Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller: Book 3 (14 page)

Mitch turned off the highway onto a road that led to Camp Lemonnier’s front gate.  A wall that paralleled the road was missing a wide section.  Blackened cinder blocks and a deep crater attested to how the wall had been breached.  Pieces of metal—presumably the car that carried the bomb that blew the wall—were all over the place.  Two craters of a similar size pocked the road ahead, one near, one almost at the gate itself. 

Along the road, cars and trucks were riddled with bullet holes, some large, some small.  Black-skinned bodies lay on the ground, more numerous than the pieces of the cars, but just as twisted and broken as the steel.

An amplified mechanical voice commanded Mitch to stop.

Mitch glanced at Austin.  “At least our guys still have the camp.”

Austin looked at the walls and the carnage at the gate far ahead.  “At least one guy does.”

“Don’t be a cynic.” Mitch half smiled.

“Out of the vehicle,” the voice commanded.

“Move slow,” said Mitch.  “Leave your rifle.  Put your hands in the air.”

Austin wanted to protest but realized immediately what a childish impulse that was.  If he were behind the walls and had lived through the night as the Marines had, he’d be as insistent on security measures.

Mitch stopped the truck and killed the engine.  In slow, deliberate movements, he got out of the driver’s side.  Austin did the same, copying Mitch, raising his hands into the air, slowly turning in a circle to allow the Marines to see him in total.

“Nationality?” the voice asked.

“American,” Mitch shouted across the distance. 

A few moments passed.

“Will they turn us away?” Austin asked.

“If you were them, would you?”

Austin chuckled, surprised he could see the dark humor in the possibility.  “I might.”

“Yeah.” Mitch smiled as he looked around at the dead.  “I might, too.”

“Walk forward,” the voice commanded.  “Keep your hands raised.”

Mitch walked, looking at Austin as he did so.  “There’s your answer.”

Maintaining a gap between him and Mitch, Austin proceeded forward.

They passed fly-swarming bodies of the dead, stinking from torn torsos and spilled stomachs.  Rot would come soon enough.  Most of the cars still burned and the skeletons inside smoldered the last of their charred flesh away.

“When we get up there,” said Mitch.  “Do what they say.  It’ll be cool.”

“You hope.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Stop.” A Marine in full battle gear including a gas mask stepped out and pointed a rifle at Austin.  “You first.”

Austin walked forward.

“Stop.” The Marine made a twirling motion with is finger.  “Turn around slowly.  Lift your shirt.  Let me see.”

Austin lifted his shirt, which had been hanging over the belt and holster holding The General’s pistol.

The Marine tensed.  “Put the gun on the ground.  Slow.”

“I forgot I had it on.” It seemed like a stupid excuse no matter how true it was.  The pistol had been on his hip since the morning he walked out of the rebel camp after The General had died.  It had become a natural extension of his body.  Austin reached down to unbuckle the belt.  He bent over and lowered it to the scarred pavement.

“Any other weapons?”

Austin thought about whether to mention the knife tucked into his boot.  It was there as a secret weapon.  Just in case.  But these were the good guys.  “I’ve got a knife.”

“On the ground.”

Austin leaned over and took the knife out of his boot and laid it by the pistol.  He straightened up.  “Nothing else.”

The Marine waved Austin to step past him and ordered Mitch to come forward.

Once past the gate, Austin saw a dozen Marines, some just inside the wall, a few taking cover behind what was left of the gatehouse, others behind fortifications further inside.

“Over there,” one of the Marines ordered.

Following instructions, Austin leaned against the inside of the wall.  He was thoroughly frisked by a man with gloved hands while others stood back, weapons at the ready.  Once that was done, Austin stood up straight and turned around. 

Mitch was led to the interior wall on the other side of the entrance.

A Marine came up with a thermometer and scanned Austin’s forehead.  “Any symptoms?”

Austin shook his head.

“No fever?”

Austin shook his head again.

“Have you touched or been near anyone with Ebola?”

Austin nodded.  “Everybody in Africa has Ebola.”

The Marine looked at the thermometer reading and turned to another Marine.  “Normal.”

“I had it, but I got better.” Austin thought that might help his case.

“Had it?” the Marine in charge asked.

“I got infected in Kapchorwa in Uganda a couple of months ago.”

“How do you know it was Ebola?”

Austin looked at the Marine, letting his face show all the stupidity it possibly could.  “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not.”

Austin sighed.  He conveyed the briefest version of the Kapchorwa story he could summarize, topping off with his official diagnosis from both Dr. Littlefield and Dr. Mills. 

An officer came up from several steps away.  “Why are you here?”

Austin pointed at Mitch, who was answering questions of his own.  “We’ve got some samples for the CDC.”

“You work for the CDC?”

Shaking his head, Austin said, “We’re in contact with a Dr. Wheeler at the CDC.  The samples are from a less lethal strain of Ebola.  They’re working on finding a way to get the samples picked up and flown back to Atlanta.”

One of the Marines cocked his head at the columns of smoke.  “That’s not happening.”

The officer said, “We’ll put you in a quarantine room while we check out your story.”

“Hey.”

Austin sat up, realizing he’d gone to sleep.  The door of the small, dorm-style room was open.  Mitch was silhouetted by the late-day sun shining through.  “Hey.”

“Tired?”

Austin nodded.  “I guess I passed out.”

“Not much rest driving here.”

“What time is it?” Austin rubbed the crusty crud out of his eyes and yawned.

“Pushing five.”

“Wow.” Austin glanced at the open door.  “You get any sleep?”

“A little.”

It occurred to Austin the door was open.  “They’re not guarding us anymore?”

Mitch shook his head and came inside.

“What’s the story?”

Mitch scooted a chair out from under a small writing desk and seated himself as he laid Austin’s holster and pistol on the desk.  Beside the desk, Austin’s AK-47 was already leaning. 

“The situation here is a little worse than we thought.  They got hit harder by Ebola than Olivia told us.  Maybe she had old info.  They were down to a little more than ten-percent strength before they were attacked.  Just over three hundred Marines plus a couple of hundred contractors and others.  The Somalis came at them from the west gate.  The jihadists across the airport tarmac.  No wall on that side.”

Austin reached over and took the pistol, sliding it out of the holster, and checking that it was loaded.  Camp Lemonnier wasn’t going to be as safe as he’d expected. 

“I had to vouch for you on the weapons,” said Mitch.

“What’d you say?”

“That you were experienced.  So don’t shoot anybody by accident.”

“Won’t happen.” Austin looked his AK-47 up and down.  He’d grown an attachment to it.  It felt like security.  “You said they got hit pretty hard last night.  What does that mean exactly? I mean besides everything being on fire?”

“Not everything,” Mitch corrected.  “Lots, though.  The Somalis’ goal, apparently, was to destroy the base and kill every American here.  No surprise.  They took out most of the conventional aircraft.  Five transports.  Four V-22s.”

“Those tilt-wing airplanes? The Ospreys?”

Mitch nodded.  “They’ve got two left.”

Austin grimaced.

Mitch rubbed his hand over his forehead.  “Nearly sixty dead and a hundred wounded from the attack.  Our guys.  I don’t know how many Somalis bought it, but you saw the bodies at the front gate.  It’s like that everywhere in the camp.  Nobody’s cleaned up yet.”

Austin shuddered.  Even after all the dead he’d seen, bodies were sometimes hard to look at.

“Most of the surviving Somalis retreated into Balbala with the jihadists.  Reinforcements are coming up from the south.  The Marines have been expecting another attack all day.  Now they’re thinking it’ll happen tonight.”

“How do they know where the Somalis are?”

Mitch looked upwards.  “Our guys have four drones up right now.  All the operational ones they’ve got left.  Eight Hellfire missiles.  They’ve got plenty of missiles but no way to land the drones and rearm if the base is under attack from the airport side.  And it will be.”

“Can they use the missiles on the Somalis now?” asked Austin.

Mitch raised his eyebrows and shook his head.  “In Balbala, no.  Too many civilian casualties, though the argument has been made that most of the locals are probably dead and those still alive probably cleared out when the Somalis showed up.  As for the ones coming up from the south, everybody here knows they’re hostile, but there’s no proof.  That group hasn’t attacked yet.  Not sure yet what’s going to happen with those guys.”

“They’re going to wait until they get attacked by all of them together?” Austin didn’t believe it.  He didn’t want to believe it.  “We’ll get wiped out.”

“Not necessarily,” said Mitch.  “Command wants to use the drones to take out the militia commanders if they can figure out who they are.”

“Can they? Will it make a difference?”

“I think so.” Mitch got off the chair and paced around the tight space.  “That’s the business they’re in here.  You know what this base does, right? They fly drones.  They look for targets and in some cases, specific people, in places like Yemen, right across the Red Sea.  Then they kill them.”

“What about the Ospreys?” Austin asked.  “What can they do?”

“They aren’t gunships.”

Austin stood up and wrapped his belt around his waist.  He bent over and picked up his AK-47 and hardened his heart for what he knew was coming.  “I’m not a Marine, but I’ll do what I can.”

Mitch shook his head.

“Don’t tell me anything about what Olivia told you to do with me.  The samples are important but what are we supposed to do, run away?”

“Sit down, Austin, and listen.” Mitch pointed at the bed.  “We’re not going to run away, and it wouldn’t matter how much you wanted to stay.  You’re not much better than useless with that AK-47.  You’ve never even shot it, except for the elephant you told me about.  All you’d be doing is making noise and shooting guys by luck.  That is unless you’re a rifle prodigy.  You’re not, are you?”

Austin smiled.  “I suppose I
could
be.”

“Back to reality, Austin.”

It was nice to hope.

“We had a long meeting while you were sleeping,” said Mitch.  “Here’s what’s going to happen.  There are a couple of CIA guys here.  One analyst who won’t do us any good but he got my identity verified.  We’ve got an operational guy named Marty.  Me and Marty are taking a small team of six Marines and two contractors to Muscat.  The Osprey doesn’t have the range to get us there, but they can arrange a refuel stop in Salalah if no one gets off the plane.  We’ve got permission for that and the details are being worked out.”

“I’m lost already,” said Austin.  “Where’s Salalah?”

“About fifty miles past the Yemeni border inside of Oman.  That’s the halfway point or thereabouts.  Then it’s on to Muscat.”

Austin tried to picture it all in his head.  He had a poor grasp of geography in this part of the world.  “Why Muscat? Sorry.  I don’t know where that is.”

“The Persian Gulf turns into the Gulf of Oman before it dumps into the Arabian Sea.  Muscat is right there at the end on the Gulf of Oman.  A little farther up, at the really narrow part where the Persian Gulf gets pinched between the Arabian Peninsula and Iran, is Dubai.”

“Okay.” Austin raised his palms and said, “Are you talking about the samples here?”

“Sorry,” said Mitch.  “It’s been a hectic day.  Of course, you weren’t in any of the meetings.  This is about the samples, and it’s about Najid Almasi.  We have some intel on where he is, in Dubai.  We’re going there—me, the Marines, Marty, and the contractors.  We’re going to kill him.”

“You’ve got my attention,” said Austin.

“It’s maybe a couple of hundred miles across land from Muscat to Dubai.  If we can get to Muscat, we can get land transportation to sneak into Dubai and take out Almasi.  He’ll be a danger to the world as long as he’s alive.  That’s the thinking.  Our contacts at Langley agree.  Marty and his analyst agree.  The Marines here agree.  It needs to be done.  He’s a threat.”

“Why not send a drone?” Austin asked.  “Hell, I’m sure we’ve got plenty of cruise missiles.”

“Tried that.” Mitch smiled.  “Not that the failed attempt made him invincible, he got lucky.  The thing is, we had permission from the Saudis to bomb Almasi’s compound.  We don’t have permission to do anything like that in Dubai.”

“Does it matter?” Austin asked.  “What’s the worst Dubai is going to do?”

“Not my decision,” said Mitch.  “It’s not just the politics we’re talking here.  We have old intel on Almasi.  In his Red Sea compound, we had near real-time satellite feeds.  We knew he was there.  Now, we only have deductions.”

“He might not be there, then.”

“That’s right.  We’re not going to bomb a house in Dubai and risk innocent lives not knowing for sure that Almasi is there.  That’s why we’re going in the old-fashioned way.”

Austin heaved a big breath and looked down at his AK-47.

“Don’t get excited cowboy.” Mitch laughed.  “You won’t be coming along for that.”

Austin knew he’d be a liability on such a mission.  He had no training, not one iota of it.  Still, he wanted to see Najid Almasi dead.  “Okay.  What do I do when all of this is going on?”

“You’re coming with us.  You’ll bring the samples.  Everybody agrees that’s a top priority.  There’s a Navy missile destroyer in the Gulf of Oman right now.  While the Osprey is refueling in Muscat, we’ll accompany you to the coast; it’s close to the airport, maybe a quarter mile from the end of the runway.  Someone from the destroyer will bring a launch and meet us on the beach to take the samples.”

“The samples.” Austin noted that Mitch had only said
the samples
.

Mitch nodded.  “Olivia reached the end of her influence.  There’s only so far you can stretch an analyst title.  Know what I mean? “

“Yeah.”

“She’s going to keep trying, calling people and seeing if she can convince somebody in Washington to pull some strings to get you on board.”

“Okay.”

“The Navy is trying to keep everything at sea.  As long as the ships are out, they’re not at risk.  Bringing you or the samples on board might cost them a ship, but it’s easier to wrap a cooler in six layers of Hefty bags than it is a person.”

“Hefty bags.” Austin laughed.  “Tell me they’re more sophisticated than that.”

“I was just making that up.  I don’t know what they do, but you get my point, right?”

“Yeah.”

“If Olivia can wrangle it,” said Mitch, “we’ll get you onboard.  If not, we’ll bring you back to the airport and put you on the Osprey.  When we finish with Almasi, we’ll arrange for a pickup and all of us will fly back here.”

“With a stop in Salalah to refuel on the way back?”

“Exactly.”

“When do we go?” asked Austin.

“Unfortunately, we can’t go right now.  We’re still working out the logistics.  Every aspect of international relations is harder now because most of the people who communicated from one country to the next are dead.  It all takes longer.  So if the Somalis and jihadists don’t kill everyone tonight, and we get everything finalized with the Omanis, we’ll head out tomorrow afternoon.”