He shifted in his chair as all eyes were now on him. “Well, umm, if it were up to me, I’d be, well, looking to see what else happened in the area around the same time.”
“Such as?”
“Well, they just kidnapped two doctors. Did they also take supplies? Was anyone else kidnapped? Killed?”
Morrison leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You’re suggesting they took them as doctors, not hostages.”
Leroux shrugged. “Just a thought. It’s the Ukrainian. Was she sharing a room with Doctor—what’s her name?”
“Sarah Henderson. She kept her maiden name when she married.”
“Probably not wise in hindsight,” observed Eppes.
“Why not?” asked Cindy Fowler. “A woman can’t keep her name?”
Eppes groaned. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Cindy, not everything’s a women’s rights issue. All I meant was that if she had her husband’s name, they might not have made the connection with her famous father.”
“And if she were a he?”
“What of it? Then he’d be in the exact same damned boat as she is. Why don’t we stick to reality rather than your conspiratorial fantasy? She is a she, with the same last name as her father, the Vice President.”
“I’ll stick to reality, as long as you stick to the relevant facts. The fact that she kept her maiden name isn’t relevant.”
“Oh, blow it out your ass.”
“Enough!” snapped Morrison, the exchange too familiar among the group. Eppes and Fowler hated each other. They had dated about ten years ago and the breakup had been bitter, apparently wedding plans involved. Leroux didn’t know much of the story, and he didn’t want to know. The personal lives of his colleagues was no concern of his.
And right now it was just interfering with the real issue.
Morrison motioned toward Leroux. “You were saying, Chris?”
“Were they sharing the room?”
“No, I don’t think so, but we’ll have to have that confirmed. Our intel is very sketchy at the moment.”
“Well, if we assume no, then she was a target of opportunity most likely. They could have killed her right then and there, making their resolve even clearer to the Vice President. But the fact they didn’t suggests they saw a use for her too.”
“Her skills as a doctor,” said Eppes, his head bobbing slowly as his red cheeks slowly returned to their normal pasty pale white. “So if you kidnap a couple of doctors…”
“You probably want them to treat somebody, which means they need equipment, supplies.”
Morrison pointed at him. “Your team is on that.”
Leroux nodded.
“Are there going to be boots on the ground?” asked Fowler.
Morrison nodded. “I think you can count on it.”
Belme Residence, West Luzon Drive, Fort Bragg
“Uncle Dog, can you fix my train set?”
Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson looked over at young Bryson Belme as he tugged on his t-shirt. Dawson was the young boy’s Godfather, a responsibility he took very seriously. The little guy had been in his life coming up on nine years now and he had to admit he was quite fond of the kid.
“Leave your uncle alone, Bryson, Daddy will fix it later.”
Dawson put his beer down on the patio table and winked at Bryson’s mom Shirley. “You know Red, he’ll just break it.”
Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme flipped him the bird from the barbeque.
“Mike! Not in front of Bryson!”
Red made a face at Bryson who giggled. “Sorry, hon.”
Dawson followed Bryson into the house and down the hall to his room. It was a simple, humble home, provided by the military for a reasonable rent. A lot of the guys had them, especially the married ones. He lived on-post as well though he spent little time there now, his girlfriend Maggie having a nice place in town and the perks of staying over outweighing his Xbox One.
A quick fix of the accidentally knocked apart tracks and Bryson was up and running after a hug of thanks. Dawson returned to the patio to find steaks coming off the grill.
“Success?”
“Reading Railroad is running again.”
Red slapped a steak on Dawson’s plate as he sat down. “How many times do I have to tell you, ‘reeding’, not ‘redding’?”
“And how many times do I have to tell you you’re wrong?”
Shirley turned toward the open patio door. “Bryson, supper!”
Tiny feet pounding on parquet could be heard before the little bundle of energy burst through the door. He climbed into his chair and grabbed the hamburger his father ladled onto the plate.
“Give me your plate, BD, I’ll fix you up with some salad.”
Dawson handed his plate to Shirley who spooned a large helping of homemade potato salad then a three bean affair that he never would have thought he’d like but actually did, he never a bean person. It was fairly standard fare here, steak and cold salads a regular occurrence at the Belme household.
And he had an open invite.
Red was his best friend. Best he had ever had. They were as close as any two men could get without actually sleeping together and with their bond forged under fire, they were tight. He couldn’t imagine life without his friend or the family that had taken him in. He had a sister that wasn’t too far away. She was married with a daughter, and he adored his niece Tammy, but saw them far too infrequently. He was making more of an effort though ever since his job had dragged them into his secret world when he and his team had been targeted by a madman. He still hadn’t completely forgiven himself for their kidnapping. It wasn’t his fault, and his sister continually told him that, but he still felt responsible.
It had been a bad day, and he counted himself lucky. Their good friend Stucco and his family hadn’t been so lucky, murdered while he and the rest of the team stood powerless to save them.
It had changed them all.
They had lost men before in combat, but those were missions. In the field you knew you could die. But at home, on base? With your family?
Never.
Their identities were protected, their jobs classified, their deployments secret.
But that day, someone had figured out who they were.
And it had made them all that much more cautious.
“It’s too bad Maggie couldn’t join us today,” said Shirley as he cut into his steak. Blood flowed freely.
Yum!
“Rare enough for you?” asked Red as he cut into his own.
Dawson dropped his ear to within an inch of the steak. “Bryson, do you hear that?”
“What?” asked the boy between chews.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” scolded Shirley.
“Sorry, Mommy,” replied Bryson, repeating the offense.
Shirley shook her head.
Bryson swallowed and leaned toward Dawson’s steak. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I swear I heard a ‘moo’.”
Bryson stood in his chair, leaning over the table, getting his ear as close as he could. “I don’t hear it.”
Red bent over, his head under the table. “Moooo.”
“I heard it!” Bryson’s face brightened as he leaned in closer. Then he frowned. “You can’t eat that, Uncle Dog. It’s alive!”
Red laughed, mooing as he sat back up.
“Daddy!”
Bryson looked pissed and Dawson tousled his hair as he sat back in his seat. “Don’t worry, Bryson, we’ll get him back later.”
“So where’s Maggie?”
“Visiting her sister,” said Dawson as he dabbed his steak in a bit of horseradish, finally getting his first bite. Oh God yeah! He pointed at the rib eye with his fork. “Fanfriggintastic.”
“Not bad if I do say so myself,” replied Red, taking a sip of beer.
“Hey, don’t act as if you raised, slaughtered and aged the thing.” Dawson winked at Bryson, eliciting a giggle.
&nb
sp; “Hey, I’ll have you know if it weren’t for my barbecuing skills you’d be eating a slab of charcoal right now.”
“Hey, I thought we agreed we wouldn’t talk about that ever again!” cried Shirley, mock horror on her face.
Dawson laughed. “The one time you cooked the steaks—”
“Cooked? I did a quick recon for the flamethrower. Ow!” Red reached down and massaged where Shirley had kicked him. He looked at Dawson. “BD, I think I’m injured. I’ll have to sit out the next op.”
“Suck it up, princess.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned.
Everyone became silent, even Bryson stopping in mid-chew, he far too familiar with their lives constantly being interrupted with the job.
“Hello?”
“Mr. White, you’re needed at the flower shop.”
“Twenty minutes.”
He pocketed the phone and attacked his steak. “I’ve got five minutes to stuff this in me.”
“I can pack it up for you if you’d like,” offered Shirley.
“What, and fail the challenge in front of me?” mumbled Dawson through chews, his hand covering his mouth.
Bryson pointed. “Hey! He talked with his mouth full.”
Dawson turned and opened his half full mouth at Bryson. He laughed.
“BD, you’re just encouraging him!” admonished Shirley.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, winking at Bryson.
“What do you think it is?” asked Red as he took his time with his own steak.
Dawson shrugged as he swallowed. “Probably an op.”
“Do you think Mike will have to go?” asked Shirley, reaching out and squeezing her husband’s hand.
“Depends on the op. If it’s just a four man team, I’ve got Niner, Jimmy and Atlas on deck.” Dawson stuffed another piece of steak in his mouth then reached for his beer. “Oops, better not.”
Red was in mid sip. “Shit, yeah.”
“I’ll get you two some water,” said Shirley, heading for the kitchen.
“This is why I’m a firm supporter of the space program,” said Red as he shoveled some potato salad into his face.
“Me too. The day we meet the damned Ferengi and get the recipe for synthehol, the world will be a better place.”
“Amen to that,” said Red, smiling at his wife as he took the glass of ice water she was handing him.
“What’s syntheball?” Bryson didn’t look at them as he asked the question, he instead holding his finger above his head, a piece of processed cheese on the tip of it.
“All the reward, none of the punishment,” replied Dawson as he finished the last bite of his steak.
“What’s that mean?”
“Your dad will explain it to you when you’re twenty-one,” said Shirley.
“If you’re anything like your dad, it’ll be a lot sooner than that.” This time Dawson got kicked after a smiled glare from Shirley.
Bryson shrugged, sucking the cheese off his finger.
Dawson wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and rose, waving off Red who began to stand. “If it’s nothing, I’ll be back.”
“It’s never nothing.”
“True dat.”
“Who are you, Niner?”
Dawson laughed at the mention of their Korean American comrade. Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung was the life of any party and the quickest wit he had ever met. He was also one hell of a sniper.
“If you tell him I said that I’ll deny it to my grave.” He bowed slightly to Shirley. “Thank you, as always, for a delicious dinner.”
“You’re always welcome, BD. I just wish you didn’t have to rush off.”
He shrugged, eyeing the salad still on his plate. “You know—”
Shirley leapt to her feet. “I’ll get you a container and a fork.”
He grinned at Red. “I’ll eat it at the stop lights.”
“There’s no lights between here and The Unit.”
“Stop signs?”
“Main gate, maybe. Just don’t eat it in front of the Colonel. You know what happened last time.”
“Yeah, how could I forget!” The last time he had arrived chowing down on some of Shirley’s cooking from a Tupperware container the Colonel had made him phone Red and bring him some.
Shirley had only been too happy to prepare a plate.
They all respected the Colonel, and he them. Colonel Thomas Clancy was a soldier’s soldier who understood combat and the risks that came with it. And he always had their backs. Even when they were on an op where if caught their government would deny they knew anything about them, Clancy would be working the back channels to free them.
He strongly believed in the ‘no man left behind’ doctrine.
Shirley appeared with a Tupperware container and quickly filled it with salad and made a jab at what remained of her husband’s steak.
He blocked her fork with his knife. “Hey, I’ve killed for less.”
“He has,” agreed Dawson, laughing. He took the container and fork, thanking her. He looked at Bryson. “See ya later, little man.”
Bryson stood on his chair and saluted. Dawson snapped him a quick salute and headed for his car parked in front of the Belme residence. Just the sight of his prized 1964½ Mustang convertible in original poppy red, handed down to him by his father, brought a smile to his face. He jumped in, revved the engine and hit the gas, the tires giving a pleasant chirp as he glanced at the salad on the passenger seat.
And already his spine was tingling with excitement in anticipation of heading out once again.
I love my job!
Leaving Freetown, Sierra Leone
“Your friend better not give us away,” said Major Koroma as the driver geared down for the approaching checkpoint. It was dark now, the area lit by harsh lights, their glare bathing the entire area in a clinical blue-tinged white, several flashlights now playing across their windshield as the guards approached.
Tanya whimpered and Sarah squeezed her hand. “Put your head on my shoulder, pretend to be asleep.” Tanya’s head quickly dropped onto her shoulder, her entire body still trembling. Sarah had pleaded with Koroma not to kill her, convincing him that if he needed doctors, Tanya was one of the best.
He had spared her life.
Which had confirmed one thing to her.
If she had been taken because of who she was, she had also been taken because of what she was. The fact this argument had saved Tanya, and they were riding in the front of a three vehicle convoy loaded with medical supplies in an Ebola stricken country, meant there was more than one motive at play.
She was certain a ransom demand of some sort would be forthcoming, she fully expecting to have to read some prepared statement condemning her father and the American way of life while pleading for money for some bullshit cause. She was pretty sure Koroma had called the driver Muhammad, and this being a majority Muslim country, she wouldn’t be surprised if these were Islamic terrorists, beheading Jacques certainly a dead giveaway. During her briefing before coming here she had been told of the growing problem of Muslims burning Christian churches and murdering those they considered infidels. They never expected a problem in Freetown, most people living peacefully, especially with the shared misery of this epidemic. The biggest danger now was from communities turning on their neighbors that were infected or suspected to be infected.
Which was why every single patient who was either confirmed not to be infected, or cured, was given a certificate proving they had been tested free of the virus.
As the truck came to a stop, two police officers walked up to the passenger side window, obviously knowing the man in charge never drove. They demanded something in Krio, a language Sarah found curiously frustrating because she spoke English and French fluently, could pick out at least a quarter of the words, but was usually left baffled as to what was actually being said. Major Koroma, sitting at the passenger side window, responded then jerked a thumb at her.
�
��Explain your business,” said one of the policemen when she leaned over, Tanya’s head sliding down her arm.
She should’ve used the driver’s shoulder.
“We’re doctors from Médecins Sans Frontières. We’re transporting supplies to the Port Loko Ebola Treatment Center.”
The man took a step back. “You infected?”
She smiled, as disarming a smile as she could manage under the circumstances. “Absolutely not, none of us are. We’re merely delivering supplies.”
The man’s partner frowned. “What’s wrong with her then?” he asked, motioning toward Tanya with his chin. “She sick?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, just dead tired. We worked all day today in protective gear. It can reach forty-six degrees Celsius in there.”
The man’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, it’s true, my brother, he works at a clinic. He said it is extremely hot.” He stepped back and waved them through. “Good luck, doctors.”
“Thank you,” replied Sarah as the driver put the truck in gear and pulled away. No one said anything until they had placed a good quarter mile between them and the checkpoint. Koroma watched in the side view mirror then turned to the driver.
“We’re clear.”
Tanya gasped, suddenly bolting upright, Sarah having forgot for a moment that she had been faking sleep. Tanya leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “I think I peed my pants.”
Sarah took Tanya’s hand in hers and squeezed. “It’s okay, I did earlier.” She reached over with her other hand and gently pushed Tanya’s head onto her shoulder. “Get some sleep, you’re safe for now.”
“There will be several more checkpoints before we reach our destination,” said Koroma, holstering the weapon she just noticed he had been hiding in his lap. “We’ll reach the village in the morning.”
Sarah leapt on the revelation. “Village? What village?”
Koroma frowned. “No place you’ve ever heard of, I assure you. No place my government has ever heard of apparently either.”
“Is there an outbreak there? Is that what the supplies are for? Why you’ve taken us?”
“You’ve been taken because of who you are, Dr. Henderson. The fact you’re a doctor and your friend is just means you’ll survive longer.”
Payback Page 5