by Donna Young
“Mercer calls me...” Aaron draped the scarf over his face, wiggled his eyebrows. “Minos.”
Chapter Sixteen
The cave lay deep on the west side of the cliffs, far above the ravine.
“Here,” Sandra said, and wiped her fingers over the edge of the entrance. “My initials.”
Booker noted that the SH, while worn from the weather, still remained.
Sandra took the flashlight from her bag, flipped the switch and pointed toward the back of the cave. “There should be a ledge at the top of the wall. I tucked the thermos in a crevice nearby.”
“Let me.” Booker stepped up. He took out his knife and dug between the stone and the hole. “It’s wedged in tight.”
He pulled out a plastic bag. Wrapped inside were several cylinders. Each not much bigger than a small silver thermos.
“Don’t open it,” she cautioned. “The nanites are pressurized inside. The serum will be active. Those cylinders, together, could wipe out half of a continent.”
“So tell me again—” Booker placed the cylinders into the medical bag “—why you kept them?”
“I couldn’t destroy them,” she admitted, her voice suddenly weary. “I was so close, Booker. At the time, I couldn’t let that go. Do you realize how hard it is to let something go that might help millions of people? If I could find the solution, the nanites could attack all different types of diseased cells. Including cancer cells. It would save millions of lives.”
“Was it for that, or your father’s approval?”
“I’ve asked the same question a million times,” she acknowledged. She shoved her hair away from her face. “I think I grew up looking for some kind of recognition. From my father. From Jarek and Quamar. From the General.”
“Why, Doc?” Booker asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re smart. Beautiful.” He thought of the families she helped. “Caring. Loving.”
“My brother.”
“Jamaal?”
Sandra couldn’t hide the sadness. “No. Jamaal is the youngest. And irresponsible. He changes his profession as often as he changes clothes. It drives my father insane.”
“I don’t understand.” Booker studied her face. Noticed the paleness of her cheeks.
“I had another, older brother. No one ever talks about him. Andon was born several years before the rest of us. He died when Jarek and Quamar were very small.”
“How do you know about him?”
“My mother,” Sandra answered. “She kept some of his things hidden from my father. I came home early one day and discovered her with them. She made me swear not to tell my father.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten,” she admitted. She leaned against the wall, hugged her arms to her chest.
“Andon had always been the one,” Sandra explained. “My whole life I lived in the shadow of his ghost.”
“At eleven, right before he died, he told my father he wished to be a surgeon,” Sandra explained. “My father couldn’t have been happier.”
“Your mother told you that?”
“She broke down. One of the only times I’ve seen her that way.”
“How did he die?”
“At the hands of the Al Asheera,” Sandra replied. “They wanted my father to poison King Makrad, Jarek’s father. When my father refused, they tied him up and made him watch while they killed his son.
“My father never recovered. I think that is why most of my life he kept a wall up between Jamaal and myself. He never allowed himself to love us fully.”
“And so Jamaal reacted by being irresponsible.”
“Yes. And he does it very well.” Sandra laughed bitterly.
“And you followed in your father’s footsteps. You chose research to get his attention,” Booker reasoned. “Was it the career you wanted?”
“Yes,” she defended. “Even if I originally became a research scientist for my father, I learned to love my job.”
“And the last few years? What about those?”
“I needed a break, Booker.”
“No, Doc, you’ve been paying penance for screwing up. You came back here, stuck close to your father. Helping him with the royals, because of guilt.”
“When I first found out about Andon, I used to daydream about how my family’s life would have been so much better if he had lived. One big happy family.”
Booker finally understood. “You pursued the research on rapid healing because of your brother’s death.”
“Yes,” Sandra replied. “Logically, I couldn’t have stopped his death, but somehow I’d always wished...”
“That you could have saved your brother.” Booker sighed. “Nothing you do will bring Andon back.”
“Maybe not,” she acknowledged. “But with these cylinders, I might be able to save another family member.”
Booker’s eyes snapped to hers. “What do you mean?”
“I only told one person about my flight to Tourlay. The same person who told me Trygg had escaped.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
* * *
“YOU HAVE NO intention of destroying those cylinders, do you?” Booker demanded. “You need them for a bargaining chip with Trygg. You need to find out how deep your father is involved, and you think you can get Trygg to tell you if you promise him the cylinders.”
“He’s my father,” she said simply.
“Damn it, Doc.” Booker grabbed her arm, pulled her closer. “What makes you think Trygg will tell you the truth?”
“I have to try.” She tugged on her arm, realized she wasn’t going anywhere.
Sandra froze. She saw the anger. The icy blue eyes, the set of his jaw.
But he wasn’t surprised.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Sandra asked, her own rage making her words sharp. “You already knew my father was involved.”
Booker paused a moment. That’s when Sandra saw the flash of truth. If she hadn’t been studying him so close she would’ve missed it.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, McKnight.” Her threat came out in a hiss.
“I suspected your father’s involvement soon after I started my investigation five years ago,” Booker acknowledged. “But if my suspicion is right, he’s been involved much longer than that.”
“Longer...” Sandra shook her head, sharp jerks that showed her confusion, her fear and hurt. “Involvement in what?”
Booker noted the set of her chin, the stubborn line of her mouth, slamming it all back behind faith and trust in her father.
Brave. Loyal. Beautiful. Just like Aaron Sabra had said.
Booker stiffened. Damn it! He should have known. “Doc, does your father know Aaron Sabra?”
“No.” She thought for a moment. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“Because Aaron told me about Trygg’s escape only hours after it had happened. I don’t like coincidences.”
“Neither do I,” Jim Rayo stated from the mouth of the cave entrance.
Sandra and Booker swung around. The colonel held a machine gun, its barrel leveled at Sandra.
“Hand me the bag, McKnight,” he said almost pleasantly.
Two men stood behind him, both with matching machine guns. One keeping watch on the outside. The other staring at Sandra.
Booker stepped in front of Sandra. “You should listen to me when I tell you that you should walk away from all of this, Jim.”
“I take orders from just one person, McKnight. Now if you move again, these bullets will go through you and into her,” Rayo stated. “The only way you are going to keep her safe is to cooperate with me.”
“How did you find us?” Sandra asked. “The storm washed out any tire tracks in the ravine.”
Jim Rayo tapped the back of his head. “After my men kidnapped you, they inserted a GPS pin at the base of your skull. Under the skin.”
Booker swore.
Sandra touched the base of her hairline, remembered the cut. “This whole chase was a setup?”
> “You were always meant to get away,” Jim explained. “McKnight managed to release you earlier than expected, but it all worked out.”
He glanced at the bag. “We suspected you wouldn’t give up their location easily, so we decided to let you lead us to the cylinders. Once I realized Booker came to the rescue, I sent men after you to throw off any suspicion and to motivate you to recover the cylinders. Then I tracked you here,” Jim explained matter-of-factly.
Lewis Pitman stepped into the cave, his face flushed, his breath coming in short gasps. “You could’ve waited for me, Colonel.”
“Hello, Lewis,” Sandra spat. “You should have done us all a favor and fallen off the mountain.”
“I missed you, too, Sandra,” Lewis sneered, then turned to Jim. “Do you finally have them?”
“Give me the cylinders, McKnight,” Jim ordered.
Slowly, Booker tossed the bag to Jim. The colonel caught it with his free hand. He glanced inside, then handed the bag off to Lewis. “Take this back to the helicopter.”
“Helicopter?” Sandra frowned. “But I didn’t hear—”
“They rappelled from above.” Booker nodded toward the gear that hung from the colonel’s waist.
“Always easier,” Rayo answered, then caught Lewis before he left. “Have the men check the perimeter then join you. I’ll be there in a few minutes. With our prisoners.”
When Lewis hesitated, Jim snapped, “That’s an order, Lewis.”
Lewis frowned, but said nothing. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out of the cave.
“He doesn’t like you, Rayo,” Booker commented, smirking. “Imagine that.”
Jim’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, waited until Lewis left. “I have a few questions before we go, McKnight.”
“I see you’re still scraping and bowing to the general.” Booker’s gaze stayed on Rayo’s weapon. “I figured you would have smartened up by now. Most of those who work for Trygg end up dead. Yet he still continues to thrive.”
“Those who have died did so for the right reasons or because they betrayed those same reasons,” Jim replied. “Trygg’s vision is sound, Booker.”
“Even if his mind isn’t?”
“I don’t want your opinions—I want answers,” Jim snapped. “That day when your men died. At Osero. Why were you called away?”
“All right. Since you have the gun, I’ll go along,” Booker replied with a shrug. “I was ordered to escort Doctor Omar Haddad back to Taer. As his personal envoy.”
Sandra gasped. “My father? You were with my father?”
“Yes.” Booker’s gaze caught and held hers, willing her to leave the questions until later.
“Who issued those orders?” Jim demanded.
“Trygg.” Booker widened his stance. “Surprised me, too. So much, I verified the orders with Senator Harper.”
Jim’s fist tightened on the weapon. “That’s impossible. Leaving you alive served no purpose. If anything, it placed the operation in jeopardy.”
“I’m flattered that you think so much of me, Jim,” Booker mocked. “Trygg’s reasoning might not make sense to you, but then again, Trygg isn’t known for sharing all aspects of his strategies. It’s not his style. You know that better than anyone.”
When Jim didn’t answer, Booker took advantage of the silence and shifted forward. Jim lifted the machine gun to his shoulder. “I’m surprised, McKnight, not stupid. You take another step and I will kill you.”
“Just wanted to hear you better.” Booker raised his hands, but his feet stayed planted. “Trygg played you from the beginning, Jim.”
“That’s a lie.” Jim spoke low, clipped each word off with a razor-sharp edge.
“He undermined your self-confidence, taking advantage of the one mistake you made when you were twenty-two years old.”
“He saved me from my mistake.”
“He set you up.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve had it with your theories, McKnight—”
“I’ve had five years. That’s a long time to learn about one’s enemies,” Booker reasoned. “And if you know anything about me, you know I’m thorough.”
Jim waved his gun toward the cave entrance. “We’re done here—”
“Did you know that the man you killed at the bar was there with a friend?”
“Yes,” Jim said abruptly, his features slanted with the uncomfortable memory. “The friend testified against me. Gerald Ivers. He was the prosecution’s main witness.”
“All arranged by Trygg.”
Jim snorted. “Trygg wasn’t interested in me. Hell, at the time I’d only been in his outfit for a month.”
“Don’t fool yourself. Trygg requested you.” Booker glanced back at Sandra. “Just like he did with the doc here. You’d only been military for a few short years, yet you were catching the eye of the upper brass.”
“I was a damn kid,” Jim argued, but doubt clouded his blue eyes.
Booker pressed his advantage. “Do you remember any of it? That night at the bar?”
“I remember all of it,” he answered, his voice hollow now, his pain unconcealed.
“Gerald Ivers picked the fight. Got you so heated up, you drew your knife. When you swung at him, he caught your hand holding the knife, brought it down, sidestepped, then drove it into his buddy’s stomach. With your help, of course. Then he testified later that you’d intentionally stabbed his friend.”
“You’re wrong,” Jim snapped. “You weren’t there.”
“No, but one of the waitresses witnessed the attack,” Booker explained. “She was too afraid to say anything to the authorities, but had no problem telling me. Especially after she heard about Gerald Ivers.”
“What happened to Ivers?”
“He died a week after you were sent to prison.”
“It doesn’t matter. I stabbed Ivers’s friend,” Jim argued. “I was drunk. They were standing so close. I didn’t realize the knife was in my hand until...”
“You were drugged,” Booker stated. “Pretty much the same way you drugged Sergeant Tom Levi the night before you liberated Trygg from that military prison truck.”
Jim stiffened. “How the hell did you know that?”
“It’s typical Trygg style. Set the victim up with a friend. In Tom’s case, it was Sergeant Harold Coffey. Then Trygg kills the friend, too.”
“Coffey was a disgrace to the uniform. A lowlife—”
“They usually are,” Booker interrupted. “Gerald Ivers, a few weeks after he testified against you, ended up dead in the Potomac. He went swimming drunk one night and drowned.”
“Ivers’s death doesn’t change the fact that I killed his friend.” Jim shook his head. “I’d just lost my wife in a car accident. She’d taken a curve too quickly. I was grieving. Angry. Out of my mind.”
“Jim,” Booker said softly. “Your wife had a perfect driving record. She had driven that same route to work a thousand times. Why do you think, on that particular night, she took that curve too quickly?”
“She was a nurse. She’d worked a double shift—”
“How many times had she worked a double shift in her career? A hundred times? A thousand?”
Anger festered with the doubt. “You’re lying. The coroner’s report said it was accidental—no toxic substances were found in her blood—”
“Do you remember who performed the autopsy?”
He tried, but the memory was fuzzy. He’d read it at the bar, after he’d started drinking. “No.”
“It was the same doctor who performed my wife’s autopsy,” Booker stated flatly. “And we both know Emily didn’t die of a miscarriage.”
* * *
LEWIS STEPPED UP ONTO the ridge and unclipped his harness, disgusted. Enough with the walk down memory lane.
Another reason Jim Rayo did not deserve the respect General Trygg bestowed on him.
Lewis had his own plans. And they didn’t include General Trygg or Jim Rayo.
“Y
ou and you.” He pointed at two of the men standing guard by the Black Hawk helicopter. “Help the colonel escort the prisoners when he’s done with his conversation. I will have the pilot relocate down at the base of the ravine and meet you all there.”
“Yes, sir.” Lewis watched the two men disappear over the ledge, then climbed up into the helicopter.
“Let’s go.” Lewis slid on his radio earphones, then raised his hand and pointed down. “Take us to the ravine.”
“Yes, sir.” The pilot flipped the ignition switches and then hit the button to set the blades in motion.
A moment later, the radio beeped in Lewis’s ear.
“Pitman.”
“Lewis, it’s General Trygg. I need to speak with Colonel Rayo. He isn’t answering my transmission.”
“He isn’t available, General.” Lewis kept the satisfaction from his tone. Just.
“Have you obtained the cylinders?”
“Yes, sir. We have,” Lewis answered. “But our flight back has been delayed.”
“Delayed?” Trygg snapped. “What’s the problem?”
“The colonel is interrogating McKnight and Doctor Haddad,” Lewis responded. “I am to meet them at a pickup point down at the base of the ravine when he is done.”
“Interrogating?”
“Yes, sir.” Lewis leaned back in his seat, pictured the frown on Trygg’s features. “The colonel was questioning McKnight regarding some information on a bar fight several years back.”
“I see,” General Trygg replied before pausing a long moment. “You have the cylinders in your possession, Lewis?”
“Yes, sir.”
Another pause. “When they return to the helicopter, I want Doctor Haddad restrained. Then I want you to dispose of Booker McKnight. I don’t want him found, Lewis. Understand me?”
“Colonel Rayo won’t like—”
“That’s an order, Doctor,” Trygg snapped.
“Yes, sir,” Lewis answered. “And if Colonel Rayo objects?”
“Tell him to report to me when you land,” General Trygg said. “I’ll take care of any objections.”
The trip down to the base of the ravine took mere minutes. Beyond the windshields lay an ocean of loose sand and rolling dunes. A good place to dump a body. Give the vultures a day, and no one would ever find McKnight.