He shrugged again. “I am French. We are skilled in the art of the love making.”
“Don’t believe your own press.” She jerked her thumb at the door again. “Now out.”
Jacques smiled and sidestepped past her, stopping in the doorway. “Aren’t you going to ask why I was waiting for you?”
She sighed, exasperated at his antics and her body’s response to them. She kept her back to him. The last thing she needed was him seeing her flustered. “Fine, why were you waiting for me?”
“I was going to tell you that—” His voice cut off, a gurgling sound replacing it as he gasped for breath.
She shook her head as she turned around. “What are you playing it, Jac—”
She screamed, a bloodcurdling eruption cut off within moments as a gun was raised past Jacques and aimed directly at her. The look of shock and pain on Jacques’ face was explained by the large blade shoved through his abdomen, the tip, several inches in length, twisting back and forth as the man it belonged to turned his wrist, scrambling the young doctor’s insides while a hand held tightly over his mouth prevented him screaming from the agony he was clearly in.
She froze, bladder control momentarily forgotten.
She squeezed, stemming the flow, but enough had escaped that if she weren’t so terrified, she might actually be embarrassed.
“You are Sarah Henderson?” asked the large black man with the gun, his partner pulling what appeared to be a machete out of Jacques’ back.
She should have said no, but she wasn’t thinking clearly, and she found her body almost irresistibly nodding as she trembled.
“The doctor?”
She nodded, it not yet occurring to her to ask why she was being asked for by name.
The man flicked the gun, motioning for her to move forward as Jacques was shoved to the side, still gasping for air, unable to speak. Their eyes met and she recognized the look immediately. It was a look she had seen hundreds of times since her arrival in this godforsaken country.
It was the look of someone who knew they were going to die.
“Let me help him.”
The man with the machete reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her out the door. “He’s dead already,” said the man with the gun, looking down at Jacques’ gurgling form, blood flowing freely from the wound.
And she knew he was right. Even with proper medical facilities he would be tough to save. Here? There was no way.
But she felt like she had to do something.
“Please, let me try.”
The man with the gun growled. “Forget him.” He switched the gun to his left hand then motioned with his right for the machete. The man tossed it to him. He swung, swiftly, his hand clearly practiced, and chopped halfway through Jacques’ neck sending a spray of arterial blood across the room, some splashing across the thin white t-shirt she was wearing, some getting into her mouth.
She spat.
Pushing on Jacques’ chest with his boot, he yanked the blade free, taking a moment to wipe it clean on her bed sheets. He tossed it back to her captor, he easily catching it with his hand then holding it against her throat.
Jacques took his last breath, a gasping rattle that had her eyes squeezing shut and looking away as all strength left her.
There was a double-knock on the door. “Sarah! It’s me!”
Sarah watched in horror as Tanya pushed the classroom door open. She was about to shout a warning when a hand was clasped over her mouth, the grip viciously tight. She tried to will a warning toward her friend, her eyes wide, trying to make eye contact through the door, but it was too late. The man with the gun was already at the door, hauling the shocked Ukrainian inside, slamming the door shut as he pressed his gun against her forehead.
“Silence.”
Tanya trembled out a nod as she finally made eye contact with Sarah then whimpered when she saw Jacques’ blood staining her shirt. She gave a questioning look and Sarah motioned slightly toward her room, Jacques’ body still visible through the door.
Tanya fainted.
“Is she a doctor?”
Sarah shook her head. “No.”
“You lie.”
“She’s not a doctor.”
“Then what is she?”
Sarah tried to think of something, a job that they couldn’t possibly find important.
“Sh-she’s a reporter.”
“Then she’s no good to us. Kill her.”
“No wait! She’s a doctor!”
The man glared at her for a moment. “Which is it? Reporter or doctor?”
“Doctor. I’m sorry, I lied.”
The man with the gun motioned at Tanya’s still unconscious figure. “Pick her up.”
The man shoved his machete through a loop on his belt and hauled the poor woman off the floor, flipping her over his shoulder with ease.
“Wh-why are you doing this?”
“To send a message,” replied the man as he poked his head through the open window.
“Wh-what do you mean? A message to whom?”
The man stepped through the window and onto the ground below. He looked back. “You stupid little girl. You know very well who the message is to.” He reached in and grabbed her wrist, hauling her toward the window frame. She yelped and swung herself through, helping protect Tanya’s head as she was roughly handed over.
Tanya began to come to as she was stood up on the grass. And that was when Sarah realized what was going on, what was truly happening. He had asked her name. They were here for her, not some random doctor. They wanted her specifically.
And there was only one reason for it.
Her father.
Vice President Philip Henderson’s Office, The White House, Washington DC
“Mr. Vice President, I—”
Philip Henderson looked up from his laptop as his aide, Vincent Harper, entered the room. His eyes narrowed. Harper was usually a very confident man but the visage being presented now could only be described as one of fear.
But it wasn’t fear.
He had seen fear. Fear was 9/11. Fear was Boston.
This was something different. It wasn’t fear of some external threat.
He’s afraid to tell you something.
“What is it, Vince?”
Harper stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Henderson caught a glimpse of his secretary.
And she looked terrified.
But again, it wasn’t terror.
She’s concerned for you.
His chest tightened. “What’s happened?” he asked, rising, his thoughts immediately of his wife and daughter. “Has something happened to my family?” And as the words came out of his mouth he knew exactly what was going on. He collapsed back into his chair. “It’s Sarah, isn’t it?”
Harper nodded, handing him a file, opening it to the first page.
He didn’t look. “What’s happened? Is she—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. He simply looked up at his old friend and colleague.
“We don’t know, Mr. Vice President. All we know is that there was a murder at the compound she was at, in her room, and that she and another doctor are missing.”
“Murder?” His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white with the strain. “Do they think—”
“No! God no, they don’t think she did it. The man’s head was practically chopped off—”
Henderson gasped and felt himself pale.
Harper lost a few shades as he realized what he had said. “Oh God, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to say that, I mean, I’m sure she’s okay, I mean—” Harper stopped, looking for a chair and dropping into the closest one, grabbing his hair. “I’m so sorry, sir. I just can’t think straight.”
Henderson’s ears were pounding, blood rushing through his system as his heart slammed into his chest. He felt lightheaded.
Breathe!
He suddenly sucked in a breath, exhaling quickly as he let go o
f the one he had been unknowingly holding. The world began to come back into focus.
“Does her mother know?”
Harper shook his head. “Not yet. I figured you’d want to tell her yourself. I’ve ordered the car brought around and have confirmed Mrs. Henderson is home.”
“How—”
“Security detail.”
Henderson nodded, then breathed deeply. “Okay, give me the facts.”
“All we have is the initial report from Doctors Without Borders. One of their doctors—the name is in the file, can’t remember it—French I think—was found murdered in your daughter’s room. They think a machete.”
Henderson winced, causing Harper to stop. “Continue.”
“There was an open window and they think your daughter and another doctor, a female from the Ukraine, were taken out the window by the assailants. There’s no evidence they were hurt, and there’s been no ransom demands, at least not yet.”
“So they might not know who they have.” It was wishful thinking. Of all the doctors to choose from, why his Sarah? He was certain they knew exactly who they had. And that might just save her life, at least for now.
“Possibly.”
Harper sounded as doubtful as he felt.
“We both know they know who they’ve got. I’m guessing this Frenchman got in the way somehow.”
“What about the other woman? Why not kill her?”
“You said she was a doctor?”
Harper nodded.
“Then maybe they’ve got multiple motivations.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, his mind racing through the possibilities. If it were just his daughter, he would dismiss the possibility they were looking for a doctor. But to take two? He paused. “Any word of supplies being stolen at the same time?”
Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Supplies?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t know, not that I know of. That’s more the CIA’s department.”
“Get them on it.” He pushed himself up, straightening his tie. “I have to go tell my wife that her daughter is missing and I might be the cause of it.”
Freetown, Sierra Leone
Dr. Sarah Henderson squeezed her eyes shut as the hood she had been wearing since their abduction was ripped off her head. She tentatively opened her eyes, blinking several times before finally focusing. She was sitting on a chair in what looked like a small warehouse, big enough to fit what appeared to be three transport trucks and a dozen men loading supplies into them.
Tanya was sitting beside her, eyes red, cheeks stained from tears, her bottom lip still trembling. The man who had held the gun during their abduction approached. He was wearing what appeared to be an army uniform. “I am Major Koroma and you are my guests.”
Sarah’s eyebrows popped up at this.
Guests?
The man had killed their colleague, assaulted them, kidnapped them, and he had the audacity to call them his guests? Apparently her expression was enough to convey her feelings on the matter.
“I see you don’t believe me. That is understandable. You must understand that what happened was necessary.”
“Killing Jacques was necessary?”
Koroma nodded. “A necessary evil as you Americans might say. His death will serve a greater purpose in the days to come.”
“I fail to see any way in which his murder could benefit anyone.”
Tanya whimpered, apparently terrified that Sarah was making it worse, and Sarah had to admit part of her was screaming at her to shut up, but she found she couldn’t. She hadn’t been raised that way. Her father had taught her from the beginning to speak up and to speak out, especially when an injustice was being committed.
And she could think of no greater injustice than murder.
Not to mention the fact there were now three less doctors at their treatment center. The impact would be dramatic, there only being ten of them to begin with. And that assumed they were the only two captives. For all she knew there could be others.
Major Koroma smiled. “That is because your view is shortsighted and based upon a lack of information.”
For the first time Sarah noticed how well the major spoke English. Though English was the official language of Sierra Leone, it was not what was most commonly spoken. Amazingly, the lingua franca of Sierra Leone was descendent from Nova Scotian settlers, forced south from their homes centuries ago. Creole was the resulting language that had developed among these settlers, slaves and Caribbean natives, and after slavery had been abolished in the United States and many slaves were repatriated to West Africa, the Krio language resulted. A mix of many languages, it was spoken by 97% of the population of Sierra Leone, resulting in a heavily accented English when spoken by most locals.
But this man sounded American.
“Why don’t you enlighten us?” she said, trying to keep the disdain in her voice to a minimum.
“In good time. Unfortunately we are on a tight schedule and must leave at once.” He motioned to one of his men, also in uniform, and the ropes binding their hands were cut. Sarah gingerly rubbed her wrists, finding no cuts, only minor abrasions, her struggles minimal after Jacques’ beheading.
“What will happen to us?” she asked as Koroma motioned for them to stand.
“You will come with me in the lead vehicle. She will go with the lieutenant.” He nodded toward the man who had cut the bindings. “You will show your identification at any checkpoints we encounter and tell them that you are doctors transporting supplies to the Ebola treatment center in Port Loko.”
“Port Loko? That’s awfully far.”
“We’re not going there, you’re just telling them that’s where we’re going.”
“Then where are we going?”
“That’s none of your concern.” He pointed at her chest. “But make no mistake, should you try anything, either of you, you will both die horribly slow deaths.”
Tanya yelped, slapping her hands over her mouth and Sarah felt her own knees weaken slightly. This was real. It was serious.
And she needed to shut up before she got them both killed.
“Do you understand?” asked Koroma, stepping closer.
She nodded.
“Good.” He pointed to the nearest truck. “Get in.” He pointed at the second truck, looking at Tanya. “You, over there.”
Tanya shook her head rapidly. The lieutenant stepped forward, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the open door, Tanya struggling the entire way. He stopped and punched her in the stomach, Tanya doubling over, gasping in pain.
“Hey, that isn’t necessary!” cried Sarah as she rushed toward her friend. Major Koroma caught her by the arm before she could reach her, his grip viselike. “She’s just scared. Let her travel with me.”
“No.”
“Please. If she’s with me, she’ll be okay.”
“No, that is not the plan. In fact…” Koroma let go of her arm and pulled his weapon from its holster. He walked over to Tanya, still doubled over in pain, placing it against the top of her head. “She was never part of the plan.”
The weapon cocked.
“No!”
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Senior Analyst Chris Leroux nodded at the others gathered in his boss’ office. He recognized them all as heads of various groups like his own team of eight. The best of the best were here. Not agents, not spies, but analysts. He and the others were the people that gathered the intel that agents like his friend Dylan Kane acted upon.
And judging by the look on his boss’ face, they were about to get very busy.
National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison looked up from a file on his desk, nodding at Leroux. “I’ll be brief,” he said, Leroux not knowing him to be anything but. “Several hours ago the Vice President’s daughter was kidnapped in Sierra Leone along with another doctor, a Ukrainian national. A third doctor, a French national, was murdered we believe during the kidnapping. She was volunteering at an Ebola
clinic as part of Doctors Without Borders.” He closed the file. “And that’s all we know.”
“No ransom demand?” asked one.
“Not yet.”
“Do they know who they have?” asked Leroux, it to him the most pertinent question. If they knew, then this was politically motivated. If they didn’t, then it could simply have been a random snatch and grab.
A much more dangerous situation.
“We’re not sure, but the fact it was her of all people suggests they did.”
“But we have no proof.”
“Not yet.”
Leroux pursed his lips. “They took the two female doctors, but not the male doctor.”
“Correct.”
“Perhaps because they felt they would be easier to control.”
“But that assumes she wasn’t the target,” said Donovan Eppes, another section head that Leroux respected immensely. He was also about fifteen years Leroux’s senior, gatherings like this always reminding him of just how young he was. Now late twenties, Morrison had taken him under his wing and taken advantage of his ability to take often disparate information and find links between them that no one else seemed to make.
It was a gift. And a curse.
He had no desire to supervise staff but he had been given one despite his protests.
He was moving up the ladder, kicking and screaming the entire way.
His girlfriend, Sherrie White, an agent with the CIA, and way out of his league, was supportive, understanding his shy ways but trying to convince him that the additional resources would allow him to help more people.
While true, he was finding too much of his time was now admin work.
And no help to anyone except the HR department.
“Not necessarily,” said Leroux to Eppes. “If they were just after her, then why take the other doctor? They obviously didn’t have a problem killing. Why not just kill her and leave with the one hostage. That would be much easier to deal with.”
“What are you thinking?” It was Morrison that asked the question the entire room had on their minds, everyone well aware of Leroux’s talents.
Payback Page 4