WAR: Intrusion (33 page)

“I didn’t realize you knew that word,
peeshwank,
” JC muttered. “Lord knows, you don’t have the patience of a flea.”

“We need to find someone who’s worked with Natchaba,” Lars interjected before Hoss could make a comeback. “Before Natchaba kills off everyone who might be able to reveal personal information about him, as he did with the staff at his mansion.”

“If Natchaba was truly being strategic, he wouldn’t have sent the rebels to decimate the villages near Helen’s clinic,” Lachlan said. “That might have won him points with the more aggressive groups of rebels, but not the citizens. The rebellion has already been losing support in those areas of the most violent attacks against local people.”

His men nodded.

“That’s why the attacks by the more disciplined rebel groups have focused on killing specific people who oppose them rather than entire villages,” Lachlan continued.

“And yet despite their anti-foreigner vitriol, even the worst of the rebels haven’t escalated the level of violence against foreigners to the same brutal level as what they inflict on their fellow Africans,” JC pointed out. “Which is why no foreign government has bothered to get involved.”

“Aye.” There was more to the lack of response by foreign governments than that, including the fact that the rebels spoke loudly to the local population about hating foreigners, but did their best to keep their activities out of the international media, but it was a contributing factor. “The attacks against the clinic and Layla’s Foundation were more public than most attacks against foreigners, indicating that Natchaba had no fear that such blatant violence would result in an international backlash.”

“You think he has someone helping him who can guarantee that the foreign powers stay out of the game?” JC asked. “Someone like Dietrich’s sponsor?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility, aye.” And it made Lachlan even more concerned about Helen’s safety.

“It’s possible,” Lars said, “that Natchaba believes these failures serve a greater purpose. If Morenga thinks Natchaba is ineffective—”

“Then Natchaba has a better chance of sneaking up on Morenga,” Hoss finished.

The men fell silent as they thought about the implications. “It’s possible Natchaba truly believes his father would be so susceptible,” JC finally said, “but Morenga’s file indicates he’s not only a savvy businessman, but a survivor. He’ll be well aware that taking over Dietrich’s supply routes will make him a target for every power-hungry criminal in the region. Morenga isn’t going to let down his guard so easily.”

“You’re right,” Lachlan said. “Plus, he must know of his son’s antagonism.” The words hung in the air, pulling him back in time. The only reason he’d been able to stop his own father had been because the old man’s back had been turned. He’d been so focused on killing his next victim that he hadn’t realized Lachlan was in the room until it had been too late.

“Commander? Are you all right?” JC asked.

He had to tell them. He—

The sound of a vehicle pulling up behind the safe house gave him a brief respite. But when he heard the bantering of Dev and the others, Lachlan swallowed past the lump of fear in his throat. He had to do this now, before he lost his nerve.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

WHEN
HELEN ENTERED the safe house, she caught a glimpse of Lachlan and stopped. He was standing stock still in the main room, face white as a ghost.

“What’s wrong, Commander?” Lance demanded, striding toward him.

Lachlan held up a hand. “I’m fine. I just… Need to get out for a spell. To think.” He glanced at the clock. “We’ll meet back here in an hour. If you can,” he said to Lars, “get Tony and Marcus on the phone as well.” With those cryptic orders, Lachlan pushed past his astonished men and disappeared into the humid evening.

Sharing a nod, Hoss and JC gave Lachlan a small head start, then went after him.

“I don’t think—” Helen began.

“Don’t worry,” Lance said. “They’re not going to crowd him. But whatever emotions the Commander is dealing with, he’s lost his situational awareness. Hoss and JC will make sure no one bothers him until he’s ready to come back.” Still, he frowned at the door.

“All right, gents,” Dev said. “You heard the man. If you need to powder your noses or take a leak, now’s the time.”

Helen choked on her laughter, relieved that she still had the capacity to feel humor. She and Lance had spent all day in the operating room. She didn’t know about him, but she was exhausted. She’d become accustomed to the slower, less taxing work at the clinic and had forgotten how draining being “on” all day could be. And poor Levine had been on guard duty in the busy hall the entire time, having decided it wasn’t worth the effort for Lachlan to send over a replacement team.

Putting Lachlan’s odd behavior out of her mind, Helen said, “I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I’m starving.” She opened the refrigerator. “Er…” The shelves contained a few beers, some left over fruit from the morning, and half a loaf of bread. “Never mind.” She gently shut the door.

The soft beep of a digital watch’s alarm filled the kitchen. “Dr. Kirk,” Obi said with another of those quiet smiles, “you are forgetting that this is the capital city. They have here such modern conveniences as restaurants that will take phone-in orders. Our dinner is awaiting our retrieval. Levine, if you will accompany me?”

Helen was so relieved that she wouldn’t have to cook or go out looking for a restaurant, that she nearly cried. “Do you need my help with anything?”

“No, thank you, doctor.”

“Okay. I’m going to take a quick shower, then.”

Ten minutes later, Helen returned to the kitchen as the men were setting out the food.

“Lachlan said to go ahead and eat without him,” Dev announced. “He’ll stop and grab a bite before he returns.”

“What set him off?” Levine asked.

Lars shrugged. “We were speculating about whether Natchaba is ready to move against Morenga yet and he got one of those blank, flashback looks on his face.”

“Lachlan has flashbacks?” Helen asked carefully. She didn’t know if his teammates knew about his scars, or even if what was bothering him had anything to do with what had caused them.

“We all have flashbacks,” Obi said solemnly. “It comes with being a soldier.”

“Lachlan has been particularly edgy the past few days,” Dev said. “You can’t really blame him. For a man with—” He cut himself off and glanced at Helen.

“For a man who has some sort of phobia regarding doctors and medical treatment, Lachlan has spent an awful lot of time in hospitals and clinics recently,” Helen finished for him.

“Er… Yeah.”

Lachlan’s fear of doctors plus the level of violence required to inflict such permanent scars on his skin added up to severe abuse. Her throat tightened with sympathy.

Helen stared at the savory stew in front of her. Her appetite had fled, but she forced herself to pinch off a piece of the doughy, cassava based fufu and dip the ball in the stew before popping it in her mouth. Experience had taught her to eat whether or not she felt hungry. After an intense day like today she needed to replenish her energy or she’d be no good to anyone tomorrow. Yet she barely tasted what she ate, her heart too heavy with thoughts of Lachlan. If she was correct, then a doctor had given him the scars on his back. Probably while he was a child.

Which explained so much, yet also destroyed any hope of a deeper relationship between them.

By the time Lachlan appeared at the back door of the safe house, the entire atmosphere had turned tense with grim anticipation. Every eye landed on him. Lachlan hesitated in the doorway. A flash of panic crossed his expression and for a second she thought he was going to flee. Instead, he sucked in a breath and stalked silently into the living room.

The men gave way before him, leaving Lachlan space at the center of the crowded room. He waited until Hoss and JC had come inside and joined the others, then Lachlan glanced over at Lars and nodded. Lars returned Lachlan’s nod and hit a few buttons on his laptop.

“All right lads.” Lachlan cleared his throat. “Tony, Marcus, thank you for joining us. This won’t take long.”

Helen gathered up her dishes and took them to the sink, trying to be quiet as she ran the water.

The men on the other end of the Skype connection murmured hellos that sounded as worried as the men in the room with Lachlan.

“I noticed you didn’t invite me, but I’m here, too,” said a voice that Helen didn’t recognize.

“That’s because you know this already, Kris,” Lachlan said wearily. “I didn’t see the point in dragging you away from your duties to listen to me…talk.”

From the indrawn breaths of some of the men near her, Helen figured they also suspected Lachlan had almost said “confess” instead.

“Ah,” the man called Kris said. That one word managed to convey so many emotions. Recognition. Respect. Support. “No worries. I’ll stick around.”

“Right, then.” Lachlan frowned, but didn’t protest.

Helen turned off the water, then carried the trash out to the bin in the far corner of the walled-in courtyard. Returning to the back door, she hesitated before opening it all the way. Through the gap, she saw Lachlan staring at the floor, seemingly unaware of the others present.

The tension in the room thickened until Helen could practically taste it, even outside. Afraid of breaking the mood by walking inside, she decided to stay where she was, although she felt a bit like a voyeur.

Lachlan blew out his breath and raised his gaze. “First,” he said, glancing at each of his men, “I want to thank you for welcoming me into your team and accepting me as your leader. Those of you who were Kris’s core teammates have never once made me feel as if you resented the fact that I’m now in charge.”

“Maybe we were glad to get out from under Mother Hen’s thumb,” Levine cracked, shooting a pointed look at the computer.

“You mean Kris fussed even worse when he was your direct team leader?” Dev shot back. “You poor blokes.”

One of the men on the other end of the line cleared his throat. Helen heard an American voice murmur with a touch of humor, “Aaannnddd…that’s what you get for barging in where you weren’t invited, Kris.”

Kris just laughed.

“Seriously, mate,” Hoss said, ditching what he’d told Helen was his native Oklahoman accent for a fairly decent imitation of Lachlan’s brogue, “We’re honored to be working with you.” He looked around the room. “That goes for all of you foreigners.”

There were a bunch of muttered agreements from the men on both sides of the Skype connection.

Someone, perhaps JC, started singing “Kumbaya.”

Lachlan shook his head and his shoulders lowered a bit. “I don’t know, Kris. Maybe I should hand these clowns back over to you.” But the sheen in his eyes indicated how touched he was by the men’s acceptance.

“God forbid,” Kris said. “Why do you think I took a desk job in the first place?”

Lachlan let the men’s singing go on for another minute or so before calling out loudly enough to catch their attention, “Unfortunately, that’s not the reason I called you all here.”

His hands went to the hem of his t-shirt. Helen’s heart leapt into her throat as he slowly pulled the shirt over his head. She might have expected one of the men to make a joke about Lachlan’s striptease, but the mood in the room had turned somber again. Helen crossed her arms over her belly and gripped her elbows.

“I know most of you have seen my scars,” Lachlan said quietly. He turned around to display his back to the room.

Instead of looking at the scars, Helen watched Lachlan’s teammates. Every man wore an expression of protective anger.

Lachlan turned back around and pulled his shirt over his head before meeting the eyes of each of his teammates. “What you don’t know, because I don’t ever speak of it, was that the scars were caused by my father.” He flicked his gaze to Lance. “My father the well-respected doctor would beat the living hell out of me, then drag me into his clinic and patch me up.” He took a deep breath. “Sometimes he would use a scalpel on me, then pour something caustic on the wound before stitching me up.”

Helen bit back a cry, realizing as she felt the pressure of her teeth against her skin that she’d put her fist to her mouth.

“That’s why you have such surgical looking scars in places that should have healed cleanly,” Lance said. Anger thrummed in his voice.

“Aye. Long story short, the abuse started when I was about five or so. We never lived in the same town more than a year or two. Sometimes less than that. My father’s reputation was such that no one ever believed me when I tried to report the abuse. Not the nurses in the medical facilities he worked at, not the nurses or teachers at school. Everyone loved my father and thought I was an ungrateful, spoiled child.”

Helen felt tiny stabs of pain in her chest as her heart broke into pieces. She wanted so badly to go back in time, pull that child into her arms, and protect him.

“My mother covered up for him. She would even drag me down to the clinic sometimes if she was upset with my behavior and insist that my father punish me.”

The silence in the room was pregnant with his teammates’ desire to do violence on Lachlan’s behalf.

“As I grew older, I did my best to stay away from home. I spent extra time at school and joined every sports team that would have me, particularly those which involved travel to games.” He rubbed at a spot on his lower back.

“When I was twelve,” he continued, “we lived in an flat over his clinic. One day after school I was heading for the stairs to our flat when the receptionist asked me to get a box of paper for her from the back room.” His expression grew distant while he remembered.

“As I walked down the hall, I heard soft cries of distress coming from one of the exam rooms.” He flinched and glanced at the floor. “They sounded too much like the noises I made when my father hurt me.” He shrugged. “Something inside me snapped. I flung open the door and found my father leaning over an older patient. My father held a syringe in one hand and had pressed his other hand over the man’s mouth. Over the top of my father’s fingers I could see the man’s terrified eyes bulging with his efforts to break free. Without thinking, I screamed at my father to stop and pulled him away from the man. We fell to the floor and fought.”