Payback (11 page)

Then she
gasped.

It was a
large, rectangular room, a stage at the head of it, clearly what used to be
some sort of community hall. There were a few beds but most of the victims were
lying on the floors, some on blankets, others on the cold concrete. Few had
pillows or any type of creature comforts. The air was thick, as if the windows
hadn’t been open in weeks, and the stench was unbelievable.

Their
suits protected them from accidental exposure to fluids, but they breathed the
same air as the patients, these stolen suits having no air filters. She wasn’t
worried about contracting the disease this way, but more from desperate people
tearing at her suit.

Hands
reached out as the patients began to wake, realizing that help might have
finally arrived as the two doctors advanced slowly into the room. Some started
to sit up, others trying to stand, their desperation clear.

“Keep
them where they are, Major, otherwise we’ll have to leave.”

Koroma
pulled out his side arm and yelled something. The patients hesitated, a few
resuming their advance, almost like zombies.

He fired
a shot into the floor.

A few
screams, more weak cries, followed by whimpers.

And
those who had been advancing returned to where they had been lying, many in
pools of their own blood, sweat, urine and feces.

“This is
unbelievable,” said Tanya, almost sounding like her old self. “These poor
people. How can you let them live like this?”

Koroma
turned on her. “Do you think we do this by choice? We have no alternatives. The
government won’t provide us with supplies and they are too sick to bring to the
treatment centers. Those that aren’t, we try to bring there but they are always
full.” He pointed at those around them. “These are my friends and family. I
grew up with them all. I serve my country with honor and distinction, yet my
country turns its back on my home. And you”—he spun, pointing his finger at
Tanya then Sarah—“are also responsible. Your countries do almost nothing to
help us. You spend hundreds of billions to make war yet balk at spending
millions to save possibly hundreds of thousands of lives.”

“We’re
trying now,” replied Sarah. “And people like us were here long before this
became an epidemic.”

“You are
the exceptions. And unfortunately there are too few of you, too late.”

Sarah
knew there was no arguing with the man because he was right. The West had
dropped the ball. Organizations like hers had begged Western governments for
money but little to none had come until thousands were dead or dying. This
could have been stopped early if the funding had been made available, but with
nothing of strategic or economic interest in these countries, there was no
perceived benefit.

Until it
arrived on Western shores.

All it
took was one infected man to lie to the authorities and the first case of Ebola
arrived in America.

And
America and the rest of the Western world woke up.

Albeit
still too slowly.

All the
stops were pulled out back home of course. Over a million dollars was spent on
each of the Ebola patients back there to try and save them. Here in Sierra
Leone it seemed like pennies.

She
looked at Koroma through her mask and could sense his desperation. She wondered
whether or not he had been a good man at one time and was now driven to
desperate acts to save the ones he loved.

But she
could never condone what had been done to Jacques.

“Let us
help you, here, now. Maybe we can save some of these people, and perhaps stop
it from spreading to others.”

Koroma
looked at her and nodded. “What do we need to do?”

Sarah
put her hands on her hips, slowly turning.

“Is
there another place where we can move these people?”

“No.”

“What is
the weather forecast for tomorrow?”

Koroma
shrugged. “Sunny and warm.”

“No
rain?”

“No.”

“Good.
First we need to clean this place, top to bottom.”

“How?”

“Do you
have bleach or some other cleaning supplies?”

“We have
bleach. And I know where to get more.”

“Good.
Water?”

“We have
several good wells.”

“Excellent.
Get us as much bleach and water as you can. We’ll need to move these people
outside as soon as it’s warm enough. Anybody who’s strong enough to move
themselves and help others, we’ll use. Anyone else, we’ll need to suit up some
volunteers.”

“Are you
crazy? You want to let the infection out of here?”

“It’s
spread through bodily fluids, not the air.” She pointed at the windows. “And
that’s another thing. We’ll need all these windows opened. We need these people
to get fresh air, especially at night so we can cool this room down.” She
looked at Koroma. “Can you get volunteers?”

He
nodded. “My men are from this area. Some of their families are in here as well.
They’ll help.”

“Good.
Then let’s get started.”

Number One Observatory Circle, Washington, DC

Residence of the Vice President

“I don’t care if you have to invade the goddamned country, I want my
baby back home, now!”

Philip
Henderson held his wife, tight, battling his own tears. The news about his
daughter had been a shock, an emotional rollercoaster no parent was ever
prepared for, and one no parent could understand unless they had been through
something similar.

Fortunately
most parents in America didn’t go through something like this.

Unfortunately
too many did.

They had
been crying and talking and arguing for hours, interrupted constantly by phone
calls with updates on the investigation’s progress—or lack thereof, and they
were both exhausted. He had immediately driven home to tell his wife the news
while his aides arranged meetings with everyone that needed to be informed or
pulled in to help. He had met the President who had pledged his full support,
immediately authorizing deployment of a Delta Force team. With the
assassination of the Sierra Leonean Vice President the day before, he—and his
advisors—had a feeling the two events were related. What wasn’t known was
whether or not it was in retaliation for the death, or in conjunction with it.

Frustratingly,
there had still been no communication with the kidnappers.

He
kissed the top of his wife’s head. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to bring
her home safe.”

“This is
all your fault,” she sobbed, her words punctuated with her hyperventilating
breaths. “You never should have gone into politics.”

He shook
his head, ignoring her angry, ridiculous words. He had been in politics for
over forty years, before they had even met. And if anyone were to blame it was
Sarah for going to Sierra Leone in the first place.

He
mentally kicked himself for the thought.

He was
proud of what she did, though he actively tried to convince her to go to safer
places. Ironically he had thought Sierra Leone might actually be safer than
some of the war zones she usually found herself in. Things were quiet there now
that the civil war was over and Ebola had settled down the Muslim on Christian
violence. It had never occurred to him that she might get kidnapped.

His wife
pushed away, retreating to the far end of the couch. “What are you doing about
it?” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

“CIA,
NSA, everyone’s on it. And you didn’t hear this from me, and you’re not allowed
to tell anyone—I mean
any
one—we’re sending in Delta.”

“What’s
that?”

He
stopped himself from smiling. His wife was well-read and well educated, but she
had a habit of avoiding stories on terrorism, which meant her exposure to the
Special Operations world was limited.

“They’re
Special Forces. The best.”

“Like
those seal thingies I keep hearing about?”

“Navy
SEALs, dear. Sea, Air and Land teams, and yes, like them.”

“Only
better?”

“You’ll
never hear me say that,” he said with a smile.

She
didn’t appreciate the humor. “You joke at a time like this?”

He wiped
the smile off his face. “Of course not.” He took in a long breath, thinking of
what to say that might help reassure her without pissing her off. “We’re doing
everything we can and will have boots on the ground by tomorrow. They’ll find
her, that’s what they do.”

His wife
jumped to her feet and held out a hand, stopping him from rising. “No, I need
to be alone. In the morning I want to be formally briefed on what’s being done
to bring back my daughter.”

“But—”

“Just do
it!” she screeched.

His
mouth dropped open but he didn’t dare say a word as she stormed off. Instead he
waited for the bedroom door to slam shut then pulled out his phone, dialing his
aide to arrange a briefing her security clearance—or lack thereof—would permit.

It would
be a dog and pony show, but as long as she felt included, and it looked
impressive enough, it might just reassure her enough that the job she blamed
for getting her daughter into trouble, might just be the one that could save
her.

And the
hollow in his stomach was making it crystal clear that he too needed the same
reassurance.

The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

“Sorry for ruining your weekend, boys.”

Dawson
stood at the front of the small briefing room, Niner, Jimmy and Atlas at the
table. A flat screen had the Joint Special Operations Command logo spinning on
it, each man with their own laptops in front of them with the classified files
loaded.

“My mom
has placed an old Korean curse on you,” said Niner. “Either your first born
will have a third leg or you’re going to lose all your hair, I’m not sure
which.”

Jimmy
snorted. “Ron Jeremy’s dad must have been cursed by a Korean then.”

Atlas
spit his coffee at the door.

Dawson
shook his head, chuckling as he swiped his thumb, killing the screensaver.
“Okay,
gentlemen
, and I do use the term
very
loosely, here’s the
situation.” He quickly gave them a briefing covering everything known to this
point.

“How
confident are we that she’s alive?” asked Atlas, his voice reverberating
through the room. Dawson swore there was a Jurassic Park ripple in his coffee.

“We’re
hoping she’s been abducted, along with the Ukrainian national, not just because
of who she is, but what she is. If they want a doctor, my guess is they’re not
going to kill her any time soon.”

“Makes
sense,” agreed Niner. “And there’s no chatter?”

“None,
which is odd. They seem to have a complete communications lockdown on this. My
guess is that it’s a small, dedicated group and all messages are being
delivered personally.”

“No
uptick?” asked Jimmy.

“Huge,
but that started within minutes of their VP being assassinated.”

“And the
survivor from Norfolk?”

“I’m
heading over to interrogate him in five mikes.” He nodded toward Niner. “You’ll
come with me. Atlas, you and Jimmy put together an equipment list. Cross reference
with the USS Simpson. Anything they don’t have, bring it. We’ve been delayed
until 0900 tomorrow so there’s plenty of time to get it right then get some
rack time.”

“Why the
delay?” asked Jimmy.

“We’re
hitching a ride with a forensic team and they couldn’t get their shit together
as fast as us.”

Dawson
snapped his laptop shut, signaling the end of the meeting. He rose and headed
for the door, the others following.

“Do you
think we’ll get anything out of the prisoner?” asked Niner at his side.

Dawson
shook his head.

“Not a
peep.”

Leroux & White Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia

Chris Leroux’s four man security detail had already checked the
route to his apartment, a routine that had long ago become tedious for him, but
was still necessary due to the threat from The Assembly. The worst they had
ever found was someone passed out in the stairwell, but as the lead agent had
told him, that drunk could be someone merely pretending in the hopes of being
ignored.

It was
the only time he hadn’t been allowed into his own home.

Tonight
however was uneventful. Sherrie was already home and had texted him she was
awake so a coded knock was used, the pattern changed based upon the day of the
week then randomized every four weeks.

Sherrie
opened the door, her lithe figure wrapped in a housecoat, revealing nothing but
her smile.

“Hey,
Baby!” she said, pulling him inside.

Leroux
turned to the two men who had accompanied him, the other two covering the
foyer. “Thanks guys, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

The lead
agent gave a two fingered salute. “Have a good night.”

Sherrie
closed the door and pulled Leroux by the hand to the couch. She pushed him into
the seat then crouched in front of him, grabbing his left shoe.

“What’s
all this?” he asked, not sure what was going on. She removed his shoe then
moved to the other, this something she had never done before.

She
shrugged. “I was watching an old movie, saw the wife do this for her husband
when he came home.” The other shoe was set aside.
Husband!
She took his
foot and pushed his leg up, resting his heel on her shoulder as she began to
massage his feet.

He
moaned as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “That feels amazing.”

“Thought
you might like it.” She switched to his other foot, her thumbs kneading away
the tension built up over a long day in dress shoes. She let go of his foot,
gently placing it on the floor then pushed his legs apart, scooting forward,
her head deliciously close to his lap.