WAR: Intrusion (8 page)

“All’s well?” Lachlan asked when Helen reached the SUV.

“Yes. It’s beautiful.”

“Only a doctor would see such a utilitarian space as beautiful,” he commented as he strapped himself into the passenger seat.

“But that’s what makes it beautiful. It’s efficient. Clean. I like knowing that the people who come here are receiving care equal to those in first world countries.”

“Aye, I can understand that.”

They traveled in silence to the village, where they picked up Leticia, Theodora, and Xetsa.

“Being the only lad present, I’m feeling vastly outnumbered,” Lachlan complained, winking at Leticia.

Leticia giggled as she climbed into the back seat.

“Would you prefer to walk?” Helen asked.

Lachlan gave a long-suffering sigh that elicited more giggles from the other women. “No. I suppose not.”

Chuckling, Helen pulled the SUV into the rear position of the small caravan of vehicles heading to the regional capital. The closer they drew to the site of the festival, the more people they passed on the road and the slower the traffic became. Those from the farthest villages who didn’t have a ride had left hours before dawn in order to reach the regional capital in time for the opening festivities.

Helen’s caravan arrived an hour past dawn, driving past shops that had closed down for the day and toward the secondary school at the far edge of town. Display stalls and tables were in the process of being set up along the sides of the school’s athletic field. At the farthest end, just before the field gave way to the jungle, workers put the finishing touches on the backdrop of the stage for the speakers. Volunteers in their holiday finest waved the vehicles to the unloading area, unmindful of the dust. Lachlan helped Helen and the others unpack the items for the clinic’s table, then he announced, “I’m going to check on the security” and wandered off.

Helen’s shoulders relaxed once he was out of sight. Pretending that the kiss had never happened, and that she didn’t want him to kiss her again, had strained her patience. Now she could focus completely on setting up the clinic’s table and helping her students set up their displays on the adjoining table. The women glowed with pride and excitement once their exhibit was in place and they all gathered for a group photo.

At a quarter to eight, forty-five minutes later than scheduled, the drums sounded to announce the beginning of the festival. Helen and the women joined the crowd that had formed on the athletic field to listen to the welcoming message from the regional governor. He was flanked by two bodyguards, standard practice for government officials even before the rebels had come onto the scene. The other speakers for the morning sat in a line at the back of the stage awaiting their turn at the microphone.

As the governor droned on, turning his greeting into a political speech, Helen’s attention wandered. She studied the crowd, then did a double-take when she spotted Lachlan talking with Dr. Rene LaSalle at the edge of the jungle bordering the field. Their relaxed body language spoke to a comfortable relationship. Well, she supposed if Lachlan had been working in the region long, it made sense that he would know Dr. LaSalle. Still, Helen felt a spurt of envy. Except for when he’d kissed her, Lachlan had never been that relaxed with her. She wasn’t entirely certain he even liked her.

A moment later, Dr. LaSalle clapped Lachlan on the shoulder, then walked away while Lachlan simply melted into the crowd. She made a mental note to check in with Dr. LaSalle before the grand opening. A doctor who traveled the region giving aid to those who most needed it, the half-Cameroonian, half-French doctor was something of a legend in West Africa, acclaimed for putting his own life at risk to help those in war zones. He had also offered to help Layla’s Foundation find a West African doctor to replace Helen, assuming they met their funding goal. Helen wanted to know if Dr. LaSalle had found a suitable candidate yet. It would strengthen her pitch this afternoon to the donors if she could promise that the clinic would soon be completely staffed by locals.

After several more dignitaries spoke, Kwesi, his brother David and the other tribal chiefs in the region stepped onto the stage followed by several villagers carrying the boxes of MP3 players.

“Now I wish to invite the children to come forward and receive a very special gift,” the regional governor announced. While the children made their way through the crowd, he continued, “This gift has been offered by a very generous local businessman. To our great sorrow, Mr. Natchaba was unable to break away from his business in order to join us here today. He asked me to tell you that he needs no thanks other than to see the children of this region receive the rewards they so justly deserve.”

Once Kwesi and the others had passed out the small cartons of MP3 players, David led the children in a song of thanks. They received enthusiastic applause and Helen’s heart swelled to see the huge smiles on the children’s faces as they left the stage.

“Now we will have an opening dance. Please welcome—”

Boom!

Helen flinched away from the burst of light and sound. To her left, a child screamed in terror and pain and a woman gave an answering howl of agony.

What was going on? What had exploded? As Helen hurried to see if anyone had been hurt, she searched the crowd for familiar faces. Was everyone in her group okay? She’d last seen the women at the far edge of the field, close to their booth, but the rest of the villagers were interspersed with the rest of the crowd.

The people nearest the explosion were running away, making it difficult for Helen to make forward progress. She pushed past a woman carrying a terrified toddler, then spotted Kwesi walking toward her with his son, Martin, and his father. Oblivious to the fear on his father’s face, Martin proudly held the MP3 player up for his father to see. Kwesi nodded and gave Martin a tight smile and a pat on the shoulder. The boy then passed his new toy over to his grandfather. The older man took the device and turned it over. With a brilliant flash of light, the device exploded.

“No!” Helen raced toward them. Dropping to her knees, she pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of the pack she carried around her waist and quickly assessed the situation. The grandfather was dead. The explosion had torn a hole in his chest. Martin had extensive wounds and burns, but still had a pulse. Kwesi appeared to have been knocked unconscious, protected from severe injury by his father’s body.

Other MP3 players exploded, sending the crowd into full panic mode. Then Helen heard gunfire.

“Catch the traitor,” one of the bodyguards on stage shouted.

Helen glanced over just as the regional governor collapsed into the arms of the nearest bodyguard. A fleeing woman knocked Helen off balance and she barely caught herself from falling onto Kwesi’s son. Helen repositioned herself so her body formed a barrier between Martin and the stampeding crowd.

Kwesi sat up. When he spotted his father and his son, he gave an anguished cry and flung himself at Martin, picking the boy up and cradling him in his arms.

Martin’s eyelids fluttered in a face covered with blood and third degree burns.

“Kwesi,” Helen said gently, “you need to put Martin down so I can help him.”

Kwesi didn’t appear to hear her. He just rocked back and forth holding his son. “My fault,” he murmured. “My fault. Please don’t die. Don’t die.”

LACHLAN
WAS WORKING his way through the crowd toward Helen when the first explosion went off behind him. He hit the ground and rolled away, winding up at the feet of a teenage boy who blinked at him in shock.

“Down,” Lachlan commanded, tugging on the boy’s trousers.

The boy remained frozen in place a moment, staring in the direction of the explosion. Lachlan heard automatic weapons firing closer to the stage. The microphone emitted an ear-piercing feedback squeal, then went dead. Another explosion ripped into the crowd. People screamed and started running. The teenager broke free of Lachlan’s hold, spun around, and joined the panicking mob heading toward the entrance to the school grounds.

Lachlan pushed to his feet and drew his pistol. Dodging the people who were trying to escape, he followed the smoke until he reached the explosion site. Which wasn’t at all what he’d expected. There was no crater. Nothing to indicate anything untoward had happened except for the wide berth the crowd gave the area. Wailing family members huddled in a circle, clutching one another and staring at a spot on the ground that Lachlan couldn’t see. As Lachlan drew closer, he spotted two wee legs on the ground, the flesh all torn-up beneath the tattered remnants of a brightly colored skirt.

Bile rose in his throat. Christ. Not a child.

“Commander? You okay?” Tony asked over their earbud comm devices. He’d been patrolling the edges of the field.

Lachlan cleared his throat. “Fine. I’ve found one of the victims. A child. I—” One of the adults moved, revealing the charred remains of the girl’s hand and a familiar piece of metal that had been melted into her flesh.

The MP3 player.

Dark fury washed over him. His hands shook.

“Commander?”

“A minute.” Lachlan turned away from the grieving family just as another explosion went off not far from him. This time, instead of hitting the ground, he ran toward the blast. It had been small. Localized. Exactly what he’d have expected if it had come from an MP3 player.

As he neared the area, he grabbed one of the men who was fleeing. “Did the music player explode?” he demanded.

“Y-yes,” the man stammered.

Lachlan shook him. “Tell them.” He jerked his chin toward the crowd. “Tell everyone you see to spread the word. The children must drop the MP3 players and run away.”

Wide-eyed, the man nodded.

Lachlan released him. Then he updated Tony. His teammate cursed. “You think the doctor and her pal Kwesi were in on it?”

“Don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” The thought that Dr. Kirk could have fooled him so well, could have been so caring with her patients and her students, then allow children to be killed…

He couldn’t think about that now. “I heard shots earlier.”

“A sniper on the upper level of the classroom block started shooting at those on the stage immediately after the first explosion. The regional governor was among those hit.”

“Shit.” Lachlan glanced toward the stage. Everyone was lying on the boards. He couldn’t tell who was wounded and who was dead. “Is there someone who can grab the microphone and announce to the crowd that they need to set the MP3 players gently on the ground and get far away from the devices?”

“Negative. The sniper took out the sound system and there’s a firefight on stage right now. I’ll tell this bloke right here to spread the word, though.”

“Thanks.” Lachlan waited while Tony gave the man the message. Behind him, Lachlan heard people warning one another about the MP3 players as well.

“Where are you?” he asked when Tony came back on the line.

“At the back of the stage with Rene,” Tony said. “He’s waiting for the bodyguards to move the regional governor off the stage so he can evaluate his condition. The VIP SUVs are just pulling up. They’ll start evacuating momentarily.”

Up on stage, one of the bodyguards was crouched behind the podium, firing toward the upper level of the classroom block with his rifle. Another bodyguard rose to his feet and raised his pistol as if to shoot his colleague in the head, but one of the dignitaries slammed a chair into the traitor’s side, knocking him off balance. The traitor dove off the stage and disappeared into the crowd.

“Help me,” a man yelled in English from behind Lachlan. “My brother has been shot!”

Lachlan spun around, searching for the source. “We have a third shooter on the roof of the admin building,” he told Tony, having spotted the man lying on the sloped, corrugated metal roof. The roof was only partially sheltered by the overhanging branches of a tree. A professional would never have taken up such an exposed position, but this shooter apparently didn’t think there was any risk of someone in the crowd firing back at him. Lachlan gave a grim smile, looking forward to proving the man wrong. “He’s taking potshots at the crowd. I’m going after him.”

Lachlan pushed against the fleeing throng, trying to reach the edge of the jungle so he could move to a spot that would give him an open line of fire. He wished that Obidawah, the team’s sniper, were here with his powerful sniper rifle. Obi would be able to take out the shooters from this distance, but with only his pistol, Lachlan had to get closer.

Sirens from the direction of the main road announced the arrival of the police. About time.

Another explosion went off, initiating a new round of screams and wails. What was wrong with people? Hadn’t they heard the message about the MP3 players?

“All VIPs have now been pulled off the stage,” Tony announced. “The regional governor is alive, but in critical condition. Rene is working to stabilize him enough to be moved. Seven others are seriously wounded. The other VIPs are getting into their vehicles with their bodyguards. They’ll be away shortly.”

From Tony’s end, Lachlan heard a man yell.

Tony cursed. “We’ve got a fourth shooter in the trees to the west. He just shot one of the bodyguards. I’m going after him before he picks off the surviving VIPs.”

“Right. Keep me updated.” Lachlan stepped to the side as a blood-spattered woman carrying an infant barreled past him. There were still too many people between him and the jungle. He checked the status of the shooter on the roof and discovered that the man had vanished. “Bloody hell, I’ve lost the shooter on the admin—” He caught a glimpse of a man in black moving along the edge of the jungle just north of the building and moved to intercept. “Scratch that. Found him.”

The man appeared to be tracking someone in the crowd. Lachlan looked in the same direction, but there were too many people in the way for him to determine who the shooter was after.

He’d come within five meters of the fellow when two large explosions went off, causing Lachlan to stumble. He momentarily lost track of the shooter as smoke, dust and a hail of debris obscured his vision.