WAR: Intrusion (42 page)

Which was why his team had inserted into the jungle on this side of the hill across the gorge from the front door, rather than on the back side and the rear door that Morenga’s spy supposedly manned. Lachlan’s team was also three hours early.

From a distance, the cliff and its covering of vines and other climbing plants appeared to be completely natural. Yet zooming in with his high-powered binoculars, Lachlan had spotted the rectangular outline of a bay door and several sniper slits.

He imagined both the dirt in front of the cliff and the bridge were booby-trapped as Natchaba seemed to enjoy blowing things up. So Dev and Lance were scouting along the left edge of the chasm, trying to find another way across. Hoss and JC were searching to the right.

“Anything?” Lachlan said into his lip mike.

“Negative, Commander,” Dev replied. “Unless we find a narrow spot between this side and the other, as well as an anchor to allow someone to do a Tarzan swing, we’d need one hell of a long extension ladder to reach across.”

“Commander MacKay, this is Beta Leader.” A backup team from WAR was stationed along the road to watch for incoming traffic and direct the government forces when they arrived.

“Go ahead, Beta Leader.”

“The rebel troop transport is approaching from the north. ETA to your position is ten minutes.”

“Brilliant. Thank you. Hear that, lads? We’re a go.” When Lachlan had finished talking with Morenga, he’d held a meeting with the leader of the government forces. As a backup plan, they’d decided to let one group of rebels escape from the convoy Lachlan’s team had stopped. A team of the government’s men had followed, on the presumption that the rebels would head to this location. Lachlan was relieved that his guess had been correct.

“Moving into position,” Obi said.

“Commander, I’m telling you once more before this operation turns hot,” Hoss said. “Let me be the one to get captured.”

“Shut it, mate,” Lachlan snapped. “Your objection has been noted and overridden. I’m one of the people who has thwarted Natchaba recently. He’ll want a chance to take his revenge on me.”

“Which is precisely why—”

“Trees are down and blocking the road according to plan,” Dev cut in firmly.

“Obi and I are in position overlooking the road,” Levine said. He would be acting as Obi’s spotter.

“I’m ready as well,” Lachlan reported.

“All righty, then,” Hoss snapped. “If y’all are okay letting our leader risk his damn fool neck there’s nothing I can do to stop him. But he sounds just a wee bit too happy about going face-to-face with the rebels.”

Lachlan heard the unspoken message. Hoss worried that Lachlan would lose control again and derail the mission.

“I’m not breaking in another bloody team leader, Lachlan, sir,” Hoss continued, “so you’d damn well better survive. Ouch!”

“
Couyan
,” JC muttered. Then, louder, “A temporary reprimand has been issued via dope slap, Commander. Me and Mr. Insubordination here are now in position overlooking the bridge.”

“Roger that.” Lachlan waited behind the cover of a thick bush just before the point in the road where it took a sharp left turn toward the bridge. His stomach tightened into a convoluted ball of knots at the possibility that Helen might have been taken to another location. That Morenga had sent them on a wild goose chase. Yet this was close to the area his team had pinpointed as the most likely spot for Natchaba’s base.

So Lachlan would hold onto the hope that Helen was inside, and alive. Because he could not fail her. Would not fail her.

“Here they come,” Levine said over the comm. “The truck is a small troop transport. I spot one driver, one passenger. Both windows are open. Can’t see if the passenger has a rifle on his lap. The back has a canvas top and a high tailgate. Thermal imagery shows three men in the rear.”

“The driver, I recognize him,” Obi said. “We attended school together.”

“Ah, Christ man. I’m sorry,” Lachlan said as the lorry came into view.

“It is not important,” Obi answered. “He has made the wrong choice.”

The driver slammed on the brakes when he saw the pile of trees blocking the road. Both the driver and the passenger climbed out to investigate. As soon as they’d cleared the lorry’s bonnet, Obi killed both men.

That was the signal for Lachlan’s group to move in. They surrounded the rear of the truck, and within minutes had secured the three surviving rebels. Meanwhile, JC and Hoss had removed the trees from the road and Obi had changed into the uniform of the driver. Obi now waited patiently by the driver’s door.

Lachlan climbed into the back of the lorry. He nodded to his men.

“He’s ready,” Dev called up to Obi. A moment later, the vehicle started moving.

This next bit depended a great deal on luck. Lachlan hoped that whoever manned the door didn’t know every rebel by sight and wouldn’t notice that Obi was a stranger. If the guard at the door sounded the alarm and the suspected snipers started firing, Obi would give the abort signal.

Lachlan mentally counted down. They should be approaching the end of the bridge.

“All appears quiet, Commander,” Obi said over the comm system. “Good luck.”

The sound of the engine changed as Obi jammed a tree branch between the accelerator pedal and the driver’s seat. Lachlan leaned out the back of the lorry and tossed his headset into the jungle.

The lorry rumbled onto the bridge. Lachlan scanned the area to the driver’s side of the road. Where was Obi? Had he not managed to jump clear?

He caught the movement of bushes and spotted Obi’s boot disappearing into the jungle.

Good. He was on his own.

Lachlan climbed over the tailgate and balanced on the bumper. As soon as the back end of the lorry reached the dirt on the other side, he dove free and rolled away.

With no one to stop it, the lorry crashed into the cliff face.

Lachlan scrambled for the relative protection of the bushes to the side of the dirt patch. Before he reached safety, the snipers fired warning shots in front of him.

“Sit still and put your hands above your head, Commander MacKay,” a voice called. “Do not fight our men and you will be escorted safely inside.”

Lachlan made a show of eyeing the bushes, then inched toward them. A shot nearly caught him in his left hand. “All right,” he called out.

He put his hands up.

A door slid open in the cliff face and a team of soldiers poured out. Several men formed a circle around Lachlan while the others investigated the ruined lorry. One of the soldiers called out something in an unfamiliar dialect. From his tone, Lachlan judged it to be a statement that the lorry was clear of threats.

The leader of the group barked out a command and jerked his chin toward the door. A rebel stepped forward and slammed his rifle butt against the back of Lachlan’s head.

Lachlan toppled forward. Before he completely passed out, he thought he heard a man whisper, “Foolish Scotsman, you should have stuck to the plan.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“
AS
YOU SEE, Dr. Kirk, all of my men have gathered to welcome you.” Natchaba gestured grandly with his arm as Helen’s guards shoved her out of the corridor and into a cavern that soared into darkness above.

The space was larger than the hospital, with stalactites and stalagmites ringing the edges. And it was packed nearly wall-to-wall with men in rebel uniforms.

Terror rocketed through her.

The crowd parted before Natchaba and he led Helen and her guards to a wooden stage in the center of the cavern. Four people occupied the platform. Mrs. N’Dorah, bound and gagged, sat on a chair at the far end guarded by two burly rebels. Helen’s heart sank. She’d thought that Natchaba had no leverage against her, but she’d been wrong.

Natchaba mounted the stairs and Helen’s guards dragged her after him, shoving her forward until she faced the fourth person.

Oh, God. It was the young rebel who’d attacked Layla’s Foundation. The one Lachlan had shot and she’d doctored.

The one who had used his machete with such glee against Kofi at the hospital.

Ice slithered over Helen’s skin and she attempted to step back from the hatred in his eyes. There was not a single indication that the man owed Helen for patching up his leg so that he didn’t bleed to death.

Instead, he leaned in so close, she could smell his foul breath. “That’s right, Dr. Kirk. Fear me.” Faster than she could track, he pulled a knife from his belt and held it to her cheek. “You will scream and you will beg me for your life.”

Bile rose in her throat. Oh, God.

He shifted the knife so that its tip rested against the skin behind her ear. “Perhaps I will start by removing your ear.”

Is that what Natchaba intended for her? To let this boy dismember her piece by piece while the rest of his forces watched?

Despite fear turning her insides to jelly, Helen kept her gaze up and her body as relaxed as possible. She had to stay strong and project an aura of confidence. Whatever happened, she would face it with as much dignity and calm as she could manage. Yet she had no illusions that she could hold out for very long against torture.

The rebel pressed on the knife until it broke her skin. A warm trickle of blood slid down her neck.

“Enough,” Natchaba said.

The man leaned harder on his knife, then pulled it away. With a respectful bow to Natchaba, he went to stand behind Mrs. N’Dorah.

“Now, Dr. Kirk,” Natchaba said, “I imagine you are wondering why I have brought you to this place.” He motioned for her guards to move her to the edge of the platform to make room for several groups of men carrying equipment.

With growing dread, she watched the men set up an operating room.

The young man who’d hacked Kofi to pieces caught her eye and grinned at her. She remembered how his comrades had held Kofi down on the operating table as this man had begun his gruesome work.

The blood rushed out of her head and she swayed under a bout of dizziness.

Stay calm. Stay cool. Think iceberg. Think polar bears and fluffy baby seals. Don’t give them the thrill of seeing you afraid.

The rebels at the hospital had laughed and gloated as their victims had screamed in terror. They’d mocked Helen and her staff as they’d screamed for mercy for their colleagues.

She would not give these men the same power over her.

Somehow she managed to drag in several breaths, calm her panicked heartbeat, and stave off the dizziness. When she had regained her composure and once again looked around the platform, she found Natchaba watching her in that clinical manner he had.

A rebel hurried toward the stage from the main corridor. He caught Natchaba’s attention and Natchaba walked over to him. They held a brief conversation, then Natchaba gave an abrupt nod and glanced at Helen, a glint of triumph in his eyes.

Her heart sank.

Natchaba walked to the center of the platform. “My fellow citizens,” he called out.

The cavern fell silent.

“You have all seen the images from our most recent success, the event the media is calling the Hospital Massacre. The photos and video demonstrate how our loyal soldiers treat those who oppose us and consort with foreigners.”

The men roared their approval, the sound mirroring the roar of fury in Helen’s ears. They’d shot video of their butchery and sent it to the media? Making it so that the families of the ones who’d died might see the images and be forever haunted by the acts committed against their loved ones?

“One of our soldiers was severely injured as he attempted to return here to base,” Natchaba continued. “His wounds were so extensive that healing him was beyond our own doctors.” He turned and gave a mocking bow to Helen.

Helen flinched inwardly. She barely held her calm, detached expression in place as renewed fear clawed at her.

“Dr. Helen Kirk has spent most of her adult life working as a medical doctor here in West Africa. She has greedily held on to the head surgical positions at our hospitals and clinics, denying such work to more deserving Africans.”

Natchaba’s raised eyebrow dared Helen to protest.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

When it became clear that she had no intention of speaking, he shrugged. “Is it not fitting to bring Dr. Kirk here so she can heal this soldier, this brave man who brought justice to those traitors at the hospital?” He raised his hand over his head and snapped three times. The crowd once again separated. Two men carried a stretcher over to the platform and transferred their patient to the surgical table.

“Behold your patient, Dr. Kirk.”

Oh, God. Even with his battered face, Helen recognized the man. He’d been the most vocal of the torturers. The one who’d told Helen and the others how much he enjoyed the feel of skin splitting beneath his blade. How he dreamed at night of the beautiful songs that were the screams of the foreign devils who he had been honored to kill.

Oh, no. Operate on this butcher? The man she’d watched hack and saw off the arms and legs of her friends? Her stomach heaved. How could she possibly heal such a man, knowing that he would be sent back into the world to torture and kill more people? How could she live with herself if she helped one of the men who had mutilated her colleagues while they screamed and Helen and the others had begged for the rebels to stop, to take their lives instead?

Just the sight of his open wounds and the blood covering his body threatened to send her rational mind screaming away in terror. Her eyes bounced away from the shiny piece of intestine sticking out from beneath the soaked bandages over his abdomen.

Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.
Her throat muscles tightened and she swallowed back bile.

Natchaba leaned closer. “Do you know who hurt this man so badly, Dr. Kirk? Your own bodyguard. Commander MacKay.”

Oh, God. Lachlan had done this? Sliced open the man’s belly?

Murderer. Torturer.

Her vision swam. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out, but she dug her fingernails into her palms and managed to bring her awareness back.