by Lynn Ames
“Vaughn—”
“What do you want me to do, browbeat her?”
“No. I just want you to ask the question.”
Vaughn folded her arms across her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was traumatize Sage further. It was bad enough that she would see the dead bodies either way they exited the building.
“If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t be hesitating.”
Vaughn’s head shot up, her eyes daring Justine to say more. The two women stood toe-to-toe and glared at each other. Finally, Vaughn relented. “Okay. I will ask the question. But I will not push her, and neither will anyone else. Got it?”
“Agreed,” Justine said. They returned to the table.
“Sage,” Vaughn began. “I know you’re tired and hurting, but we need your help.”
“What do you need?”
“These men who took you…do you have any idea why? What did they want?”
Tears sprang immediately to Sage’s eyes. “I d-don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same question. I can’t figure it out. I don’t know what I d-did to deserve this…” Her body began to shake.
Vaughn shot Justine a dirty look. She gathered Sage in her arms. “You didn’t do anything, honey. Don’t worry about it. We’ll talk about it again later. It’s not important right now.”
“We should go,” Jackson said. “We have a distance to travel, and it would be better to arrive under cover of darkness.”
“Yes,” Vaughn agreed. “Let’s get ready.”
“What’s the plan?” Justine asked.
“Jackson, I hate to say this, my friend, but I disagree with your strategy. We should all go out the front, at staggered intervals. As soon as the door opens, Torgensen will give away his position. He is only expecting to face a single opponent. It will give us our best shot at taking him out.”
Silence enveloped the room momentarily as the others considered the logic of Vaughn’s plan.
“The last person will take Sage,” Justine said.
“Yes,” Vaughn conceded grudgingly. Since Sage would not leave her side, Vaughn would have to be last out. The first two people through the door would be the most vulnerable. That meant that Jackson and Justine would be exposed to a much bigger risk than Vaughn would. Ideally, she would have insisted on being the first person out.
She frowned. Could she get Sage out first, draw Torgensen’s fire, and protect Sage at the same time? No. Justine was right—the object was to keep Sage safe. Taking her out last would ensure that she had minimal exposure.
There was no way around it. “I’m not happy exposing you two this way,” Vaughn said as they readied their weapons and walked to the front entrance.
“It is necessary, Vaughn Elliott, and I would not have it any other way.”
“Jackson’s right, and you know it,” Justine added.
“Maybe, but I don’t have to be happy about it.”
“I will go first,” Jackson said, his head held high. “The meeting place is at a checkpoint just inside the border with Mauritania. It is the closest border. Getting to my country would take too long. Take the road west.”
“You can show us, yourself, my friend, when we get there,” Vaughn said. “Everybody ready? Jackson will go, then Justine after a three second wait, then me and Sage.” She looked at Sage, whose eyes were glassy with fear. She squeezed her hand. “You just stay behind me. If anything happens to me, go with Justine and Jackson. They will protect you.”
“Vaughn?” Sage’s voice was tight with panic.
“It’s going to be fine. Just stay low and follow my instructions or theirs, okay? Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“You’re okay to run?”
“Yes,” Sage said.
“Good.” Vaughn took off her Kevlar vest.
“What are you doing?” Sage asked.
“You’re going to wear this.” Vaughn threaded Sage’s good arm through the armhole, even as Sage resisted, and zipped her injured arm inside.
“You’re going to need that.”
“No. I’ll be fine. I have a gun.” Vaughn smiled reassuringly. She took a deep breath. “Everybody good to go?”
Jackson and Justine checked their weapons one last time.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“I guess,” Sage said. Vaughn squeezed her hand. She motioned for Justine to flatten herself and Sage against the wall.
“Okay. Jackson, on the count of three…”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vaughn checked to be sure that Justine had Sage well out of danger. As Jackson prepared to push open the door, Vaughn unbalanced him, knocking him back a step. “I can’t let you do it, my friend. Justine, take care of Sage.”
Before any of them had a chance to react, Vaughn shoved past Jackson and through the door, tucking and rolling as she went. She saw the muzzle flash a split second before a bullet ripped into her exposed torso. Time slowed. Behind her, she heard Sage scream and Jackson swear. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of Justine struggling to restrain Sage, a look of shock on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said silently to Justine. “This is not your fight, and you are the only one medically qualified to help Sage. Keep her safe.”
Vaughn continued to roll with the momentum, landing on her stomach, the rifle still in her hands. Unbearable heat radiated throughout her body. She tried to draw in a deep breath, but her lungs were on fire.
Focus. The flash was to the left, behind that dune. She eyed the landscape through her night vision scope and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
Someone was scrambling close to her. Jackson? Justine? She saw another muzzle flash in the distance. A fraction of a second later, there was a strangled moan, and the nearby figure fell to the ground hard, twisting at an impossible angle.
Vaughn could hear her own labored breaths. Drowning. It feels like I’m drowning. Even in her diminished capacity, she recognized that her time was running out. Before long, she wouldn’t be able to protect any of them.
She adjusted her sights and fired five more rounds. Through the scope, she watched as Torgensen’s body contorted. Sweat poured into her eyes and she blinked to clear her vision. Have to end it now. With one last effort, Vaughn squeezed off two more shots—the first hit Torgensen in the middle of the chest, as evidenced by the dark circle that blossomed over his heart; the second snapped his head back. It was over.
The rifle slipped from Vaughn’s shaking hands as she began to cough. A trickle of blood coated her lower lip. She turned on her side, desperate to see who had fallen next to her, but her vision was badly blurred. She thought she saw a figure looming over her. With a last gasp, she choked out, “Torgensen’s dead. Get Sage out.” Then she slipped away.
Justine saw Vaughn’s body jerk as the bullet hit her. “Vaughn!”
“No! No! Vaughn!” Sage surged forward, pushing off the wall.
Justine reacted instinctively, years of training and experience kicking in. She threw her body in front of Sage and pinned her to the wall, a forearm under her chin. She took one quick look over her shoulder at the scene outside. In the time it had taken her to secure Sage, Jackson had regained his balance and bolted out the door. In the space of a heartbeat, he was gone, a bullet through the ear. The dead weight of his body held the door open.
“Shit!” They were out of the direct line of fire, but Justine would’ve preferred more cover.
“Vaughn!” Sage pummeled Justine with her one available fist, trying desperately to break free.
Remarkably, Vaughn continued to shoot off rounds. Justine put a finger to Sage’s lips. “Shh. You can’t help her now. Stay against the wall. Sage, stop struggling, do you hear me? Sage!”
Sage’s face held all the anguish Justine felt.
“Vaughn,” Sage said more softly. “We have to help…”
“We will. We will. But we can’t help her by getting ourselves shot.”
Justine felt some
of the fight leach out of Sage as her eyes glazed over in shock. “Promise me you’ll stay right where you are. I need to give Vaughn some backup. I can’t do that if I have to worry about you.”
Sage didn’t answer. Justine shook her lightly. “Promise me. And if something happens to me, I want you to go out the back door. Here’s a gun.” Justine pulled the Sig from her waistband and tried to put it into Sage’s lax hand. “It’s loaded. Use it if you have to. There’s an outbuilding about twenty yards away. Hide inside until morning. There’s a car out front. Here is the key.” She pulled the ignition key she had removed from the Tuareg’s robe out of a pocket of the Kevlar vest. “Head west to Mauritania. Jackson’s people will meet you there.”
Sage simply stood staring over Justine’s shoulder, her jaw slack and her hand hanging loosely at her side.
Justine shook her head. It’s no good. I can’t leave you. She chanced another look back, realizing that everything had gone very still. The only sound she could hear was…a strangled cough? “Wait right here. Don’t move.”
Justine wasn’t sure Sage would follow her instruction, but she had to chance it. She turned and watched as Vaughn rolled onto her side. Justine dropped to her belly and commando-crawled through the opening. She scanned the horizon through her night scope. There. To the left, some one hundred yards away, she saw a figure slumped face-first in the sand.
Vaughn coughed again, a horrible, gurgling sound. Justine scrambled the last few feet until she was kneeling over her. Vaughn tried to speak. Justine put her ear next to Vaughn’s lips to hear.
“Torgensen’s dead. Get Sage out.”
“I’m going to get us all out, champ. Stay with me.” Tears formed in Justine’s eyes and she blinked them away. You’re a trained professional. She needs you. Get your shit together. She lifted Vaughn’s wrist. There was a weak pulse.
“Vaughn!” Sage screamed.
When Justine looked up, Sage was standing over them.
“Is she…”
“She’s alive,” Justine said. “We’ve got to get her back inside. Can you carry her feet with your good arm? I’ll take her upper body.”
“She’s bleeding,” Sage said in that shock-induced monotone.
“Sage, Vaughn needs our help now. Can you do it?”
Sage nodded and picked up Vaughn’s ankles as Justine linked her arms under Vaughn’s armpits.
Justine directed them back to the temporary triage room, where they lifted Vaughn onto the table. The front of her shirt was smeared with blood and her face was white as a sheet except for her mouth, where drops of blood stained her lips.
Justine ripped Vaughn’s shirt off near the site of the wound. Fortunately, the wound wasn’t bleeding profusely. She reached for Vaughn’s carotid pulse and noticed that her Adam’s apple had shifted several centimeters to the left from its normal center position. Tension pneumothorax. Vaughn’s lung had collapsed and the chest cavity was filling with air. If she didn’t relieve the pressure soon, Vaughn would die. Justine looked over to Sage, who stood stock still, staring at Vaughn’s inert body.
What Justine needed was a hollow needle, but she didn’t have one. She would have to improvise.
“I need your help, Sage. There’s an office around the corner with an old Bic pen on the desk. I need you to get it for me.”
Sage didn’t budge.
“Sage? Did you hear me?”
“What?”
“Vaughn needs you. There’s an office around the corner to the left with an old Bic pen on the desk. I need you to run and get it for me.”
“Uh-huh. Pen. Got it.” Sage turned to go, hesitated, then looked back at Justine.
“It’s completely safe now, Sage. There’s nobody here but you, me, and Vaughn.” Come on, kiddo. I need your help.
Sage nodded. This time she made it out of the room.
“Poor kid,” Justine mumbled. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Then she located some gauze. With the heel of her hand, she applied direct pressure to the wound. She would have to stop the bleeding until they could get Vaughn somewhere sterile to take out the bullet, but the bigger issue was relieving the pressure in her chest cavity so that the lung could re-inflate.
“I know you can’t hear me, Vaughn, but Sage and I need you to fight. I’m going to do what I can, but the rest is up to you.” Justine tried not to think about the fact that they were hours away from proper medical help—hours that Vaughn might not have.
It was impossible to tell the full extent of damage the bullet might have done without operating. The entry wound was in her right upper chest. There was no exit wound and the trickle of blood from the mouth meant that internal bleeding was a possibility. Even once they arrived in Mauritania, they would have to hope that Jackson’s friends were resourceful and could get them to a doctor.
“I’ve got it.” Sage was back, and Justine was grateful to see that her eyes looked far less glassy.
“Good girl. Bring it here. Then I need you to take my place.”
Sage handed Justine the pen. “What do you need me to do?”
“Put the heel of your hand in the wound and push hard. We have to stop the bleeding.”
“What are you going to do?”
Justine was taking the ink out of the pen, leaving a hollow plastic tube. “Her lung has collapsed. I have to get the air out of the chest cavity so it has room to re-inflate.”
“How?”
Justine peered at the wound over Sage’s shoulder. “I have to insert a tube in Vaughn’s chest.” She pulled the knife from its sheath, found a candle and lit it.
Sage stared at her. “What’re you doing?”
“Sterilizing the knife.”
“You’re going to stick a knife in Vaughn’s chest?”
Justine felt for the intercostal space between the second and third ribs and held a finger between the two ribs to mark her place. “Sage, this is the only way we can save her. You hear those gurgling sounds? She’s drowning. We have to make it easier for her to breathe. Will you help me?”
“Yes,” Sage said softly. Her whole body was shaking.
“Hold her steady.”
“Will she feel you cutting her? Even though she’s unconscious?”
“She might feel pain. That’s why I need you to hold tight, okay?” Justine knew that it was critical that she make the cut and insert the plastic tube in just the right spot; if she hit the intercostal artery, Vaughn would bleed to death. She held the knife poised over the spot she had marked with her finger until her hand steadied. Sweat dripped into her eyes, and she shook her head to clear her vision.
Sage looked away as the knife pierced Vaughn’s skin. Vaughn flinched, although she didn’t regain consciousness.
Justine fashioned the hole to match the size of the tube and made the insertion. There was a whoosh of air, and the trachea came back to the mid-line. Justine stood up straight and wiped the sweat from her eyes with her arm. That’s half the battle.
“Sage, this is very important. We have to maintain suction, and we don’t have any equipment.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“When she takes a breath in, put your finger over the tube opening. When she breathes out, take your finger away.”
“Okay. For how long?”
“I don’t know, yet. We need her to stabilize, and I don’t know how long that will take. I’ll tell you when to stop.” Justine didn’t want to tell Sage the whole truth; the lung was re-inflated for the moment, but Vaughn surely would die if they couldn’t get her to a surgeon soon.
“Yes?” Dumont answered the phone on the fourth ring. He glanced at the clock—4:20 a.m. These idiots had to stop waking him in the middle of the night.
“Report.”
“I haven’t heard anything, sir.”
“Nothing?”
“No. But that isn’t surprising. Nassir wouldn’t have a way to report until he arrived back here. It’s a thirteen-hour drive. I wouldn’t expect to hear from hi
m for hours, yet.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I’m sure Nassir and his men can handle one or two women, don’t you think?” Dumont asked. He was trying to keep the aggravation out of his voice, but he was tired. All he wanted was for this to be over with so he could get on with his life.
“Vaughn Elliott is not just any woman, you idiot, and at least some of Nassir’s men are dead.”
“D-dead? How do you know that?” Dumont sat up, suddenly fully awake.
“That is not your concern.”
“Right, sir. Shall I call you as soon as I hear anything from Nassir?”
“If you hear anything from Nassir,” the voice hissed. Then the line went dead.
Justine drove the car while Sage sat in the back with Vaughn’s head in her lap. Vaughn was still unconscious, and her breathing was shallow but steady. Although the tube remained in her chest, it was no longer necessary for Sage to cover and uncover the opening.
In the end, Justine knew there were no good options. Vaughn wouldn’t live if they drove all the way to Mauritania. They needed a Plan B.
“Sage, can you see if Vaughn’s cell phone is in her pants pocket?”
After several seconds of fumbling, Sage said, “Got it.”
“Give it to me.” Justine took the phone and scrolled through the incoming calls. When she found the number she wanted, she pressed “send.”
“Elliott?”
“Sabastien? This is Justine. I’m with Vaughn. She’s been shot. I need you to help me.”
“What can I do?”
Justine bit her lower lip in concentration. The Tuareg captors were all dead. Torgensen was dead. Whoever was pulling the strings might be getting nervous that no one had checked in, but they should still have a small window to get out before the net closed.
To Sabastien, she said, “We’re supposed to meet some allies in Mauritania, but Vaughn can’t make it that far by car. I need air transportation out of Timbuktu—someone who can fly low. Either that or a private clinic with a surgeon who won’t ask any questions.”
“It’s before dawn there, right?”
