Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller: Book 3

by Bobby Adair

  The SUV sped off, following another SUV of the same type.

  Austin looked at Mitch with a question on his face.

  A guy in the front passenger seat turned. “We may talk now.”

  “The cuffs,” said Mitch.

  “Of course.” The man fished in his pocket. “Turn around.”

  Mitch turned in the seat, got up on his knees and raised his hands.

  The man from the front seat unlocked Mitch’s cuffs.

  “My cuffs?” Austin asked, hoping for the same treatment.

  The man in front handed the keys to Mitch, who promptly unlocked the cuffs on Austin’s wrists. “Thanks.”

  Mitch handed the cuffs to the man in the front seat. “Austin, this is Shahid Khouri. He works for the Sultan.”

  “So do the police,” said Khouri.

  “Work for the Sultan?” Austin rubbed his wrists.

  Khouri nodded. “Not as directly as I do.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Austin.

  “To one of the Sultan’s apartments,” said Mitch, “while they decide what to do with us.”

  Chapter 61

  Millie’s face lost what little color it had hidden behind the makeup. “What’s that?”

  Paul pointed toward stacks of boxes along the back wall of the warehouse. To Rafael, he said, “Stay close to those boxes, over there by Salim. Only one of the cameras works in here. If you stay over there, they can’t see you.”

  “He’s sick.” Millie shuddered.

  Paul turned back to Millie. “He’s immune. He’s the source of some of the plasma you’ve been getting.”

  “Why’s he covered with blood?”

  “I had to make him look dead to get him out of the silo, so you could haul him out of here.”

  Millie started walking toward her truck, shaking her head. “I’m not in the business of abetting escapees.”

  “No, no,” said Paul. “He’s not an escapee. He’s dead. You’re hauling a body. That’s all. I’ve got ten bags of plasma to pay his way.”

  “Captain Willard will ask questions when his plasma comes up missing.”

  “I’ll deal with Willard.” In fact, Paul hadn’t figured out yet how he was going to account for the discrepancy. It would turn up one day soon. Even criminals had an inventory control system.

  “I won’t do it for ten.”

  “Ten is what I’ve got.”

  “Then no.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Millie.” Paul stepped forward and towered over the tiny woman. “Rafael is going with you. He’s got some questions about your contact with Jimmy, Larry’s friend.”

  Millie turned hostile. “You’re trying to cut me out.” She huffed and balled her bony little hands into fists. “You’re not gonna do it.”

  “No.” Paul shook his head. “That’s not it at all. Jimmy’s your competition now, right? You’re not in business with him, right?”

  Millie nodded warily.

  Paul put on a reassuring smile. “Why do you need Jimmy in your life? Sell the stuff yourself. You’re already setting up a network to do that. Let us take care of Jimmy. Remove the competition.”

  Millie grinned. She liked that idea a lot.

  “I’ll sweeten the deal,” said Paul. “I’ll get you another five bags on your next visit so fifteen in all for delivering Rafael to Denver and getting him the lowdown on Jimmy.” Paul put a hand out to shake.

  Millie told Paul to get Rafael stashed in the trailer and close it up. She exited the warehouse and headed for the truck’s cab.

  Paul walked Rafael into the trailer. Several boxes of contraband plasma were stacked there. “There’s no place to hide inside. You have to hope nobody stops and inspects the truck.”

  Rafael’s face, anxious and smiling, turned to worry. “How often does that happen?”

  “Millie says almost never. Not anymore, anyway.” Paul reached into a pocket and wrapped his fingers around some papers he’d been working on. “I need another favor.”

  Rafael grinned, obviously happy to have his feet so close to freedom’s doorstep. “You want a lot.”

  “I know.” Paul hesitated, still making the choice whether to proceed in giving Rafael the papers.

  “C’mon. I’m gonna be a busy man.”

  Paul faked a laugh but left his papers in his pocket. “You’ve got plans then? Do you think you’ll try to get out of the state?”

  Rafael leaned in close. “How much do you trust Millie?”

  The question surprised Paul but then he guessed the intent behind it. “I’d keep an eye on her, but I don’t think she’ll cross you and put her pipeline of plasma at risk. I think you’ll be okay.”

  “No.” Rafael frowned and looked at Paul in disbelief. “I can handle that old lady. That’s not what I’m talkin’ about. With this Jimmy character out of the picture, can I trust her as a business partner?”

  Paul let go of the papers and pulled his hand out of his pocket. “You shouldn’t get involved in this. It’s all going to go to shit one day. Too many people know. Things like this always get exposed. When that happens, you don’t want to end up back in jail. Even with a new identity, they can still run your prints, you know.”

  Rafael shrugged and sat behind the small stack of boxes in the truck. “Just askin’ what you think. I gotta find a way to make some money when I get out. Things are messed up now.”

  They were indeed. Paul said, “Good luck.”

  Chapter 62

  After Paul had closed the overhead door and Millie drove her truck away, Paul reached into his pocket and handed his papers to Salim.

  “What’s this?”

  Paul leaned down and picked up the box that contained Millie’s payment to Captain Willard. “Everything.” Paul walked toward the back door.

  “Everything?” Salim hurried behind.

  “Put it in your pocket. Keep it with you. Don’t let anybody see it.”

  “Can I read it?”

  Paul nodded at the door. “Will you get that?”

  Salim opened the door, and the two walked through.

  “Read it if you want. I’ve written everything down, how the operation works. Who I know is in on it. Who all is corrupt.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to the Colonel to tell him what’s going on.”

  “The colonel of the camp?” Salim’s tone revealed just how bad he thought that idea was.

  Paul nodded. “This has got to stop.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  Salim laughed. “You know the Colonel is probably in on it. He’s probably running it.”

  “I know.” Paul drew a deep sigh. “It’s a risk I have to take. I was going to give that copy to Rafael to take to one of the news stations in Denver.”

  “But he wants in on the action.”

  “Exactly.”

  Salim looked at the folded papers. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

  “Keep them. I think that after I tell the Colonel, things might go badly for me. If they do, then I want you to find a way to get the story to somebody you can trust. Somebody who can expose all of this.”

  “Why?”

  Paul didn’t understand Salim’s position. “What do you mean, why? It’s wrong.”

  “All of this is wrong.” Salim waved a hand at the camp. “This little bit that you want to expose, why is that any more wrong than the rest of this?”

  That was a technicality that Paul had no answer for.

  Paul stopped. Damn.

  Salim looked up at the stars. “It’s been a long time since I was last outside. I miss it.”

  “I come out here almost every night.” Paul turned his eyes up to the black sky. “It’s the only place that feels untainted.”

  Salim’s head sank, and he looked at his feet.

  “Sorry.” Paul reached over and put a hand on Salim’s arm. “I didn’t mean to underscore—”

  “No. I know what I did. That
is my burden. You don’t need to apologize.”

  Paul said, “I need to get this stuff to Captain Willard before he comes looking for it.”

  “What about the letter?”

  “Hold onto that for now. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  Chapter 63

  Austin stood at the window looking at the late morning sun glisten on blue waves across the Gulf of Oman. Fifty or sixty miles across that gulf sat Iran, the boogieman of terrorist fears for a generation. Najid Almasi, the mastermind and bankroll behind the spread of Ebola across the planet, was luxuriating on an island a hundred miles west-northwest.

  After the ambush the night before, Najid was sure to know by now that America might be after him. If he hopped a boat and crossed the gulf to Iran, would that put him out of reach? Was that even a possibility? Najid Almasi was a Saudi. Austin tried to piece together his knowledge of Sunni and Shiite, which was which, and whether Iran and Saudi Arabia were on different sides of that religious divide.

  Austin rubbed his temples. He’d only managed a few hours of sleep before troubles turned to nightmares that woke him despite his fatigue. Now he had a headache and a future that didn’t look like it included an opportunity to do anything about Najid.

  He leaned against the glass and stared.

  “Coffee? Tea?”

  Austin turned.

  Vijay, an Indian houseboy, a man older than his father, stood with a tray and two steaming cups. When Khouri had deposited Mitch and Austin in the apartment, he’d introduced them to Vijay, who’s instruction was to tend to all of Austin’s and Mitch’s needs during their stay. “Coffee? Tea?”

  “Tea.” Austin walked over to a couch and sat down.

  Vijay sat a cup on the coffee table by Austin’s knees. “Honey?”

  It didn’t matter to Austin what he sweetened his tea with. Choice in nearly anything was a luxury he’d learned to do without. “Yes.”

  Vijay scooped two teaspoons of honey into Austin’s cup and then looked up. “More?”

  Austin shook his head. “Could I get something to eat?”

  “Would you like to take your breakfast at the table inside or outside?” Vijay waved a hand at a table large enough to seat a dozen out on the patio. “You might enjoy the morning air after your sleepless night.”

  “I slept some.” Austin eyed the table on the patio and felt confined in that apartment. “Khouri told us not to go out on the patio.”

  “Very well.” Vijay picked up Austin’s cup, and before Austin could protest, carried it over to the dining table inside.

  Austin stood up and followed.

  Vijay pulled a chair out, which made Austin feel awkward. “I’ve got it.”

  Ignoring Austin, Vijay said, “Please sit.”

  Austin did.

  Vijay disappeared into the kitchen.

  Austin sipped his tea and waited for the caffeine to do its morning magic. He glanced down the hall looking to see whether Mitch’s door was open. He was likely still asleep between clean sheets on a soft bed. And with clean clothes waiting for him when he awoke.

  The clothes were a surprise. Austin had showered before going to bed, thrilled to have the opportunity to get himself completely clean after so many months of dirt and stink. Then when he awoke, he found his clothes—cleaned, pressed, and folded on a dresser near his bed.

  Total surprise.

  Vijay returned with a tray containing a glass of juice, two plates on which lay fried eggs, fried potatoes, sliced fruit, and pancakes.

  Only bacon and sausage were missing, but Austin didn’t complain. He’d not seen such a meal since he was last in Denver.

  “I made assumptions about your tastes.” Vijay smiled, trying to hide pride with false modesty. “I’ve worked for Westerners for many years before coming to my current employment.”

  “This will be great.” Austin picked up a fork as Vijay stepped away. “Please stay.”

  “Sir?”

  Austin motioned at a chair across the table. “Sit. Please. Did you make something for yourself?”

  Vijay walked around the table but did not sit. “I cannot eat with you.”

  “What?”

  “Is there something you require?”

  Austin decided that pressing the request for Vijay to sit would likely do no good. “Can we talk while I eat?”

  “If that is your preference.” Vijay glanced over his shoulder at the view of the ocean. “The morning is beautiful. Would you not prefer to sit in peace and look at the water as you eat?”

  “The sea is pretty, but I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s okay.”

  Uncomfortable but trying not to show it, Vijay said, “Yes sir. Please eat while it is hot.”

  “What is this place?” Austin filled his fork and put a bite in his mouth.

  “This apartment belongs to the Sultan. One of his friends lived here.”

  “Where is that friend now? Did he have to leave?”

  Vijay’s face turned sad then back to neutral. “Ebola.”

  Of course. Austin felt like a buffoon for having asked such a crass question when the answer was guessable. “I’m sorry.”

  “It is the way of things.”

  Austin took another bite. The food was spiced in an unusual manner that Austin had not tasted before. He pointed vaguely at the rest of the city. “Most everything seems orderly here. Was the epidemic not very bad?”

  Vijay’s face showed a deep sadness and his eyes revealed hidden anger. “Some things should not be spoken of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The breakfast is to your liking?”

  “Very good.” Austin emphasized his enthusiasm. “Very, very good. Thank you.”

  Vijay stepped away from the table.

  “Wait.”

  Vijay froze.

  “Sorry. I…” Austin felt bad for ordering Vijay. “Please. Let’s talk some more.”

  Vijay shook his head.

  “Please.” Austin motioned Vijay back to his spot on the other side of the table.

  “I don’t know what’s going on in the world. I was in Africa for three months.” Austin shook his head as he brought to mind a rush of memories of gruesome death and flowing tears. He choked on his words when he asked. “I don’t know a lot about the rest of the world.” That was a bit of a lie; Mitch had told him quite a lot.

  Vijay took a moment as he searched for what he felt comfortable saying. “It is hard to say how many in Muscat died if that is what you are asking of me.”

  Austin nodded as he laid down his fork. Death wasn’t the best subject over breakfast.

  “Over eighty percent.”

  That didn’t seem possible, not with the tidiness of the city. “Eighty percent?” Austin wondered if Vijay understood what percentages meant. Muscat, what he’d seen of it was far too orderly for that kind of death toll. “That’s nearly eight out of ten people?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where are the…” Austin stopped himself from saying “bodies.”

  “The workers took them to the fires in the mountains.”

  “All of them? How’s that possible?”

  “In Muscat there are—were—many, many Indian workers.” Vijay looked toward the mountains that stood behind the city. “We burned the Omani dead, and we burned each other when we died.” Vijay looked down the hall that led to the bedrooms. “Coffee or tea?”

  Austin looked to see Mitch coming into the living room. “Morning.”

  Mitch, looking at Vijay said, “Coffee. Black.” To Austin, he said, “Lots of the Middle Eastern countries, the ones with money, have a huge contingent of workers from India, Bangladesh, and the Philippines.”

  Vijay hurried off.

  Austin went to work on his lukewarm breakfast. “You want these pancakes? This is more than I’m going to eat.” Austin scooted the plate of pancakes toward an empty seat across the table.

  Mitch scooted the chair out and sat down, eyeing the pancakes. �
�Vijay made me some when I got up.”

  “What?” Austin felt guilty for being the late sleeper.

  “I called your sister and told her we’re in Oman and that everything’s all right.”

  “Did you tell her what happened with the plane?”

  Mitch nodded.

  “You didn’t tell her I was on the way to Dubai, did you?”

  Mitch shook his head. “That’s for you to do.”

  “After we’re done I’ll call her.” Austin drank down some juice. “So what’s the deal now? You and Khouri were talking when I went to sleep last night. Are we prisoners here or what?”

  “No. Khouri is a friend. I don’t know how many other friends we have in Oman, but he’s helping.”

  “Wait, I thought Oman was friendly to Westerners.”

  “It is.” Mitch tore a piece of a pancake off and took a bite. “Given what happened last night with the Osprey, I’d say they’ve got some jihadi sympathizers in the government. Maybe just one guy but you never know.”

  “Vijay said this apartment is owned by the Sultan. He’s with us, then, right?”

  “The Sultan died.”

  “Ebola?” Austin didn’t have to ask. He knew.

  Mitch nodded. “The succession is up in the air a little.”

  “How’s that?”

  “No heirs. There’s a guy acting as sultan at the moment. Strong man. I don’t know. He’s sympathetic to Westerners, but he’s consolidating his power in a country where most everyone has died, and you can bet that there will be people both inside and out who are going to try to figure away to put themselves in a more advantageous political position. Coups, revolts, invasions. We’re going to see those all over the world. The new sultan doesn’t want to chum up to the Americans too strongly at a time when he doesn’t know if he can depend on our military support.”

  “I don’t understand what we’re doing here then?”

  “Getting ready to leave.”

  Austin put some quick effort into the remains of his breakfast. “How soon?”

  “In a little bit.”

  “What about Najid?” Austin pointed with his fork. “He’s probably long gone by now.”

  “Yes, he is.”