with as much dignity and calm as she could manage. Yet she had no illusions that she could hold out for very long against torture.

  The rebel pressed on the knife until it broke her skin. A warm trickle of blood slid down her neck.

  “Enough,” Natchaba said.

  The man leaned harder on his knife, then pulled it away. With a respectful bow to Natchaba, he went to stand behind Mrs. N’Dorah.

  “Now, Dr. Kirk,” Natchaba said, “I imagine you are wondering why I have brought you to this place.” He motioned for her guards to move her to the edge of the platform to make room for several groups of men carrying equipment.

  With growing dread, she watched the men set up an operating room.

  The young man who’d hacked Kofi to pieces caught her eye and grinned at her. She remembered how his comrades had held Kofi down on the operating table as this man had begun his gruesome work.

  The blood rushed out of her head and she swayed under a bout of dizziness.

  Stay calm. Stay cool. Think iceberg. Think polar bears and fluffy baby seals. Don’t give them the thrill of seeing you afraid.

  The rebels at the hospital had laughed and gloated as their victims had screamed in terror. They’d mocked Helen and her staff as they’d screamed for mercy for their colleagues.

  She would not give these men the same power over her.

  Somehow she managed to drag in several breaths, calm her panicked heartbeat, and stave off the dizziness. When she had regained her composure and once again looked around the platform, she found Natchaba watching her in that clinical manner he had.

  A rebel hurried toward the stage from the main corridor. He caught Natchaba’s attention and Natchaba walked over to him. They held a brief conversation, then Natchaba gave an abrupt nod and glanced at Helen, a glint of triumph in his eyes.