WAR: Intrusion (3 page)

Helen gave him a tight smile. Shortly after she’d arrived, one of the village men had pointed out that the gap between the security bars had been too wide. Believing this area to be safe, she’d delayed calling a contractor in to fix the bars. Then, two months ago, vandals had struck by breaking down the clinic’s door. They’d then proceeded to remove every item possible, including the wiring and the security bars.

Upgrading the security had been Helen’s first priority once the loan money arrived.

MacKay backed away from the windows and examined the door. He whistled approvingly. “Fire and bullet proof?”

“Yes.” He definitely had an eye for detail if he’d picked up on the fact that the door was steel disguised as wood.

“It makes a man wonder, Dr. Kirk, why a woman who believes there’s no danger in the region has reinforced her clinic so well against a potential attack.”

“Layla’s Foundation was started by a woman whose sister was killed in an attack on a medical clinic. No matter where the Foundation sets up a new clinic, they make certain that no such event will ever happen again.” Or that was the premise. Over the past four months the Foundation had suffered a cash crisis as donors funneled their money to organizations helping with the string of natural disasters that dominated the media’s attention. Without the financial support from Sani Natchaba, a local businessman with deep pockets and a generous nature, Helen wouldn’t have been able to afford to so much as replace one box of bandages. Her boss, Gloria Sanchez, had been insistent that no claim be filed with the insurance company. Gloria hadn’t wanted any incident on record that might scare off the potential donors the Foundation so desperately needed.

If Helen couldn’t convince Lachlan MacKay that all was as it should be with the clinic, then Gloria’s caution would be a wasted effort.

MacKay didn’t look convinced by her statement. “But then, you must already know about the Foundation’s security policy,” she added sweetly. “After all, surely you investigated us before you set off for this visit.”

“Aye, but any security measures I expected wouldn’t look as newly installed as these do. Makes me wonder what happened recently to require an upgrade, as even the louvers appear new. And the paint is recent as well, isn’t it?”

She forced her lips into a saccharine smile. “Of course we’ve freshened the paint and put some elbow grease into polishing every surface. We’re trying to put on our best face for our potential investors.”

He gave another one of those non-committal grunts before returning inside. As Helen hurried after him, a rumble of distant thunder caused her to check over her shoulder. The storm clouds had built into an ominously dark line along the horizon, hastening the arrival of dusk. She stepped into the waiting room accompanied by a gust of rain-scented wind, just as the darkness-activated outdoor lights went on.

“Leticia, the storm will be here soon. Pack your things and I’ll drive you and Ottah to the village. Oh, and please put this back in my office.” She handed the shotgun to Leticia. The nurse nodded and disappeared down the hallway that led to the interior of the clinic. Ottah had been the last patient of the day and Helen and Leticia had almost finished closing down the clinic for the evening when they’d heard Sisi scream.

“Is that all the staff?” MacKay asked. He ran his long, scarred fingers over the brass bell that sat on the narrow ledge between the waiting room and the wide window cut into the wall of the receptionist’s office. Lifting the bell, he gave it a slight shake and the clear tone rang out across the waiting room.

“No. On Wednesdays, Xetsa, our bookkeeper and receptionist, takes the cash to the bank in the regional capital. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Your staff is all female?”

“Yes. Well, our night watchman is male. Plus, a man from the village does maintenance work for us.” She raised a brow. “Is that a problem?”

“No. Not at all. Just trying to understand the setup.”

He started to walk through the door to the hallway, but Leticia came hurrying toward them and he was forced to back up. Helen closed and locked the hallway door behind Leticia, then indicated for MacKay to head outside while Leticia shook Ottah’s shoulder to wake him up.

“I can stay here for the night, lass.”

“No, Mr. MacKay, you cannot. I suggest you head to the regional capital as fast as you can, so that you reach the hotel before the storm hits.” She gestured to the door.

With one more glance around the waiting area, MacKay stepped outside. A moment later, Ottah followed on his crutches. When Leticia reached out to help him navigate the front step, Ottah warned her off with a fierce glare.

Holding back a smile, Helen locked the clinic door and trailed the group around the side of the clinic to the shiny, white SUV provided by her benefactor.

MacKay looked up from examining the generator and the backup water tank so necessary for keeping the clinic running during those few days when the electricity failed and the water stopped flowing. “I thought Layla’s Foundation was hurting for money,” he murmured, tipping his head toward the SUV. “Spending too much of it on fancy transport are we?”

“It was a gift,” Helen snapped. Then reined in her temper and added in a calmer voice, “Given by a local businessman in gratitude of my assistance with his wife’s difficult childbirth.”

“Hmm.” MacKay stepped aside as Leticia and Ottah approached, then helped Leticia maneuver the injured man into the backseat. After Leticia had settled herself beside Ottah and closed the door, Helen told MacKay, “Thank you.” Then she motioned toward the road. “You’d better get a move on.” She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Mr. MacKay.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, doctor. I don’t have transportation of my own. I took the bus and then walked the remaining distance. My boss will give me a ride back after the grand opening.”

Helen ground her teeth and checked the progress of the storm. Crap. It was moving faster than she’d expected. There was no way he could make the three-hour walk to the regional capital before it hit. Yet if she gave him a ride, by the time she headed for home the storm would have turned the dirt road leading back to the village and her bungalow impassable, even with four-wheel drive. The politicians had promised to pave the road if Layla’s Foundation raised enough money to guarantee the clinic would remain open for a minimum of five years, but that didn’t help them now.

“Fine. Climb in. You can spend the night in my guest room.” Ignoring the tingle of alarm at the back of her neck, Helen slid behind the wheel and tried to convince herself that letting MacKay stay wasn’t a mistake.

She backed the SUV out of the driveway and turned onto the narrow dirt road that led to the village. Maybe the storm wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Yes, the storm would prevent the plane carrying the last of the equipment needed to reequip the lab from landing tonight, thus threatening the timetable that allowed her just enough time to install the equipment and polish up the clinic before the festival day. But it also meant that—assuming the plane showed up tomorrow—she had time to send MacKay on his way before it arrived.

That way, not only would MacKay not witness the final phase of the clinic’s restoration, but he wouldn’t be around to investigate any of Kwesi’s boxes that might be on the plane. Because a man as suspicious as MacKay would take Kwesi’s smuggling business as further proof that the clinic wasn’t a sound investment. And the future of the villagers, and of Helen’s career, both depended on meeting the financial goals of Layla’s Foundation.

FIVE
HOURS LATER, as the rain pounded the dirt yard into thick muck behind him, Lachlan used his lock picks on the security door of Dr. Kirk’s clinic. He’d waited until the lights in the main bungalow farther down the lane had gone out, then changed into his rain gear and slipped away from the storage space that had been set up as a guest room. Given the violence of the storm, even if Dr. Kirk had chosen that moment to look out her window that faced onto the courtyard, she wouldn’t have seen more than an indistinct shadow slipping out the gate through the downpour.

He’d expected to have to avoid the clinic’s night watchman, but the man was nowhere in sight. Lachlan had even checked the outbuildings in case the man had taken shelter in one of the sheds. But when he’d peered in the windows, Lachlan had seen only tools to keep the landscaping trimmed and maintain the vehicles. He’d picked the padlock and gone in for a deeper search, but found no weapons. No sign of any illegal activities at all.

Now he twisted his picks until the clinic’s main lock clicked open. He glanced around one more time, but there was still no night watchman. The fellow had probably stayed at home, figuring no one would venture out on such a night.

Lachlan pushed the door open and stepped inside. He pulled a towel from his pack and quickly dried himself off, then wiped up the puddle that had immediately formed under his feet. When he stood, the scent of antiseptic immediately assaulted him, although this time his visceral reaction wasn’t as powerful as it had been earlier this evening. Still, his belly automatically tightened with nerves. In the faint glow from the outdoor security light, the room bore no resemblance to his father’s waiting room, yet Lachlan still fought the urge to look over his shoulder to see if his father loomed in the doorway, waiting for his patients to leave for the day so he could use his fists against his son.

Lachlan shook his head. His father was dead. By all rights, he should have outgrown his fear of the man by now, yet certain sights and smells always threw him back to a time he’d rather forget.

Wishing he could use his torch, yet knowing he couldn’t risk someone noticing a light moving inside the clinic, he took a deep breath. When that failed to calm him, he picked up the closest of the hand-carved statues from the coffee table. In the illumination from the next flare of lightning, Lachlan saw that the heavy ebony wood had been shaped into the form of a man squatting on the ground with one leg bent in front of him and his wrist draped over his knee.

Definitely not something his father would have allowed inside his clinic.

Lachlan exhaled heavily and his nerves settled. He carefully replaced the statue, then waited for another burst of lighting to show him the rest of the room, confirming his earlier impression that there was no place to hide weapons here.

The interior door separating the waiting room from the rest of the clinic was locked, but it took only a moment for Lachlan to open it. Odd that Layla’s Foundation had put such care into external protection yet neglected to provide a second, challenging barrier to reaching the sensitive area of the clinic. Was that a result of the Foundation’s financial difficulties?

Stepping through the doorway, he found himself in a corridor that led straight to the back of the building. The receptionist’s office was to his left. With the window to the waiting room shuttered, and no exterior window, Lachlan felt safe in pulling out his torch. A quick search turned up nothing but the usual office supplies and blank forms. Yet the file cabinets held only empty hanging folders.

He shone his torch around the room but saw no evidence of a safe or other hiding place. So, where were the financial records and other reports typical of a medical facility?

Hmm. Had Dr. Kirk learned he was coming and hidden evidence of wrongdoing? Or did the paranoia of Layla’s Foundation extend to hiding all records each night? Suspecting the answer might be both, he walked across the hall into an exam room.

As with the receptionist’s office, the exam room and the subsequent ones he searched contained just the bare basics, such as boxes of gloves, gauze, and cotton wool. Nothing that would have allowed Dr. Kirk to create a cast for Ottah’s broken leg. No imaging equipment to reveal that the bone had indeed been broken. Odd.

Adding that to the list of growing inconsistencies, Lachlan moved into the adjoining room, which proved to be Dr. Kirk’s office. Well, now. The doctor certainly was organized. The only items on top of her desk were a calendar blotter and one of those multi-purpose carousels that held pens, scissors, and other necessary office supplies. Her filing cabinets were also empty of any paperwork or patient files.

What was going on here? Was the clinic simply a front to hide the weapons smuggling? Had Ottah been faking his broken leg? Feeling a tingle of excitement, Lachlan continued his search. But the staff room, the storage closet, the wash room, and the kitchen held no clues. Finally he unlocked the last door.

The scent of new paint assaulted his nose. Counters ran along three sides of the room. Two of the counters were bare and the light from his torch reflected back from half a dozen new electrical outlets dotting the walls. A closer examination of the countertops showed no dust rings to indicate that equipment had been in the room earlier and moved to the same hiding place as the records and medical supplies. Had Dr. Kirk temporarily moved the equipment in order to clean up for the grand opening? Did the equipment even exist? Or had she received funds to purchase equipment then used them to line her own pockets or purchase weapons?

A rack of test tubes sat next to a microscope on the next counter. The imaging machine he’d wondered about was shoved into a corner next to a humming refrigerator. He opened the fridge and found bags of blood sitting on the shelves along with neatly labeled slides and test tubes of patient samples.

So, perhaps Dr. Kirk did perform some medicine here. Yet, he hadn’t seen any syringes. So how had she drawn blood? He wandered back through the clinic, this time searching for a hidden storage area. But he found nothing. Well, then, he’d simply make certain to accompany Dr. Kirk to the clinic tomorrow and stick close by her side. He’d know soon enough if she brought the missing items out of hiding, or only pretended to perform medicine.

After checking the exterior to make certain the night watchman hadn’t suddenly arrived, Lachlan slipped outside and headed over to Tony’s camp. The violence of this storm made their satellite phones next to useless. Which reminded him, he’d seen no landline telephone at the clinic, just a shortwave radio in Dr. Kirk’s office.