“He wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Yes, I believe that.” She carefully lifted three vials of clear liquid from their foam nests. It looked so innocuous, like water, and gave him a moment’s hesitation.
That was supposed to save Jean-Luc?
“I need to do some math. Hang on.” She set the vials out on a tray and picked up an iPad. After several agonizingly long minutes, she picked up a syringe and poked it into one of the vials. “According to my very basic calculations, he’ll need a little over half of what I have here. I’m going to give it to him in small doses over several hours.” She filled the syringe and moved over to Jean-Luc’s IV.
Marcus’s mouth went dry. “How does it work?”
“Viruses create long strings of double-stranded RNA that are not naturally found anywhere else in the human body. We combined a RNA-binding protein with a protein that triggers a cell’s ability to self-destruct. Basically, Akeso binds to virus infected cells and makes them commit suicide.”
“What about healthy cells?”
“Theoretically, it shouldn’t harm healthy cells since they contain no double-stranded RNA.”
“And you think this could save him?”
“I can’t be one hundred percent positive, but based on the successful lab tests my partner Tiffany performed before her death, I’m eighty percent sure this is his best chance at survival.”
“Eighty percent is better than the zero he has without.” Marcus watched, his heart thundering in his throat, as she injected the drug into Jean-Luc’s IV line. His gloved fingers tightened on the foot rail of the bed.
Jean-Luc didn’t move.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. He looked over at Claire. “Now what?”
“Now…” She dragged a plastic chair over to the bedside and sat down. “We wait.”
Chapter Thirteen
HORNET Headquarters
Wyoming, U.S.A.
“I just don’t get why they’d take off and not tell anyone where they were going.”
Eric “Harvard” Physick looked up from his computer and met Samira Blackwood’s smoky eyes. She sat at a desk directly across from his, working on her own computer, a powerful beast of a desktop she had built herself. She was nearly as good with electronics as he, and with some instruction, she might very well even surpass him. It was the main reason he’d wanted her to join HORNET’s training program.
It had nothing to do with the fact those gray-blue eyes sent a bolt of lightning right through him. Nothing whatsoever.
He was her mentor. She was his student. Their relationship was a professional one and always would be.
He refocused on his computer. “It was a very Jean-Luc thing to do. He’s never been good at thinking things through. Even when we were CIA, he—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Sami said. “You were CIA?”
He saw her eyes widen with shock and mentally cursed. Last thing he needed was for her to have a case of hero worship. He ducked his head and typed nonsense on his keyboard to make himself look busy. “Just an analyst.”
And, apparently, he’d never be anything more. He’d worked his ass off for years training with HORNET, building muscle and combat skills, to prove he was as good in the field as he was behind a computer, but everyone still saw him as “the kid.” The team’s baby, meant to be coddled and protected, never to be trusted with their lives beyond his ability to collect data. Never mind that he’d just turned twenty-five and was plenty capable of doing whatever a mission called for.
He scowled at his screen. He’d thought if anyone would give him a shot at more, it’d be Jean-Luc.
Seems he’d thought wrong.
“Still, that’s awesome.” Sami pushed away from the desk and leaned back in her chair. She’d had the chair custom made to resemble the Iron Throne, which he secretly thought was cool as hell. “Do you think they realize how worried everyone is?”
Or how worried he was? He’d known Jean-Luc for close to seven years, ever since the CIA recruited him at age eighteen. They’d worked ops together. They’d left the CIA and joined HORNET at the same time. He’d thought they were friends. And even with all that history, the guy hadn’t trusted him enough to find the intel he needed after the disaster that was Martinique. Another twenty-four hours, forty-eight at most, and Harvard would’ve had Dr. Oliver’s location. The team could’ve gone in together after her. Instead, Jean-Luc had gone off half-cocked and had asked Marcus of all people for help. The one guy on the team who wasn’t on steady emotional ground.
“Harvard?”
He dragged himself back to the conversation. That’s right—she’d asked a question. “I’m sure he knows and doesn’t care. Jean-Luc’s a selfish bastard. A wizard with languages, hilarious, tons of fun, but he doesn’t usually think about anyone but himself.”
“C’mon, Harvard. That’s not fair.” She waved in a vaguely eastern direction. “The whole reason he left was because he was worried about someone else. Dr. Oliver.”
Yeah, and he had to admit that made no sense. He’d never seen the Cajun get so twisted up over a woman, but it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did where Jean-Luc was concerned. “He’s only interested in Claire because he’s attracted and she’s unobtainable. After he has her, he’ll forget about her and go on to his next flavor of the week.”
“He’d really do that to her?”
“Yes.” He sighed, realizing he sounded bitter. Sami was right—he was being unfair. But he’d gone his whole life without anything approaching a family until he met Jean-Luc. The Cajun had wormed past all of Harvard’s firewalls, and had even been the one to suggest HORNET might be a better fit for his career goals after they both left the CIA. Before that, it had always just been him and his computer—his one true friend—against the world. He hadn’t needed anyone else.
Jean-Luc leaving like he had felt like a betrayal and cut so deeply he was surprised he didn’t leave bloodstains on his keyboard.
Maybe he’d been better off on his own.
And that was dangerous thinking. He’d gotten into trouble when it had been just him and his computer. That was how he’d landed on the CIA’s radar to begin with.
Exhaling hard, Harvard took off his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. Yes, Jean-Luc was a selfish bastard, but it was his job to find the guy and bring him home.
He put his glasses back on and walked over to Sami’s desk. “Show me what you have.” He’d been busy with the string of recent hacking attempts on their network and, out of necessity, had passed the job of locating Jean-Luc and Marcus off to her.
“Well…” She swung around to her keyboard and pulled up several cameras. “Assuming they’re in southern Nigeria like Jesse thinks, I’m monitoring all recent video footage in the area, focusing on Lagos and Port Harcourt since they’re the biggest cities near the outbreak. I figure if Jean-Luc and Marcus find Dr. Oliver, they’ll head to the nearest population center to make arrangements for exfil. I fed all of their pictures into the program, and got a couple potential hits on Marcus in Lagos, but the computer was only twenty to thirty percent sure.” She printed off a page and handed it to him. “Those are from a week ago.”
The page showed five extremely blurry photos of a man who looked like Marcus. Or any other man with a Mediterranean heritage. The pictures were too blurry to make out anything other than dark wavy to curly hair and olive skin. No distinguishing features.
“I’ve also been tracking their cell phones,” she continued, “but there’s been zero activity since they left the States.”
“They know I can track their phones even when turned off. I tracked Gabe that way once when we lost him in Colombia. No, they got burners.” Harvard set down the page. “You’re right to focus the search on Marcus. Jean-Luc was trained by some of the CIA’s best operatives. He knows how to become a ghost, but Marcus was only a FBI hostage negotiator. He didn’t start escape and evasion training until he joined HORNET, so if anyone slips up, it�
��ll be him.”
“Or Dr. Oliver.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. She’s managed to evade both us and Defion for this long. She doesn’t have the training, but she has the street smarts and the desperation to stay under the radar.”
“Except…” Sami’s brows knit together as she turned back to the computer. “Dr. Oliver isn’t hiding anymore. We know she’s in Nigeria working on this virus outbreak. So maybe if…”
She trailed off and Harvard leaned over to see what she was doing. She smelled good, something dark and lightly floral. “Are you hacking into the Center for Disease Control?”
She sent him a quick smile, a flash of white behind her purple lipstick. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t get caught.”
“Me?” She huffed with exaggerated outrage. “I never get caught.”
“You did once when you tried to hack Quentin Enterprises. That’s how you ended up here. Or did you forget?”
“Psh. The CDC’s protections are child’s play compared to Quentin’s network. And…” Another smile, sly this time as her fingers flew over the keyboard, working out the code. “Maybe I wanted to get caught.”
He stared at her. Honestly, the thought she had manipulated her way into the training program had never crossed his mind. “You wanted to—”
She gave him a duh look through her dark lashes. “Quentin owns the biggest tech company in the world. Of course I wanted to work for him. I had to get his attention somehow.”
“Sami, Jesus. He could’ve had you tossed in jail.”
“No place I haven’t been before,” she muttered.
“What?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. She’d been in jail? That bit of intel absolutely hadn’t been in the dossier he’d compiled on her before she joined the program. If it had, Gabe and Quinn would’ve turned her down flat. And if they found out he’d missed something that big…
Jesus, they’d never fully trust him.
He took a mental step back. “When were you in jail?”
If she noticed the sudden coolness in his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. “A while ago.” She shrugged one shoulder, never taking her fingers off the keyboard. “No big. It was a risk I was willing to take. One that paid off. Now shush. I’m working.” More typing, then she sat back and pumped a fist in the air. “Got her. Dr. Oliver is at a Doctors Without Borders field hospital near a village about thirty-five miles southwest of Port Harcourt. Right smack dab in the middle of the hot zone.” She winced. “Shit, this virus sounds nasty.”
Harvard crowded in behind her to read her screen. “How did you find her?”
“She’s mentioned in a CDC field report. And wherever the doctor goes…”
“…Jean-Luc is sure to follow. Yes!” He smacked a hand on the desk, making her jump. “Sami, you’re brilliant. Pure genius.”
She grinned up at him, all sparkle and mischief. “My former life of crime pays off occasionally.”
Refusing to acknowledge the jumble of emotions and physical reactions coursing through his body that made him want to do something decidedly un-mentor-like, he took a step back. “Send me that info.”
She saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.”
He snapped up his tablet on his way out the door and raced down the hall of the training facility, sliding around a corner and nearly colliding with the solid wall that was Jeremiah Wolfe, medic trainee.
“Whoa!” Wolfe said, bobbling the bottle of water he was carrying. “Where’s the fire, man?”
Harvard ignored him and kept trucking until he reached Travis Quinn’s office. Quinn had been HORNET’s executive officer once upon a time, and although he was now running the training program, he still held a behind-the-scenes command role within the team.
The door was closed, but he didn’t bother knocking and burst in. Ian Reinhardt, the team’s explosives expert, sat in the chair across from Quinn’s desk with a pissed off expression on his face. No surprise there. His expression basically only came in different flavors of pissed off.
Quinn sat behind the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose like he had one of his headaches. Again, not a surprise. Everyone got headaches when dealing with Ian and the massive chip on his shoulder.
Both men glared over at the intrusion. The only one who seemed happy to have a visitor was Ian’s dog. Tank hopped up and, tail wagging, bounded over for a head scratch. Despite his hurry, Harvard couldn’t resist the puppy eyes. Nobody on the team could, and Tank knew it and used it to his full advantage.
“What?” Quinn growled.
Harvard gave Tank’s ear one last scratch, then strode in and slapped the tablet down on the desk. “We found them.”
Chapter Fourteen
MSF Field Hospital
Niger Delta, Nigeria
Jean-Luc opened his eyes to the worst headache of his life. The light stabbed his retinas like icepicks, and he slammed his lids closed again with a groan.
What on God’s green earth had he drank last night? And how much of it?
He’d lived through some epic hangovers, but he’d never had a headache like this, like his skull was one heartbeat from an implosion. After several seconds of breathing through the pain, he experimentally cracked one eye open.
Okay. Not pleasant, but tolerable.
He opened the other eye and slowly turned his head on his pillow to assess his surroundings. The bed next to his sat empty. And he remembered the old man dying horribly there.
Merde. He remembered everything now. Not a hangover. He was dying of an unknown, incurable hemorrhagic virus.
No wonder his head thundered like drums at a rock concert.
Except…he actually felt better than he had in days. He was thirsty as hell, but the pervasive ache that had made even lifting his head a chore had disappeared. He raised his hand in front of his face, shocked to see the deep purple bruises on his arm fading.
Was he…healing?
He didn’t dare hope.
Where was Claire? She’d be able to tell him what was going on. Very carefully, he pushed himself upright and heard a surprised gasp, followed by a crash nearby. He glanced over to see a nurse had dropped the tray of food she’d been carrying. She stared at him as if she’d seen a zombie rise from the grave. Her eyes, the only thing he could see under the protective suit, nearly bugged out of her head.
“Where’s…Claire?” The question came out unrecognizable in any language and he tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth was desert dry. He tried again, carefully enunciating, “Dr. Oliver?”
She nodded mutely and ran toward the exit.
His good arm started buckling under his weight, so he eased back to the mattress and took stock. The room had far more empty beds than he last remembered. It was quieter. Many more had died while he was unconscious. He gazed down his body to the bed across from his. Occupied, but not by Machie, the vibrant, determined teenage girl. This woman was a middle-aged skeleton, barely alive.
Machie had died. The realization packed a punch straight to the gut. He’d never fulfill his promise to take her to New Orleans.
Way to go, Jean-Luc. Just another broken promise in a long list of many.
He closed his eyes, but that didn’t stop the tears from leaking out at the corners. He felt the wet line of them drizzle across his temples to soak into the matted hair by his ears.
Why hadn’t he joined Machie and the rest of them in death? He’d been so sure he would. He distinctly remembered the feel of his body betraying him, slowly shutting down, giving out. It had terrified him, and then…that was it. He couldn’t recall anything more until waking up a few minutes ago.
Had Claire been right and his immune system was simply stronger than the local population’s?
A commotion at the door drew his attention as two figures rushed in. He recognized Claire instantly. He’d gotten good at picking her out of the group, even with her protective gear on. The other figure he didn’t recognize until they got closer and he saw the guy’s brown
eyes.
He blinked a couple times. Maybe he was hallucinating. “Marcus?”
“Hey, buddy,” Marcus said with a grin in his voice. “Glad to see you back with the living.”
“Claire found you.”
“More like I found her, and she brought me here.”
Jean-Luc’s gaze shifted to her. She cried silently behind her mask and he wished he could wipe away those tears. “Why didn’t you leave with him like I said to? You’re not safe here.”
“We weren’t leaving you,” Marcus said before she pulled herself together enough to reply.
“Coullions,” he muttered and let his head fall back on his pillow. “Both of you. I’m not worth your lives.”
Claire sniffled and blinked hard to dry her tears. “How do you feel?”
He considered the question for a moment. “Alive,” he finally decided. “Not good, but I’m alive and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be, so I’m not gonna complain about a headache.”
“Is that all that hurts? Just your head?”
“Yeah,” he said after checking with his internal pain-o-meter. “Think so. I’m thirsty and weak, but the only pain is my head.” He looked at the bandage on his injured arm. “My arm’s not throbbing anymore. I don’t feel like I’m drowning. Can take a full breath without coughing up a lung.”
Claire and Marcus exchanged an inscrutable look. Damn their protective gear. He couldn’t read their expressions.
“It worked,” Marcus said, something like awe in his voice.
She shook her head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ll have to run tests.”
“Wait. Tests?” Jean-Luc didn’t like the sound of that and pushed himself upright again. He scowled at the two of them. “What worked?”
Another glance between them.
Claire finally dragged up a chair and sat down so she could meet his gaze. Her blue eyes, still red from crying, danced with happiness. “Marcus told me he’s your health care proxy. Is that true?”
He glanced suspiciously at Marcus, then nodded.
“Okay. Well…” She drew a breath that sounded a bit like Darth Vader due to her mask. “You were dying, Jean-Luc. Three days ago, you slipped into unconsciousness—”
Reckless Honor Page 8
