Payback (28 page)

“No.”

“Do you
know who he might be with?”

There
was a pause. Red leaned into the apartment, trying to hear if there was no
reply, or just a quiet reply.

“He
might be at the drop-in center.”

“We were
just there, he wasn’t.”

“Mommy,
he’s with Uncle Bai!”

Out
of the mouths of babes!

“Who’s Uncle
Bai?”

This
time there definitely wasn’t a response.

“Listen,
we’ll find out eventually, and then it might be too late to save your husband
and a lot of innocent lives. If your husband is involved in this, he’s already
partly responsible for over a dozen deaths. As far as we know he hasn’t pulled
the trigger on a single person yet. If we get to him in time, he’ll get a slap
on the wrist, especially if he cooperates.”

Slap
on the wrist, my ass.

“What
was the name the kid said?” whispered one of McKinnon’s agents.

“Uncle
Bai,” said Red.

The
agent held out a tablet computer with phone records obviously from their
suspect’s phone. He pointed at one.
Bai Gondor.
“That’s a pretty unique
name if you ask me. Could be him.”

Bai
could be like John in Sierra Leone for all we know.

But it
was something.

Red
nodded. “Better tell him.”

The
agent stepped into the apartment, disappearing around the corner, returning a
moment later without the tablet.

“Your
husband seems to have made a lot of phone calls with a Bai Gondor. Is that ‘Uncle
Bai’?”

Again no
reply.

“I think
it is, and now that we know your husband thinks he’s going to die, we’ll have
to treat it as a terrorist situation, meaning your husband will most likely die
long before he achieves whatever it is he felt was worth dying for. Do you want
that?”

There
was a long pause, then finally Buhari replied, a hint of defiance in her voice.
“Of course I don’t want my husband to die. But do you know how many of my
family have died back home? Do you know how many of my countrymen have died?
All for the lack of money? Thousands! And thousands more will die! It should
never have happened and yet it did, all because your country did nothing to
stop it.”

Funny,
I thought this was your country now, too.

“So this
is about the Ebola epidemic.”

“Of
course it is you stupid, stupid man. Your very words show how stupid your
country is, how ignorant it is. How you can go about your daily lives while
tens of thousands are dying on the other side of the ocean sickens me. I wish I
had never come to this country! I wish I never knew how horrible America is! I
thought this was a land of dreams, of possibilities, of people who cared for
their fellow man! I never knew that they only cared about their own, and
that
they don’t even do well. Look at how many poor people there are, how many
homeless, and yet you do nothing. As long as they don’t interfere with your day,
you pay them no mind. And if the disease is thousands of miles away, you don’t
care about them either. Yet one man is infected in America and the news
coverage is constant, the money flows freely without thought.” There was a
spitting sound. “You all disgust me!”

Red
could just imagine what McKinnon was thinking right now. How do you respond to
a tirade grounded in reality? It was true to a certain extent. Little had been
done. Much was being done now, but she was right, it wasn’t until the epidemic
threatened to spread beyond the borders of the poorest of African nations that
the West took action.

He did
find it disheartening though that a woman who had been a citizen for almost ten
years, lived in the country for fifteen, hated her new home so much and felt a
complete disconnect with her fellow citizens and countrymen.

It’s
the new multicultural reality.

Encouraging
people to hold on to their old ways was already destroying the European
nations, the multicultural doctrine that all cultures are equal and all
cultures are equally good was bullshit, but it was politically incorrect to say
so.

“Your
reaction tells me that this is the man we’re looking for. We’ll have someone
from Child Services come to take your daughter unless you’ve got someone she
can stay with. You’ll have to come with us to the Field Office for further
questioning.”

A burst
of Krio erupted, the little girl finally crying aloud.

He felt
sorry for the woman, she clearly not involved. He understood her desire to support
her husband, and even understood the anger. It was the killing of innocent
people he couldn’t condone, and with this effort so well coordinated thus far,
he could only imagine what horror they had planned next for his country, her
new and hated country.

Off the coast of Guinea

Koroma lifted the wide-brimmed hat covering his face while he lay
down in his cabin, the gentle sway of the ship on the waves and the constant
drone of the engines about as peaceful an experience as he could recall having
in a long time.

The
knock was repeated.

“Yes?”

The door
opened and the ship’s captain entered, cigar clamped between his teeth, a thick
curly gray beard stained yellow from a habit formed years ago. Koroma had never
met the man before today, but Mustapha had arranged passage several days before
for a non-trivial amount of money with one condition.

No
questions asked.

Koroma
had boarded in Conakry, Guinea, only hours after leaving his village, his
travel greased by a diplomatic passport provided when the motorcade had
arrived. It had been an uneventful yet stressful journey, this the most
difficult part of his plan, it being almost completely out of his control.

He just
hoped bad news wasn’t about to be delivered.

Pushing
himself up on his elbows, he swung his legs out of the bed, the captain waving
him off before he could stand. Instead, the man, at least twenty years his
senior, plunked himself down in the tiny cabin’s single chair.

“I’ve
got news.”

Koroma
felt his heart hammer out a few extra beats. “What?”

“Your
men are dead. Apparently the Americans and British raided your village and
killed them all.”

“That’s
unfortunate. And the hostages?”

“What
hostages?”

“Never
mind.”

The
captain tapped the ashes from his cigar into an ashtray Koroma would never make
use of, smoking a nasty habit he had never started—mostly because he had been
too poor to. “You seem unaffected by this news of your men dying.”

“They died
for a cause they believed in. A cause I believe in.”

“And
just what is that cause?”

Koroma
wagged a finger at the man, a slight smile creeping across his face. “Remember,
no questions asked.”

The
captain shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. “No matter. It’s none of my
business as long as it doesn’t affect the operation of my ship. Once I’ve
offloaded you in Senegal I’m done with you and we’ll never see each other
again.”

“Of that
you can be certain.”

The
captain frowned. “You’re not a terrorist, are you?”

“Are you
asking if I’m a Muslim terrorist?”

The
captain waved his hands back and forth in front of him, turning away and
closing his eyes. “No, no, no, I don’t want to know. Your business is your
business and none of mine. That was the agreement.” He opened the door then
turned back toward Koroma. “Oh, there was one other thing they wanted me to
tell you.”

“What’s
that?”

“They’ve
arrived.”

Koroma
smiled. “Thank you, Captain.”

The door
was closed and he lay back down in his rack, placing the hat once again over
his face, blocking out the light coming through the small porthole window, the
thin curtain covering it doing little beyond changing the colors splashed
around the room.

And as
the events he knew would take place over the coming hours played out in his
mind, his smile turned into a sneer as hatred filled his heart.

America
will pay for what it has done to my country.

He drew
in a deep breath, wondering if Mustapha had executed his final orders. Part of
him hoped he hadn’t, the doctors the best hope his daughter had of surviving,
then again, if the Americans had arrived in the village, surely they would
provide care for the sick which would save her regardless.

If
she can be saved.

He felt
a tightness in his chest as he thought of her all alone. She was so young she’d
forget about him quickly, and in time, she’d have no memory of her father or
beloved mother, just the legacy of his actions, which he hoped would go down in
the history of his people as a heroic action, rather than the demonic actions
of a crazed man.

It would
all depend on who she listened to.

Her
people, or the Western press.

Her
grandmother will tell her the truth.

He was
sure of it.

He
thought of the brave doctor and how she had fought him every step of the way.
In another time, another place, perhaps they could have been friends.

But she
instead was a pawn, a means to an end, her father signing her death warrant the
day he had cast that vote, and today, Vice President Henderson would begin the
long, painful journey to his own death. But not before Koroma delivered a dead daughter’s
final message while he rotted away from the very disease he and his government had
done nothing about until it was too late.

And that
was only the beginning.

Massachusetts Apartments, Washington, DC

“A little nicer place than the last one.”

Red
nodded at Spock’s comment, looking up at the apartment building “Uncle” Bai
Gondor lived in. A quick records check and they had his address but had been
waiting for a warrant to search the premises, a warrant that had just arrived.
Special Agent-in-Charge McKinnon was standing beside them as an FBI SWAT team
entered the building, Gondor’s unit on the third floor. It didn’t take long
before they had the all clear, and word the apartment was empty.

Spock
cursed. “Why am I not surprised? It seems these guys are always one step
ahead.”

Red
followed McKinnon into the building, Spock at his side. “In-theatre they had an
inside man, here I think it’s just dumb luck. They’re ahead of us in their
plan, and we’re still playing catchup.”

“Assuming
this isn’t a dead end.”

They
followed McKinnon onto an elevator, Red’s phone vibrating as his comm
activated. “Bravo Zero-Two, Control. We just sent you intel on Gondor. He works
for the Sierra Leonean embassy, over.”

The
doors opened as Red repeated what he had just been told, opening the file.

“Why are
you hearing about this first?” asked McKinnon as Red held up a photo of their
suspect.

“Our
Kung-Fu is stronger than yours?” suggested Spock with a cocked eyebrow.

McKinnon
wasn’t amused.

Lighten
up buddy, it’s not like you’re under fire.

“It
doesn’t matter,” saved Red as they entered the apartment. “What does matter is
this guy has inside connections. We know there was a security breech in
Freetown, and this might prove it extends to their government reps here.”

“Or this
guy could just be Uncle Bai.”

McKinnon
looked at Spock and nodded. “Let’s hope not, otherwise our trail goes cold
until the next person dies.”

“Got
something!”

They all
turned toward the voice coming from a room down the hall and to the right. One
of the FBI agents stepped into sight, holding a bag with a cellphone in it.

“I
assume that’s his?” asked McKinnon.

“Yup.
There’s packaging in here for a burner, so he’s gone off the grid. This one’s
been stomped on. Explains why we couldn’t pick it up. SIM card’s gone too.”

“Shit,”
muttered McKinnon, pointing at the phone. “Get our lab guys on that ASAP.”

“Will
do.” The agent stepped past them, hurrying out of the apartment as they stepped
into the kitchen.

Spock
whistled. “Either this guy’s planning on running against Vice President
Henderson in the next election, or he’s got a man-crush on him.”

Red
pursed his lips as he slowly walked around the kitchen table, surveying the
piles of papers, photographs and newspaper clippings. Headlines about Ebola,
CDC warnings, lack of funding, the response to cases here at home and in Europe
certainly indicated the direction of the man’s obsession.

But it
was the photos of Vice President Henderson, some of which looked like
surveillance photos, that had him more worried, especially when they seemed to
include Henderson’s top aides and members of his security detail.

“I think
he’s planning a hit,” he finally said.

McKinnon
nodded. “But when?”

“I don’t
know,” said Red, pointing at one of the headlines. “But I think I know why.”

The room
gathered around the large headline across the Washington Post’s front page from
months ago.

VP VOTES AGAINST INCREASED EBOLA FUNDING IN SPLIT
SENATE

“Jesus,”
muttered Spock. “This has been about Henderson the entire time.”

Red
stepped out of the room, activating his comm.

“Control,
I think we found our motive.”

Samaia, Sierra Leone

“Hi, honey, it’s mommy, how are you?”

Tears
poured down Sarah’s face as she heard her son’s voice, the poor kid crying
uncontrollably. According to her husband they had tried to shield him from the
news of what was happening but the cruelty of youth with the anonymity of the
Internet had conspired against them and word had reached him.