WAR: Intrusion (9 page)

The first explosion had come from the front of the school, where the panicked crowd had headed, thinking they’d be safe. The second one had gone off near the stage. “Tony. Report.”

Tony’s mic clicked on, but all Lachlan heard at first was coughing.

“Tony?”

“Sorry,” Tony gasped. “I’m okay, but the smoke is thick here. I’m in the jungle to the west. The fourth shooter has been neutralized. Rene got the regional governor stabilized and their SUV drove away just before the explosion. I’m going to help evacuate people from the blast zone.”

“I’m after the admin building shooter.” Lachlan trailed the dark shadow of the shooter through the smoke. When the smoke finally thinned, Lachlan saw that most people in the crowd had either been knocked down by the blast or had flung themselves to the ground in fear. Except for a small group of people running toward the administration building.

Lachlan had a split second to recognize Dr. Kirk and Kwesi before the shooter turned toward them, pulled out a pistol, and fired. Kwesi stumbled and almost dropped the boy he carried. Dr. Kirk grabbed Kwesi and pulled him to the ground. Lachlan shot the shooter before he could fire again.

The man collapsed face down.

Helen looked up, horror on her face, and met Lachlan’s eyes.

Part of him wanted to ask if she was okay. But that piece was quickly crushed under the furious certainty that she’d been involved. He’d thought she was different from his father. He’d started to believe she was a good person. The power of that betrayal, illustrated by the blood and death surrounding them, shook him to his core. Never again. He’d never believe another word she said. Desperate for justice, his finger twitched against the side of his pistol.

Calm yourself. There’s another shooter to be dealt with. Leave her before you commit murder.

Lachlan clenched his jaw so tightly, his teeth ached. With one last glare of retribution at Dr. Kirk, he turned his back on her. Forcing himself into that icy, calm place necessary for battle, he picked up the dead man’s sniper rifle, an SVD Dragunov. Then he hauled himself into the tree standing beside the admin building. He wasn’t a highly trained sniper like Obi, but everyone on the team had above average shooting skills and the classroom block was no more than 100 meters away. Lachlan climbed up the tree until he found a sturdy branch he could lie on to give him a clear view of the situation. He checked out the scene through the scope of the rifle. To his left, what remained of the stage was on fire. To his right, smoke and flames hid the front of the school. People in between the two fires ran in every direction, searching for a place of safety. The sniper in the classroom block occasionally fired at the crowd, stoking their panic. He’d set up position in the center room, shooting from a window where he’d removed one of the glass louvers.

To the right of the stage, the local police had cornered the traitor bodyguard in the display area, while a second team of police entered the closed stairwell at the end of the classroom block.

“No,” Lachlan breathed, wishing he was tied in to the comm system for the police. “You bloody idiots. There’s a reason he hasn’t abandoned his position yet. He’s waiting for such an attempt. Turn around. He’s going to—”

The stairwell exploded. Lachlan closed his eyes in regret, then opened them again and waited for the sniper to make his next move. Thirty seconds later, the sniper left his classroom and darted toward the opposite end of the block from the stairwell, putting him closer to Lachlan. When the man reached the railing and paused in preparation of climbing over, Lachlan pulled the trigger. His aim was slightly off due to the unfamiliar weapon and the smoke, but his shots still hit within the kill zone.

“Final shooter down,” he informed Tony with satisfaction.

Lachlan climbed down from the tree. The first sniper’s body still lay where he’d left it. People in the crowd eyed the body nervously or turned their heads as they hurried past. Most of the civilians were now clustered in the center of the field, creating an open area at the edges. In one of those areas not far from the stage, Leticia worked on a woman with gray hair. Half a dozen medical personnel in white lab coats moved from group to group, treating those most in need. A crew worked on putting out the fire at the front of the school.

The immediate threat appeared to be over.

“I’m going to interrogate Dr. Kirk,” Lachlan told Tony. “We’re at the administration building.”

“Best wait ’til I get there,” Tony warned. “With your prejudice against doctors, no one is going to believe any intel you gather unless there’s a witness.”

In reply, Lachlan shut off his mic. He’d been fooled for the last time by a doctor. This time, the facts spoke for themselves.

Dr. Kirk and her buddy Kwesi had brought the MP3 players into the region. Therefore, today’s deaths were their fault.

CHAPTER SIX

“
KWESI
, STOP. HE’S gone. Your air isn’t getting through.”

Helen put her hand on Kwesi’s shoulder as he knelt over his son, frantically giving him mouth-to-mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“No! He will live. He must live.” Kwesi shook free her hand and placed his mouth once again over his son’s.

The raw grief, and guilt, on Kwesi’s face was too much. Helen glanced away, her throat tight, and struggled to maintain her calm, professional exterior. If only there had been a team of paramedics on site, the boy might have had a chance. But he’d sustained too many injuries, including what Helen suspected—but didn’t have the equipment to diagnose—was either a tension pneumothorax or a massive hemothorax. The few medical supplies from the school nurse’s office consisted mainly of sterile wipes and bandages. They didn’t even have a proper tourniquet to stop the blood flow from the gash on the boy’s upper arm, so Helen had resorted to using Kwesi’s belt.

Xetsa dashed into the room, carrying the emergency medical bag Helen kept in the SUV. Helen met her eyes and shook her head. The woman crossed herself, then set the bag down next to Kwesi.

Kwesi’s movements had grown increasingly frantic. He patted his son’s chest, pleading with him to live.

“My brother, I am here.” David knelt and pulled Kwesi into his arms. Kwesi collapsed against his brother’s chest, sobbing.

Helen removed her bloody gloves, then picked up the medical kit and moved away to give the men privacy. “We should set up this building as a trauma center,” she murmured to Xetsa. “Please find Leticia and Theodora and tell them to direct people to bring the wounded here.” She nodded to the library.

“Yes, doctor.” Xetsa hurried away.

“Doctor!” David cried out as he lowered Kwesi to the floor.

Helen grabbed her kit, knelt beside the unconscious Kwesi, then pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “He was shot by one of the attackers,” she told David. “He insisted that I focus my attention on Martin.” She shivered, remembering the shock on Kwesi’s face as the blood had blossomed on the front of his shirt, the lack of emotion on the shooter’s face as he watched Kwesi stagger forward, and Lachlan’s cold, deadly expression as he’d killed the shooter.

Shaking off the memories, she completed a quick examination. The only trauma she spotted was the bullet wound. There was both an entrance and an exit wound, but there was no telling what damage the bullet had done inside his chest. Or how much those injuries had been exacerbated by Kwesi’s vigorous attempts to help save his son’s life.

But something vital had been impacted, because Kwesi struggled to breathe. His eyelids fluttered open. “My fault,” he said yet again.

“Shh,” Helen murmured. “Stay still until we can get you to the hospital.”

“No, let the man speak.” Lachlan strode into the room carrying the shooter’s rifle. “I want to hear how the two of you could have been so cold as to give
children
, including his own son, explosive devices.”

Helen reared back in shock. Is that truly what he thought? That she and Kwesi had been involved? How could he?

David pushed to his feet and blocked Lachlan’s way. “You will leave my brother alone. He had nothing to do with this attack.”

A hint of molten anger slipped through the ice in Lachlan’s eyes. He nodded toward Kwesi. “You heard the man. He admitted guilt.”

“Not me,” Kwesi gasped. Tears rolled down his face. “Did not know…would never…my
son
.” He sobbed and that set off a bout of wet coughing that brought a bloody froth to his lips.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Helen murmured, wiping the blood away. Her hands itched to open up his chest to find the source of the bleeding, but all she had were a pair of scissors intended to cut gauze.

Kwesi shook his head weakly. “My…partner. Should not…have trusted…him.”

“Partner?” Helen glanced up at David, who shook his head and shrugged.

“Said…the guns…were for rebels…in Ivory Repub…lic…” Kwesi continued. “Never for here… Too much money…to refuse…”

“Where are the weapons now?” Lachlan demanded. “How did you bring them into the country? Who is your partner?”

“Arrived in…regular…smuggled cargo…with doctor’s…supplies…”

Helen gasped.

“Sorry, doctor.” Kwesi was seized by another violent bout of coughing. When it was over, he closed his eyes.

“Where are the weapons? Give me the name of your partner.” Lachlan knelt beside Kwesi. “
Tell
me. Help me stop the one behind this attack.”

Kwesi opened his eyes and focused on Helen. “Sorry…my…fault…” He struggled to breathe. “Stop him… Stop…” His body shook under another bout of coughing. When it had finished, he looked up at his brother. “Stop…Natchaba…avenge…my son…”

“I promise this,” David said.

“Thank…you…” Kwesi’s body went still.

David cried out and dropped to the floor next to his brother, letting loose an ululating cry of mourning.

“Come with me.” Lachlan grabbed Helen’s arm and dragged her to her feet.

“What? Wait! I—”

He pulled her across the room and into the headmistress’s office. Then he pushed her into the nearest chair, pinned her wrists to the arm rests with his hands, and loomed over her.

Helen shrank back from the fury rolling off of him.

“You will tell me every detail of your smuggling operation, including where you’ve hidden the weapons. You will tell me where to find this man Natchaba. And then I will hand you over to the local police. I hope they lock you up for the rest of your life.” His fingers tightened painfully on her wrists.

Tears sprang to her eyes, partly from the pain and partly from the familiar sense of betrayal. The very presence of the tears infuriated her. She thrust her chin toward him. “I had
nothing
to do with today’s attack,” she spat. Their faces were so close that their breath intermingled. Remembering their kiss, she wanted to scream in denial.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “You’re not really working for one of the investors, are you? For all I know, you accompanied me to the airfield to make certain that the MP3 players arrived in good condition, then detonated them yourself.”

“I’m one of the good guys.”

“So you say.”

“I’m not the one involved in smuggling those MP3 players into the region. That was Kwesi. And you.”

“Kwesi lost his
son
. If you think he would have put Martin’s life at risk, if you honestly believe that his anguish was faked, then you’re a very warped man.”

“Even if Kwesi wouldn’t have risked his family by participating in today’s attack, you have no such excuse, doctor.” MacKay’s lips curled as he spoke the word doctor, as if he’d tasted something foul.

“This is my home. The villagers are my friends.” Because MacKay was standing over her, she couldn’t glare down her nose at him. Instead, she mimicked his sneer. “But then, I don’t suppose such a cold-blooded killer as yourself knows anything about friendship.”

To her shock, he flinched. Then he released his hold on her hands and stepped back.

What had she said that had struck home?

“Kwesi admitted that the weapons were coming through your airfield,” MacKay reminded her. “He said you knew about his smuggling.”

Helen sprang out of the chair and moved behind it, needing even that small measure of protection from him. “I knew Kwesi was smuggling luxury goods. High-end stereos. Computer equipment. Alcohol. Kwesi and his employees sold the items on the black market then funneled the money back to the villagers. It’s how people survive in these parts. The government has put such high import taxes on items, and customs officials require outrageously large bribes, that most small businesses can’t survive legally.”

She clutched the top of the chair with enough force that her knuckles turned white. “I know it’s against the law, and I thought about turning them in when I learned what was going on. But too many people begged me not to call the authorities. How could I justify throwing the villagers into starvation because the government doesn’t approve of what they’re doing?”

“You left out the part about the weapons smuggling.”

“No, I did not. I periodically checked the boxes coming in through the airfield. I never saw any indication that the items were other than what they appeared.” She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of the man who’d kissed her so passionately. Who’d joked with her staff. The man who’d watched her treat patients at the clinic and teach her health class should have understood that she cared deeply about the villagers.

But all she saw was the familiar suspicion she’d endured throughout her life. “You can honestly stand there and say that after the time we’ve spent together you believe I’m capable of involvement in today’s attack? I’m a doctor, MacKay. I heal people. Not kill them.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he snapped. “Doctors make the deadliest liars.”

Before she could figure out what he meant by that, he added, “Besides, like mother, like daughter, aye?”

The old, familiar pain stabbed her in the heart. MacKay was just like everyone else. He assumed that her mother’s disregard for human life had spilled over into her daughter.
Thanks a lot, mother.