Payback (33 page)

Dawson
frowned. “Anybody from Sierra Leone on that flight?”

“Lots,
but no red flags. The government is using Dakar to shuttle their people back
and forth. They’ve sort of set up a temporary headquarters for the privileged
there so they aren’t at risk of catching the disease and can easily travel
throughout the world on diplomatic missions without terrifying their hosts.”

“Makes
sense,” replied Dawson, already having experienced the delays the disease could
cause. They had been delayed in Freetown a full day waiting for permission to
leave, and with Sarah Henderson rescued, there hadn’t been a lot of effort to
grease the wheels from Washington, especially after Sarah had insisted on
visiting her clinic in Freetown to see the body of Jacques Arnaut off.

It had
been a wall-climbing delay, his friend potentially dying an ocean away. The
Colonel assured him he was doing well and that Shirley was with him as much as
possible and the boys were taking shifts during visiting hours to make sure he
always had someone to talk to.

But
everyone was taking it hard.

And
everyone wanted Koroma’s head on a platter.

“We’re
sending you photos of passengers from the flight from JFK. You should be
receiving them now.”

Dawson
turned to Niner who nodded, handing him the tablet. “We’re getting those now,
stand by.”

He
pushed the tablet in front of Sarah and she began to flip through them. “Maybe
this one…maybe him…I can’t be sure, I only saw the eight other men for a few
minutes, and I really didn’t look at them much.” She sighed. “I’m more going by
build. They were all youngish and in good shape with military haircuts.”

“Like
mine?” asked Niner, winking as he ran his hair through his long locks.

Sarah
smiled, shaking her head, then suddenly gasped. “Wait! That’s him, that’s
Koroma!”

Dawson
slid the tablet back over and glared at the image, his eyes trying to bore
through space and time, to strangle the life out of the bastard responsible for
so much death. “Langley, it’s photo ID Charlie-one-seven-nine.”

Leroux’s
voice replied, slightly surprised. “According to the diplomatic passport he
used, he’s Doctor Sahr Vandy, acting head of the Ebola Response Team, the
previous head just died from Ebola.”

“Yes, I’ve
met Sahr. Very nice man, very committed to the cause, but that’s not him,” said
Sarah.

Dawson
frowned. “I’m assuming that this is a stolen or faked ID? Do we know what the
real Vandy looks like?”

“Not
yet”—fingers snapped in Langley—“but I’ve got someone looking into it as we
speak.”

Dawson
looked up as the flight attendant began to walk toward them, the seatbelt light
flashing. “We’re about to land. Try and track Koroma’s movements. We need to
find him. Nine men are infected with the virus and they’re roaming free in New
York City.”

“Yes,
sir.”

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

“You look exhausted!”

“I am.”
Leroux dropped onto the couch, laying his head back on the soft cushion,
closing his eyes. He felt Sherrie pull his shoes off, but instead of a repeat
of the other night, which he wasn’t sure he was up to, she sat beside him,
snaking her hands behind his back and beginning to massage his shoulders.

He
groaned.

“That
feels so good.”

“I take
care of my baby.”

“You definitely
do.”

“So
what’s the latest? I saw on the news that Henderson’s daughter is back but not
much more.”

Leroux
let his chin drop onto his chest, exposing the tired neck muscles to Sherrie’s
strong fingers. “Once we knew who Koroma was we were able to trace back his
ticket purchase and found the other eight, all made by the same agent around
the same time. They all got in separate cabs and all were dropped off in the
same area of New York City. But we hit the jackpot when one of the men actually
put the real hotel he’d be staying at on his customs form. The others all put
various other hotels, but none were anywhere near where they were dropped off.
FBI raided the hotel room and get this, found eight hangers from a local tailor
along with eight empty shoe boxes. And a lot of empty ammo boxes.”

“Scoot.”

Leroux
shifted forward on the couch a bit, Sherrie wedging herself behind him,
starting to massage all the way down his back as he leaned forward in bliss.

“We’ve
got BOLO’s out on all of them but there’ve been no sightings.”

“Eight
well-dressed men. Anything from the tailor?”

“Just
that the measurements had been emailed to him several weeks ago for eight
tuxedos, all the fixings.”

“Why
eight? I thought there were nine?”

Leroux
moaned as Sherrie jammed her knuckles into the small of his back. “That’s the
sixty-four-thousand dollar question right now. About the only thing that’s gone
right so far is Ernest Buhari, the missing father of the little girl who led us
to Bai Gondor, turned himself in. He’s cooperating but knows nothing,
unfortunately. Seems to have just been a patsy errand boy.”

“So
we’ve got nine men in New York City, all infected with the Ebola virus, and we
have no clue where they are.”

“That’s
right. They’ve only been here a few hours though, and judging by the Subway
wrappers in their hotel room, they spent most of that time there. We’re not far
behind them, but I just had to come home and get a few hours zees, I’m dead and
of no use. I’ve got the night shift in to continue the work.”

The
mention of them suddenly reminded him of a promise he had made to himself
earlier, one that had been forgotten with all the stress and excitement of the
investigation. He turned his head, leaning to the side so he could look the
love of his life in the eyes.

“I’ve
got something to tell you.”

Sherrie
looked at him with anticipation, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Yes?”

“I
deserve you.”

She
smiled, one of the most genuine, thrilled smiles he could ever recall seeing as
her eyes filled with tears. She jumped at him, hugging him hard, her chin on
his shoulder as he held her tight, his self-confidence growing with each
moment.

She let
go and looked him in the eyes, holding his face in her hands.

“You
have no idea how happy you’ve just made me.”

Leroux
wasn’t sure what to say, self-confidence not erasing awkwardness and
inexperience.

He just
smiled.

“Speechless,
huh? Well how about I show you?”

His few
hours of sleep were delayed.

Significantly.

Howard University Hospital, Washington, D.C.

Dawson was numb, there was no other way to describe it. His mind
simply couldn’t focus. He felt a hand squeezing his shoulder and turned to see
Spock beside him looking just as shocked as him. They all were. They had just
received the news that the blood tests had come back positive leaving Shirley a
wreck, sitting in a chair by the window to Red’s room, hugging her son, both
crying, the little guy though not sure why.

“Is Daddy
going to die?”

Maybe
he did know.

Shirley
tried to get control of herself, to be strong for her son, but she was losing
the battle. Dawson stepped over and knelt down beside them. “No, little man,
your father is a fighter, and the doctors here are the smartest in the world.
They’re going to save your daddy, understood?”

Bryson
nodded, reaching out and wrapping his hands around Dawson’s neck. Dawson took
him, giving Shirley a chance to wipe her tears away and blow her nose.

Dawson
heard a bit of a commotion down the hall and several men in suits strode around
the corner. His team immediately created a wall, blocking them from proceeding
as Dawson handed Bryson back to Shirley.

“Step
aside,” said one of the men, flashing what looked like a Secret Service badge.

“Explain
yourself,” replied Dawson, stepping forward as his men parted to let him
through.

“The
cheery one is Savalas, Secret Service,” said Spock. “He’s the jackhole who
wouldn’t listen to our intel and got Red infected.”

Savalas
frowned, stepping toward Dawson. “Listen, I’m sorry about your friend,” he
said, looking past the Bravo Team wall and at the isolation chamber. “I tried
to tell the boss but he wouldn’t listen. You’ve provided security, you know how
it is.”

Dawson
did
know how it was, but it was hard not to blame this man. With a threat like
Ebola, you
made
your charge listen. And because Savalas hadn’t, Red was
dying. “If he dies, you and I will have a discussion about how you deliver
important intel to your boss.”

Savalas
seemed to pale a few shades, the muscles in his face slackening slightly.

Good,
he knows I’m not joking.

“I-I
understand. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Savalas sucked in a quick
breath. “Vice President Henderson is here with his wife and daughter. They’d
like to see him, to say thanks.”

“
If
he
agrees.”

“It’s
okay, BD.”

Dawson
looked over his shoulder to see Red awake, the button to raise the head of the
bed in his hand. He stepped over to the glass. “Sorry to wake you, old buddy.”

“Hey,
don’t be calling me old. I’m two years younger than you.”

“Just a
baby,” said Niner, leaning against the glass as Savalas left, Dawson assumed to
get the Hendersons.

“Christ,
looks who’s talking. You’ve still got pimples on your ass.”

Laughter
filled the room, little Bryson joining in, enjoying the fact someone had said
‘ass’.

Jimmy
smacked Niner on the butt. “What are you doing looking at his ass?”

“Hard to
avoid. Every time he gets drunk he’s dropping his pants asking people to kiss
it.”

“Not on
zis side, not on zat side, but right in zee meedle!” shouted the team, the
quote from the classically bad movie Hot Dog all too familiar to them, 80’s
Comedy Night at The Unit a favorite activity. Laughter filled the room and
everyone could be forgiven for forgetting their troubles, even if just for a
moment.

“I hope
the joke wasn’t at my expense.”

Dawson
turned to see Vice President Henderson round the corner, his wife and daughter
just behind him. Sarah smiled at him, rushing forward, her hand extended.
“Agent White! So good to see you again,” she said, shaking his hand. “May I
present my mother, Carla Henderson, and my father, Philip Henderson.”

Dawson
shook both their hands, bowing slightly. “Ma’am, sir.”

“I
understand we have you to thank for saving our daughter.”

Dawson
nodded toward his men. “It was a team effort, sir, and besides, we were never
there.”

Henderson
laughed, tossing back his head, the move practiced so well Dawson almost
believed he actually did appreciate the joke as much as his political training
suggested. His face became serious as he stepped toward the glass, looking at
Red.

“Can you
hear me, son?”

Red
nodded. “Yes, Mr. Vice President.”

“I
wanted to personally thank you for saving my life. What you did was the most
incredible act of heroism and self-sacrifice I have ever seen. You are a credit
to your family, your unit and your country.”

“Just
doing my job, sir.”

Henderson
smiled. “True, son, but your job, unlike most, demands the best from the best.
I know your country asks much of you and your colleagues, and the very nature
of what we ask of you necessitates little to no recognition. I’ve never served
in the military myself, but I have tremendous respect for those who do. I know
acts of bravery and selflessness happen every day in your line of work, but
this was the first time I had ever seen it for myself.” He paused, his voice
more subdued. “Son, I’ve spoken to your doctor and I’m aware of your situation.
Anything that can be done, will be done, of that I guarantee you. If you or
your family need anything, you just let me know.”

“Thank
you, sir.”

“My
family will be praying for your speedy recovery.” He looked at Shirley then
back at Red with a slight grin. “Now I’ll take my leave of you so you can spend
time with people you’d actually enjoy talking to.”

Red
chuckled, giving a slight flick of his hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,
Mr. Vice President. I’m happy your family is safe.”

Henderson
bowed slightly. “Thanks to you.” He turned and started to leave the area when
Sarah Henderson cried out.

“Oh my
God, that’s Dr. Vandy!”

Dawson
spun toward her, his eyes scanning for Koroma or another hostile, when she
pointed at a corner-mounted television silently showing CNN. He looked at the
screen then motioned to Spock who grabbed a chair, kicking it over to the
television. Niner stepped up on it and flicked down the front panel, cranking
up the volume.

“—hundreds
of dignitaries and glitterati from Hollywood and around the world are gathered
for the Ebola telecast. There will be several performances and addresses before
the keynote speaker, Dr. Vandy, the current head of the effort to battle the
outbreak in Sierra Leone will address those gathered. Dr. Vandy—”

Dawson
signaled for the volume to be cut as file footage of the doctor appeared. He
turned to Sarah. “That’s the
real
Dr. Vandy, isn’t it?”

She
nodded. “But didn’t Koroma use Dr. Vandy’s passport to get into the country?”

Dawson
nodded. “That’s too much of a coincidence. We need to find out if Dr. Vandy is
actually in the country or not.”

Sarah
pulled out her cellphone, quickly dialing a number from her contacts list. “Hi,
Terry, it’s Sarah Henderson…I’m fine, thank you, listen, quick question. I need
to know if Dr. Vandy is in Sierra Leone or the United States.” Sarah listened
for a moment then frowned. “Are you sure?” She looked at Dawson and he could
tell he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Okay, thanks Terry. We’ll get
together soon.” She hung up, her head shaking slightly. “I don’t understand.”