by Vanessa Kier
As he neared the area, he grabbed one of the men who was fleeing. “Did the music player explode?” he demanded.
“Y-yes,” the man stammered.
Lachlan shook him. “Tell them.” He jerked his chin toward the crowd. “Tell everyone you see to spread the word. The children must drop the MP3 players and run away.”
Wide-eyed, the man nodded.
Lachlan released him. Then he updated Tony. His teammate cursed. “You think the doctor and her pal Kwesi were in on it?”
“Don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” The thought that Dr. Kirk could have fooled him so well, could have been so caring with her patients and her students, then allow children to be killed…
He couldn’t think about that now. “I heard shots earlier.”
“A sniper on the upper level of the classroom block started shooting at those on the stage immediately after the first explosion. The regional governor was among those hit.”
“Shit.” Lachlan glanced toward the stage. Everyone was lying on the boards. He couldn’t tell who was wounded and who was dead. “Is there someone who can grab the microphone and announce to the crowd that they need to set the MP3 players gently on the ground and get far away from the devices?”
“Negative. The sniper took out the sound system and there’s a firefight on stage right now. I’ll tell this bloke right here to spread the word, though.”
“Thanks.” Lachlan waited while Tony gave the man the message. Behind him, Lachlan heard people warning one another about the MP3 players as well.
“Where are you?” he asked when Tony came back on the line.
“At the back of the stage with Rene,” Tony said. “He’s waiting for the bodyguards to move the regional governor off the stage so he can evaluate his condition. The VIP SUVs are just pulling up. They’ll start evacuating momentarily.”
Up on stage, one of the bodyguards was crouched behind the podium, firing toward the upper level of the classroom block with his rifle. Another bodyguard rose to his feet and raised his pistol as if to shoot his colleague in the head, but one of the dignitaries slammed a chair into the traitor’s side, knocking him off balance. The traitor dove off the stage and disappeared into the crowd.
“Help me,” a man yelled in English from behind Lachlan. “My brother has been shot!”
Lachlan spun around, searching for the source. “We have a third shooter on the roof of the admin building,” he told Tony, having spotted the man lying on the sloped, corrugated metal roof. The roof was only partially sheltered by the overhanging branches of a tree. A professional would never have taken up such an exposed position, but this shooter apparently didn’t think there was any risk of someone in the crowd firing back at him. Lachlan gave a grim smile, looking forward to proving the man wrong. “He’s taking potshots at the crowd. I’m going after him.”
Lachlan pushed against the fleeing throng, trying to reach the edge of the jungle so he could move to a spot that would give him an open line of fire. He wished that Obidawah, the team’s sniper, were here with his powerful sniper rifle. Obi would be able to take out the shooters from this distance, but with only his pistol, Lachlan had to get closer.
Sirens from the direction of the main road announced the arrival of the police. About time.
Another explosion went off, initiating a new round of screams and wails. What was wrong with people? Hadn’t they heard the message about the MP3 players?
“All VIPs have now been pulled off the stage,” Tony announced. “The regional governor is alive, but in critical condition. Rene is working to stabilize him enough to be moved. Seven others are seriously wounded. The other VIPs are getting into their vehicles with their bodyguards. They’ll be away shortly.”
From Tony’s end, Lachlan heard a man yell.
Tony cursed. “We’ve got a fourth shooter in the trees to the west. He just shot one of the bodyguards. I’m going after him before he picks off the surviving VIPs.”
“Right. Keep me updated.” Lachlan stepped to the side as a blood-spattered woman carrying an infant barreled past him. There were still too many people between him and the jungle. He checked the status of the shooter on the roof and discovered that the man had vanished. “Bloody hell, I’ve lost the shooter on the admin—” He caught a glimpse of a man in black moving along the edge of the jungle just north of the building and moved to intercept. “Scratch that. Found him.”
The man appeared to be tracking someone in the crowd. Lachlan looked in the same direction, but there were too many people in the way for him to determine who the shooter was after.
He’d come within five meters of the fellow when two large explosions went off, causing Lachlan to stumble. He momentarily lost track of the shooter as smoke, dust and a hail of debris obscured his vision.
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 g
oing 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.