Shirley gasped, everything starting to spin again.
“Mommy!”
She squeezed Clancy’s hand, hard, then looked down at Bryson.
Be strong for him!
“When will you know?” she finally managed.
“Testing will be done immediately. He’s on his way to a hospital now that’s equipped to handle this. They’re the best, and if he does have it, it’s been caught immediately. I give you my word that everything will be done to save your husband.”
Shirley wiped the tears out of her eyes and stared up at Clancy for a minute.
“I’m going to hold you to that, Colonel.”
She pushed herself to her feet, straightened her blouse then wiped her eyes dry with a tissue handed her by Maggie.
“Now take me to my husband.”
Howard University Hospital, Washington, D.C.
Red held out his wrist as yet more blood was taken. He was hooked up to an IV drip and half a dozen monitors, constantly being checked by medical personnel he’d never be able to pick out of a lineup, their gear hiding them from him. He was in total isolation.
He felt like a lab rat, a specimen to be measured and examined.
In their defense, the staff were excellent, always talking to him, trying to be personable, but the down time was long and boring with entirely too much time to think.
He was scared.
Yes, scared for himself, but more for his family. The idea of his son growing up without him was crushing, of his wife grieving then moving on almost debilitating in his imagined transgressions.
But he would want her to move on, to be happy, to find a new husband who would take care of her, and she him.
To be a father to Bryson.
His chest heaved once, just once, the thought of Bryson calling another man Daddy killing him inside.
You’re not dead yet.
He thought of what the paramedic had said.
Fight.
And that’s what he was going to do. He was going to fight this disease, he was going to beat it, and he was going to kill the bastards responsible.
His blood pressure and heart rate triggered an alarm. He glanced over at the monitor and took a deep breath, slowing his heart rate back to normal within a few seconds as he set the thoughts of revenge aside for now.
“Are you okay?” asked one of the nurses, coming over to check the monitor.
“Yeah, just thinking too much.”
She chuckled. “That’s to be expected. But we need to keep your blood pressure and heart rate as normal as possible, okay?”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s easier said than done.” She began to walk away when he reached out and touched her arm. She jumped. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t touch you guys.”
“No, it’s okay, what is it?” she asked, turning back toward him.
“Is it true that ninety-percent die from this thing?”
She shook her head. “That’s worst case scenario in Africa. People don’t die from the virus, they die from the effects of the virus, usually organ failure. We’ve got all the tools we need here to keep you alive, all the medicines to control the essentials. We’ll keep everything in balance, give you the right meds, and you’ll be right as rain before you know it.”
Red allowed himself a slight smile. “You’re a good liar.”
She did a quick bow. “Community theatre!” She placed a gloved hand on his. “But I was being serious. This is the place to be if you have this disease, and this is the time to be here. You were exposed only a couple of hours ago. All we need from you is to tell us every little thing that doesn’t feel right as soon as it doesn’t feel right. Don’t try to tough things out. You tell us, immediately, and we’ll act on it. The only other thing we need from you is to never give up. No matter how bad things get, no matter how horrible you feel, or how hopeless things may seem, never lose your will to live, your will to fight this thing. If you’re infected, things will get bad, they will get worse before they get better, but you need to remember that you will get better.” She paused. “You said you’ve got a wife and son?”
Red nodded.
“What’s his name?”
“Bryson.”
“Well, every time you feel like giving up, you think of Bryson, and remember that twenty-four hours is a long time, and a lot can happen in that time. Ever had the flu?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Well, just remember how horrible you felt with that, and how quickly you felt better once it had passed. This will be ten times worse than that, but you’ll feel better ten times faster once you start to turn the corner.”
“Ten times worse, eh? I think we need to discuss your bedside manner.”
There was a knock on the glass and he turned to see Shirley pressed against the glass, holding Bryson, Colonel Clancy, Spock and Maggie behind them. He waved, the desperate urge to hold them both, to feel their touch, almost overwhelming.
But they were here.
And the mere sight of his son was enough to steel his resolve to survive.
The nurse flicked a switch on is bedside. “Use this to talk to them. They can hear you now.”
“Hi guys, how are you?”
He could hear Shirley sobbing through the speaker, Bryson’s eyes red but seemingly excited to see his father. Shirley looked about for a microphone, then just tried talking. “Are you okay?”
Red nodded. “I feel fine, just not happy about being cooped up. How are you guys doing?”
“We’ll be fine, don’t you worry about us.”
“Where will you be staying?”
Clancy stepped forward. “We’re arranging for a hotel nearby for both of them. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything.”
“What’s the latest, Colonel?”
“BD and the others rescued the doctors, no casualties. Henderson is on her way back now with the team.”
“That’s good. Koroma?”
“We don’t know where he or his men are yet, but we’ll find them.”
Red paused then looked at Spock. “Hey, buddy, you been cleared?”
Spock stepped forward. “I’ve got to take my temperature every damned few hours for the next three weeks, but other than that, I’m good to go.”
“That’s good to hear. Doesn’t look like I’m going to be that lucky.”
“Hey, I’ve been talking to the doctors here. You’re going to do just fine. Apparently one of the Ebola survivors here matches your blood type and they’ve already agreed to donate. You’ll be just fine.”
“Well, let’s not waste any of that good stuff on that asshole.”
“Mike!”
“Sorry, dear.” Red grinned at his giggling son. “A-hole.”
“That’s not much better.”
“Genuinely misunderstood individual?”
“Better,” laughed Shirley, putting Bryson down on a chair that Spock had pushed up against the window.
“So, am I up sh—the creek for what I did?” he asked Clancy.
“What did you do? My understanding from Spock and Agent McKinnon is that you stopped the attacker, were injected in the process, then Vice President Kargbo confessed to his involvement and injected himself, committing a very slow suicide.”
Spock leaned forward. “That’s exactly how I remember it.”
Red laughed, a smile breaking out on his face as Bryson pressed his lips against the glass and blew, his cheeks puffing out with a farting sound. “Sounds good to me. My report will be a little late though, Colonel.”
Clancy chuckled. “You’re excused.” He jabbed a finger at him. “This time.” He placed a hand on Bryson’s shoulder. “Well, big man, why don’t we go find something to eat and let your mom and dad have some private time.”
Bryson’s head bobbed up and down in excitement, the little guy knowing damned well he was about to get junk food.
“Bye, Daddy!” Bryson waved and jumped down from the chair, taking the Colonel’s hand as they wave
d to Red then headed off, leaving Shirley alone at the window.
But it wasn’t private time, there two nurses in the room with him.
“How are you doing, hon?”
Shirley burst into tears, pressing against the glass as his heart broke at the sight of the woman he loved falling apart.
“Not good.”
“Listen, hon, everything’s going to be okay. I need you to be strong for Bryson and for me. While I’m stuck in here, you need to take care of things out there, okay?”
“O-okay.”
“I’m going to be in here for weeks probably, so you need to plan on that.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Have you told my parents?”
She shook her head. “No, there was no time.”
“Okay, then I need you to get yourself together and call Mom. Knowing them they’ll be here before the day’s out and they’ll help you with Bryson. He can’t stay here, he has to go to school. Let them take care of him and if you need anything, just ask one of the guys. They’ll do whatever needs to be done, okay. Remember, The Unit will always take care of you guys.”
She nodded. “I know,” she murmured, holding a hand against the glass, the fingers splayed open. “I just wish I could hold you right now.”
“Me too, hon, me too.” He could feel his control loosening, the one thing he hated more than anything else in the world the sight of his wife in pain. “Now, why don’t you go splash some water on your face and give them a call. The sooner you do, the sooner they’ll be here to help you.”
“Okay,” she said, turning to leave.
“Oh, and hon?”
She turned back to face him.
“When Niner gets back, tell him you need him to do some dishes or laundry or something then tell me what he says.”
She strangled out a sobbed-laugh as Red grinned at her, waving as she turned to leave. He pushed himself up on his elbows, not wanting to let her out of his sight for a single second, then when she finally turned a corner, he lay back down and turned his head away from the glass.
And silently prayed, a well of tears in his eyes finally running over the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow as self-pity threatened to overwhelm him.
He squeezed his hands tight, the fingernails digging into his palms.
Fight!
John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City, New York
Koroma handed over his passport to the US Customs and Border Protection Officer. He was exhausted from the flight and wasn’t exactly feeling himself. It had been two days since Sarah Henderson had injected him with the virus, and from what he understood, the method of infection and the amount of the injection being far more than a drop, meant he could very well be already showing symptoms. He had been relieved to pass the temperature check both in Senegal and upon arrival here, everyone from his part of the world being screened.
But as had been proven time and again, a normal temperature didn’t mean you weren’t infected, or infectious only hours later.
“The purpose of your visit?”
“Business with a little bit of pleasure,” replied Koroma with a tired smile. “I’m attending a conference on Ebola then I hope to pay my respects at Ground Zero on behalf of my government.”
His diplomatic passport was scanned and the officer looked at the screen. “Why did you come through Senegal and not Freetown?”
“I haven’t been in Freetown for at least a month. It was the best way to guarantee to your government that I wasn’t infected.”
The man handed him his passport back. “Rough there?”
Koroma nodded. “You have no idea.”
“No, I guess I wouldn’t.” He waved him through. “Enjoy your stay, Dr. Vandy.”
“Thank you.”
Koroma followed the throngs of passengers, his eyes scanning the crowds, slowly picking out his men as they headed for the exit. He glanced up at a television screen and paused as he read the headline.
UPDATE ON FAILED ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT
He frowned, continuing forward. He had heard the news in Senegal that the attempt on Henderson had failed. It was unfortunate it wasn’t one of his men assigned to the task, instead a civilian volunteer used. It had been necessary to use an existing embassy employee since security would be incredibly tight and a new arrival would be a red flag to any security chief worth his salt. Kargbo had delivered the vial, the blood taken by himself before Sarah had even known of the plan. According to everything he had read in planning the operation, he knew injecting the blood would be enough, but getting vials of blood into the United States would be impossible outside of using a diplomatic pouch.
Enter Kargbo.
Kargbo’s entire family had died from the virus at the outset months ago and had become one of the leading figures in his country in trying to raise awareness of the need to take drastic measures to stop the virus from spreading.
He had been accused of fear mongering.
Unfortunately, eventually, he had been proven right.
When Koroma’s wife and son had died, Kargbo visited him to offer his condolences, Koroma’s wife Kargbo’s niece. Their deaths had come fresh on the heels of word that Vice President Henderson had voted against additional funding to help fight the outbreak, casting a rare tie-breaker vote in a split Senate.
It had enraged many in West Africa, including himself and Kargbo.
It was then that their plan had been hatched.
It began as casual conversation, wishful thinking, then as the night progressed, the ideas flowing, they realized that actual revenge could be possible, for they had the ultimate weapon at their disposal.
The virus itself.
It took months to finalize the plans and recruit the necessary people, almost two dozen volunteers recruited in the United States, all men he could trust, all men he had grown up with as a child, all men heartbroken by what their adopted country had done to their homeland through its inaction.
It wasn’t enough to extract money and resources out of America; that had already begun. It was time to punish America for all that he and his country had lost, so that if it ever happened again, they might remember their own horror and act quickly so it never again reached their shores.
And Vice President Henderson would have been the symbol for America’s politicians the next time a vote of this type came up. His infection with the virus, even if he didn’t die, would be an event that would echo in every politician’s memory for years and decades to come.
But the coup de grâce was to be Henderson’s daughter.
When Kargbo had visited him with the exciting news that Henderson’s daughter had just arrived in Freetown as a volunteer, they had quickly revised their plans to include her. Should their attempt on Vice President Henderson fail, his daughter’s death because of his actions would punish the man for the rest of his life.
The plan had been triggered with Vice President Okeke’s visit to the United States, his assassination necessary so Kargbo could take his place, his political maneuvers beforehand setting it up so he would be the clear choice.
It had worked.
And with the kidnapping of Henderson’s daughter, Kargbo had immediately called for a face-to-face meeting with him to discuss the situation, which they knew couldn’t be refused, the event too public.
But with the doctors’ rescue, the discussion had been turned into a celebration.
It was the one piece of news he had learned in Senegal that had disappointed him. Apparently the doctors hadn’t been killed by Mustapha as he had ordered, American and British Special Forces having freed them only hours after he had left.
Henderson wouldn’t feel the pain he felt, but it didn’t matter.
His village was now being looked after, his actions saving it from certain doom, and the Henderson family would be changed forever.
And now it was time to change America.
Forever.
Approaching US Airspace
“We were able to t
rack two vehicles leaving Samaia, heading north. Satellites picked them up heading for the capital Conakry on the coast and eventually the port. We managed to find the ship they boarded, the Captain saying he was paid in advance to take on nine passengers, no questions asked. He dropped them off in Dakar, Senegal overnight. There’s a direct flight from Dakar to JFK every day that leaves at one-fifteen in the morning local time. We think they boarded that flight.”
Dawson frowned. “Anybody from Sierra Leone on that flight?”
“Lots, but no red flags. The government is using Dakar to shuttle their people back and forth. They’ve sort of set up a temporary headquarters for the privileged there so they aren’t at risk of catching the disease and can easily travel throughout the world on diplomatic missions without terrifying their hosts.”
“Makes sense,” replied Dawson, already having experienced the delays the disease could cause. They had been delayed in Freetown a full day waiting for permission to leave, and with Sarah Henderson rescued, there hadn’t been a lot of effort to grease the wheels from Washington, especially after Sarah had insisted on visiting her clinic in Freetown to see the body of Jacques Arnaut off.
It had been a wall-climbing delay, his friend potentially dying an ocean away. The Colonel assured him he was doing well and that Shirley was with him as much as possible and the boys were taking shifts during visiting hours to make sure he always had someone to talk to.
But everyone was taking it hard.
And everyone wanted Koroma’s head on a platter.
“We’re sending you photos of passengers from the flight from JFK. You should be receiving them now.”
Dawson turned to Niner who nodded, handing him the tablet. “We’re getting those now, stand by.”
He pushed the tablet in front of Sarah and she began to flip through them. “Maybe this one…maybe him…I can’t be sure, I only saw the eight other men for a few minutes, and I really didn’t look at them much.” She sighed. “I’m more going by build. They were all youngish and in good shape with military haircuts.”
Payback Page 24