Payback (7 page)

“Cooked?
I did a quick recon for the flamethrower. Ow!” Red reached down and massaged
where Shirley had kicked him. He looked at Dawson. “BD, I think I’m injured.
I’ll have to sit out the next op.”

“Suck it
up, princess.”

His
phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned.

Everyone
became silent, even Bryson stopping in mid-chew, he far too familiar with their
lives constantly being interrupted with the job.

“Hello?”

“Mr.
White, you’re needed at the flower shop.”

“Twenty
minutes.”

He
pocketed the phone and attacked his steak. “I’ve got five minutes to stuff this
in me.”

“I can
pack it up for you if you’d like,” offered Shirley.

“What,
and fail the challenge in front of me?” mumbled Dawson through chews, his hand
covering his mouth.

Bryson
pointed. “Hey! He talked with his mouth full.”

Dawson
turned and opened his half full mouth at Bryson. He laughed.

“BD,
you’re just encouraging him!” admonished Shirley.

“Sorry,”
he mumbled, winking at Bryson.

“What do
you think it is?” asked Red as he took his time with his own steak.

Dawson
shrugged as he swallowed. “Probably an op.”

“Do you
think Mike will have to go?” asked Shirley, reaching out and squeezing her
husband’s hand.

“Depends
on the op. If it’s just a four man team, I’ve got Niner, Jimmy and Atlas on
deck.” Dawson stuffed another piece of steak in his mouth then reached for his
beer. “Oops, better not.”

Red was
in mid sip. “Shit, yeah.”

“I’ll
get you two some water,” said Shirley, heading for the kitchen.

“This is
why I’m a firm supporter of the space program,” said Red as he shoveled some
potato salad into his face.

“Me too.
The day we meet the damned Ferengi and get the recipe for synthehol, the world
will be a better place.”

“Amen to
that,” said Red, smiling at his wife as he took the glass of ice water she was
handing him.

“What’s
syntheball?” Bryson didn’t look at them as he asked the question, he instead
holding his finger above his head, a piece of processed cheese on the tip of
it.

“All the
reward, none of the punishment,” replied Dawson as he finished the last bite of
his steak.

“What’s
that mean?”

“Your
dad will explain it to you when you’re twenty-one,” said Shirley.

“If
you’re anything like your dad, it’ll be a lot sooner than that.” This time
Dawson got kicked after a smiled glare from Shirley.

Bryson
shrugged, sucking the cheese off his finger.

Dawson
wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and rose, waving off Red who began to
stand. “If it’s nothing, I’ll be back.”

“It’s
never nothing.”

“True
dat.”

“Who are
you, Niner?”

Dawson
laughed at the mention of their Korean American comrade. Sergeant Carl “Niner”
Sung was the life of any party and the quickest wit he had ever met. He was
also one hell of a sniper.

“If you
tell him I said that I’ll deny it to my grave.” He bowed slightly to Shirley.
“Thank you, as always, for a delicious dinner.”

“You’re
always welcome, BD. I just wish you didn’t have to rush off.”

He
shrugged, eyeing the salad still on his plate. “You know—”

Shirley
leapt to her feet. “I’ll get you a container and a fork.”

He
grinned at Red. “I’ll eat it at the stop lights.”

“There’s
no lights between here and The Unit.”

“Stop signs?”

“Main
gate, maybe. Just don’t eat it in front of the Colonel. You know what happened
last time.”

“Yeah,
how could I forget!” The last time he had arrived chowing down on some of Shirley’s
cooking from a Tupperware container the Colonel had made him phone Red and
bring him some.

Shirley
had only been too happy to prepare a plate.

They all
respected the Colonel, and he them. Colonel Thomas Clancy was a soldier’s
soldier who understood combat and the risks that came with it. And he always
had their backs. Even when they were on an op where if caught their government
would deny they knew anything about them, Clancy would be working the back
channels to free them.

He
strongly believed in the ‘no man left behind’ doctrine.

Shirley
appeared with a Tupperware container and quickly filled it with salad and made
a jab at what remained of her husband’s steak.

He
blocked her fork with his knife. “Hey, I’ve killed for less.”

“He
has,” agreed Dawson, laughing. He took the container and fork, thanking her. He
looked at Bryson. “See ya later, little man.”

Bryson
stood on his chair and saluted. Dawson snapped him a quick salute and headed
for his car parked in front of the Belme residence. Just the sight of his
prized 1964½ Mustang convertible in original poppy red, handed down to him by
his father, brought a smile to his face. He jumped in, revved the engine and
hit the gas, the tires giving a pleasant chirp as he glanced at the salad on
the passenger seat.

And
already his spine was tingling with excitement in anticipation of heading out
once again.

I
love my job!

Leaving Freetown, Sierra Leone

“Your friend better not give us away,” said Major Koroma as the
driver geared down for the approaching checkpoint. It was dark now, the area
lit by harsh lights, their glare bathing the entire area in a clinical blue-tinged
white, several flashlights now playing across their windshield as the guards
approached.

Tanya
whimpered and Sarah squeezed her hand. “Put your head on my shoulder, pretend
to be asleep.” Tanya’s head quickly dropped onto her shoulder, her entire body
still trembling. Sarah had pleaded with Koroma not to kill her, convincing him
that if he needed doctors, Tanya was one of the best.

He had
spared her life.

Which
had confirmed one thing to her.

If she
had been taken because of
who
she was, she had also been taken because of
what
she was. The fact this argument had saved Tanya, and they were riding
in the front of a three vehicle convoy loaded with medical supplies in an Ebola
stricken country, meant there was more than one motive at play.

She was
certain a ransom demand of some sort would be forthcoming, she fully expecting
to have to read some prepared statement condemning her father and the American
way of life while pleading for money for some bullshit cause. She was pretty
sure Koroma had called the driver Muhammad, and this being a majority Muslim
country, she wouldn’t be surprised if these were Islamic terrorists, beheading
Jacques certainly a dead giveaway. During her briefing before coming here she
had been told of the growing problem of Muslims burning Christian churches and
murdering those they considered infidels. They never expected a problem in
Freetown, most people living peacefully, especially with the shared misery of
this epidemic. The biggest danger now was from communities turning on their
neighbors that were infected or suspected to be infected.

Which
was why every single patient who was either confirmed not to be infected, or
cured, was given a certificate proving they had been tested free of the virus.

As the
truck came to a stop, two police officers walked up to the passenger side
window, obviously knowing the man in charge never drove. They demanded
something in Krio, a language Sarah found curiously frustrating because she
spoke English and French fluently, could pick out at least a quarter of the
words, but was usually left baffled as to what was actually being said. Major Koroma,
sitting at the passenger side window, responded then jerked a thumb at her.

“Explain
your business,” said one of the policemen when she leaned over, Tanya’s head
sliding down her arm.

She
should’ve used the driver’s shoulder.

“We’re
doctors from Médecins Sans Frontières. We’re transporting supplies to the Port
Loko Ebola Treatment Center.”

The man
took a step back. “You infected?”

She
smiled, as disarming a smile as she could manage under the circumstances.
“Absolutely not, none of us are. We’re merely delivering supplies.”

The
man’s partner frowned. “What’s wrong with her then?” he asked, motioning toward
Tanya with his chin. “She sick?”

Sarah
shook her head. “No, just dead tired. We worked all day today in protective
gear. It can reach forty-six degrees Celsius in there.”

The
man’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, it’s true, my brother, he works at a
clinic. He said it is extremely hot.” He stepped back and waved them through.
“Good luck, doctors.”

“Thank
you,” replied Sarah as the driver put the truck in gear and pulled away. No one
said anything until they had placed a good quarter mile between them and the
checkpoint. Koroma watched in the side view mirror then turned to the driver.

“We’re
clear.”

Tanya
gasped, suddenly bolting upright, Sarah having forgot for a moment that she had
been faking sleep. Tanya leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “I think I
peed my pants.”

Sarah
took Tanya’s hand in hers and squeezed. “It’s okay, I did earlier.” She reached
over with her other hand and gently pushed Tanya’s head onto her shoulder. “Get
some sleep, you’re safe for now.”

“There
will be several more checkpoints before we reach our destination,” said Koroma,
holstering the weapon she just noticed he had been hiding in his lap. “We’ll
reach the village in the morning.”

Sarah
leapt on the revelation. “Village? What village?”

Koroma
frowned. “No place you’ve ever heard of, I assure you. No place my government
has ever heard of apparently either.”

“Is
there an outbreak there? Is that what the supplies are for? Why you’ve taken
us?”

“
You’ve
been taken because of who you are, Dr. Henderson. The fact you’re a doctor
and your friend is just means you’ll survive longer.”

“So you
intend to kill us.”

“Yes.”

Tanya
whimpered.

Sarah’s
chest tightened and she felt her bladder threaten to give way again.

“Why?”

“Once
you’ve served your purpose, we’ll have no need for you.”

“Why not
let us go? Why kill us?” She was trembling now along with Tanya, each feeding
on the other’s fear.

“Enough
questions.”

“You
know who I am, that means you know who my father is. He’s a very powerful man.
If it’s money you want, you’ll have it.”

Koroma
laughed. “Money? You think that’s what this is about?” He shook his head.
“Silly Americans. You think the entire world revolves around your almighty
dollar. This has nothing to do with money.”

“Then
what does it have to do with?”

Koroma
pulled out his gun and placed it on the dash. “Enough questions.”

Sarah
closed her eyes but there would be no sleep for her. Her mind was racing with
what Koroma had said. She had been kidnapped because of her father, and the
fact she was a doctor. It sounded like they might be put to use treating Ebola
patients in Koroma’s village, but she was stunned at the revelation it had
nothing to do with money.

Yet not
at all surprised they were going to die.

Daddy,
help us!

1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - Delta HQ, Fort Bragg,
North Carolina

A.k.a. “The Unit”

Dawson had managed to chow down half the salad in line at the main
gate and was shoveling the last few spoonsful into his mouth as he hurried
toward the Colonel’s office. It was too much food, Shirley having put way too
much in the container, but he didn’t mind. God only knew when he’d see a decent
meal again if he was sent on an op.

He
nodded hellos to various personnel, The Unit a tightknit community of operators
and support staff. They numbered nearly a thousand, his Bravo Team merely a
dozen men, all Non-Commissioned Officers who had gone through some of the most
intensive training known to man.

And
their support staff was the best of the best, all experts in their own rights,
and all people he trusted and knew he and his men could rely on.

Including
the Colonel.

He walked
into the Colonel’s outer office and placed the container and fork on Maggie’s
desk, the woman he hadn’t yet acknowledged he loved, but had a sneaking
suspicion he might just actually, away at her sister’s. She had been gone three
days and he had to admit he missed her. It was different on an op. He might be
gone days or weeks, but that was part of the job. It was different when she was
away. He realized it was a double standard, but part of him felt she should, or
would, always be there when he was home.

Now
maybe you know how the better-halves feel.

He
doubted that. They had only been dating a few months. People like Red and Shirley
had been married coming up on ten years.

Ten
years!

He
couldn’t imagine that.

He
grinned in the mirror Maggie kept on her desk, confirming he was free from
parsley surprises, then knocked on the Colonel’s door. It was a Sunday and
there was no secretary, if that’s what they were called anymore. He had never
actually asked Maggie what her job title was, but he was pretty sure calling
her a ‘secretary’ was some sort of faux pas. He’d have to remember to ask her
when she got back, just in case he was ever asked what she did.

She
works for the Colonel.

That had
been his response the one time he had been asked. It was his sister when she
had detected a different tone in his voice a couple of weeks after he began
seeing Maggie—or more accurately, Maggie had begun seeing him. She had been the
one to chase him, and he had tried to ignore it for as long as he could but had
finally given in, she simply too gorgeous and too nice to disregard forever.