Do-Gooder

by J. Leigh Bailey

  I bet he did. Creep.

  Snake Eyes motioned with his gun, indicating I should go stand next to Henry. I stood up on shaky legs and did as he instructed.

  “You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” Henry muttered at me. He actually looked okay. Not perfect, of course. He was dirty and his hair hung in greasy strands down his shoulders. His skin was sallow and there were dark circles under his eyes. But he didn’t look hurt or abused. His hand, which my dreams had me half-convinced would be a mess of infection and rot from the snakebite, looked okay. Still a purplish-pink color, but no pus or swelling.

  “It’s time someone put you first,” I said.

  Surprise and appreciation flashed through Henry’s eyes before Snake Eyes said, “This is all very sweet, but you will be quiet now. Who is with you?”

  “With me?” I asked. “No one.”

  “I do not believe you. No one would send a child alone to rescue a hostage. Now,” he repeated, his gun steady on me, “who is with you? And who is responsible for the activities out there?” He nodded his head to the action in the west.

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Whether he could tell I was lying or only suspected, I didn’t know. Snake Eyes sneered at me, and his eyes became even colder, if that were possible; violence and anticipation emanated from him in waves. He was a snake, ready to strike. “We’ll see.” He swung the rifle on its strap until it hung behind his back and then pulled out a knife. It might have been the fear and adrenaline surging through me, but I was convinced that the blade was as long as my arm. The minimal light in the room glinted off the sharp edge.

  He took two steps forward, bringing himself, and his knife, within arm’s reach of me.

  I froze. I couldn’t take my eyes off the knife. A knife was bad. Very bad. Images of Mrs. Okono’s death flashed through my mind, and I sagged against the wall, too weak to support my own weight.

  Snake Eyes’s free hand snapped out, wrapping around my throat. Not strangling me—I could breathe fine—but holding me in place. I couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped me.

  “Leave him alone!” Henry sprung forward, pushing at Snake Eyes’s larger body. Snake Eyes barely moved. He swung his fist—the one holding the knife—and Henry fell back. Red spilled down his face, and I struggled violently against Snake Eyes’s hold. Knife. Blood. Henry. Mrs. Okono.

  Henry didn’t stay down. He jumped up, and I saw that the blood came from his nose, not a gaping hole in his neck. It had been a punch, not a knife slash. Henry launched himself at Snake Eyes again. Unfortunately, he wasn’t up to the mercenary’s fighting weight. Snake Eyes barely acknowledged the attack. He simply threw Henry away from him with a casual flick of his wrist. This time Henry hit the wall headfirst.

  I didn’t have time to worry about Henry, though. Snake Eyes squeezed the hand around my throat, making it hard to breathe. He laid the edge of the knife against my cheek. “Again, I ask. Who is with you?”

  I sucked in oxygen through my constricted throat. “No one. I swear.”

  The blade was so sharp I didn’t notice the cut it made until the outside air hit it. Then my cheek stung like a dozen biting ants had lined up on my face. Warm wetness dribbled toward my jaw.

  My eyes widened and black dots danced in my vision.

  Snake Eyes cursed, and I realized Henry had attacked him again. Snake Eyes dropped the knife and grabbed Henry by the throat too, pressing him against the wall next to me. There was no anger, no rage in those cold, snakelike eyes. They were flat and dead and ten times as terrifying for their blankness. He tightened his grip until I couldn’t breathe at all. Next to me, Henry struggled and tore at the hand around his throat.

  We were going to die this time.

  My luck had finally run out.

  “Get your hands off of my boys!”

  Snake Eyes released us, and Henry and I fell to the ground. The mercenary whirled around, reaching for the gun across his back. His hand stopped when my dad pressed the barrel of a handgun against the back of Snake Eyes’s head.

  “Dad?” How had Dad gotten here?

  “In a minute, Isaiah.” Dad didn’t take his eyes of Snake Eyes. “Put your hands on your head and step back into the corner, facing us.”

  Okay, my dad was totally badass.

  “Isaiah, Henry, could one of you tear up a T-shirt or something. We need something to tie him up.”

  “Here,” Henry said, pulling from his pocket the beige elastic bandage we’d wrapped his hand in after the snakebite.

  Dad glanced at it from the corner of his eyes. “Perfect. I need one of you to take his gun away from him.”

  I didn’t want to get within three feet of Snake Eyes. My cheek still stung from his knife. But we definitely didn’t want the mercenary to have access to his gun. I stepped forward, but Henry stopped me. “I’ve got this.” His eyes were determined as he ran his wrist under his nose, wiping away the blood.

  Somehow I didn’t think that was a good idea. Henry looked ready to do something irreversible.

  “Henry…,” I said cautiously.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Why don’t you grab the knife?”

  I watched him for a moment, unsure. I knew Henry deserved to get some kind of payback from Snake Eyes. Because of him, and because of my situation, Henry’d had to relive pieces of his past he’d tried to escape. Add to that over two weeks of being a hostage at the mercy of international bad guys, Henry might consider revenge appropriate. I knew he’d never forgive himself once the rage wore off. In the end, I trusted Henry. He’d do the right thing.

  I nodded and scooped up the knife. When I turned back, Henry was setting the gun into the far corner of the room.

  Dad still faced Snake Eyes, gun steady, eyes determined. “Henry. Can you tie his hands? Make sure to keep it tight. Isaiah, while he’s doing that, check Marchande’s clothes. Make sure there are no other weapons on him.”

  It took me a minute to remember that Snake Eyes’s name was Marchande. I kept a wary eye on Snake Eyes as I checked pockets and patted down clothes.

  “Take his belt and his communication equipment too. And take off his boots,” Dad said.

  I pulled the walkie-talkie-looking thing from his belt and freed the Secret Service-looking earpiece from his ear, tossing them into the corner with the gun. His heavy belt joined the other things in the corner. I hesitated when it came to his boots, though. What was to keep him from kicking out at me while I kneeled by him to undo the laces?

  “It’s okay,” Dad said, reading my expression. “He’s not going to do anything, are you, Marchande?”

  Snake Eyes glared at Dad but agreed.

  As I was tugging the heavy-duty boots from his feet and making sure there were no weapons tucked inside them, Henry started to pat Snake Eyes down. He found a fold-up knife in one pocket and a small handgun in another. Those, and his wallet, were added to the pile in the corner.

  “Take the belt,” Dad said. “We’ll use it to secure his feet. And tear a strip from your T-shirt to make a gag. We don’t want him alerting the others that we’re here before we can get out of here. Henry, keep an eye out at the door. Stay out of sight, but make sure no one is coming.”

  I didn’t question the orders but found myself intrigued by Dad’s apparent expertise in disarming and imprisoning a soldier. He must have learned a lot while working for the Nameless Agency. I wrapped the belt a couple of times around his ankles, making it as tight as I could before hooking it. I wasn’t strong enough to tear my shirt, so I went to the pile of Snake Eyes’s possessions and grabbed the big knife. Its sharp edge made easy work of my shirt, and I had a long strip of black cotton to use as a gag. I took a little extra pleasure in making sure the cloth cut deeply into his mouth. While I didn’t want him dead—at least not at my Dad’s or Henry’s hands—I didn’t mind one bit if Snake Eyes was uncomfortable.

  We left Snake Eyes trussed up in a corner. Dad tucked the big knife into his belt and ushered me to t
he door. Henry gave us the all clear, and we snuck out and ran to the back of the hut, out of the sight of the guard at the main building. We paused there for a second.

  “How did you get here?” I whispered.

  “Same way you did. Remind me to talk to you about stealing and running away when we’re in the clear.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Henry asked. “I mean, I’m happier than I can say that you’re getting me out of here, but, well, how are we getting out of here?”

  “ATVs,” Dad said.

  “Okay.” Henry looked around. “Where are they?”

  “Are you up for a run?”

  Henry stiffened his shoulders. “If it will get me out of here, absolutely. Just promise me a shower at the end of the road. My skin is crawling.”

  Dad chuckled and patted Henry’s shoulder. “Absolutely.”

  “You found the four-wheeler I took?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I parked there too.” Dad looked at Henry. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” Henry said.

  Dad peeked around the corner of the building and gestured at us to cross the gap between huts. Every second that passed I expected to hear someone shout. Either that we’d been spotted or that Snake Eyes was tied up—something. What if the strike and distraction failed and the rest of the mercenaries returned to camp and began their regular security rounds before we were out of the way?

  We finally reached the last hut. Maybe fifty yards of open space lay between us and the shadows of the forest. Fifty yards where we’d be completely visible for anyone to see.

  “Run,” Dad whispered. “Run fast and don’t stop for anything.”

  Henry and I nodded.

  “Ready, set… go!”

  We ran. Halfway across the clearing, I heard someone shout. Henry stumbled and I grabbed his arm to keep him upright, almost dragging him to keep him moving with us. It took everything I had to not look over my shoulder to see if anyone pursued us.

  We kept running even as we crossed into the rain forest. My lungs burned from the effort, but I didn’t slow. I maintained my hold on Henry, though I’d shifted my grip from his arm to his hand. Now that I’d gotten him back, I was afraid to let go. Also, I could tell that he was beginning to lag. Unlike me, he hadn’t had a real meal in weeks. Dad ran pretty well for an old guy. He ran at the same speed as Henry and me but didn’t seem as winded. Wow, Dad was starting to look more and more like Indiana Jones.

  The blast of a gunshot echoed around us. Dad crashed to the ground.

  “Dad!” I skidded to a halt.

  “Keep moving!” Dad crawled to his feet, his hand clutching his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  “But—”

  “Move!”

  I ran, but my pace had slowed. I couldn’t stop from glancing behind me every thirty seconds to make sure Dad was still there. I almost cried when I saw the blue paint of one of the four-wheelers. I jumped on one and Henry the other. By the time we had them started and put into gear, Dad climbed on behind me.

  “Go, go, go!”

  Time stopped as we drove the ATVs toward the highway. It was probably only fifteen minutes to drive the few miles, but it felt like hours. I didn’t hear any more gunshots or shouts. It was too much to hope for that we’d lost them, but that seemed to be the case.

  The hippo in a tutu smiled brightly at us as we crossed out of the forest and onto the highway. Mom waited by our rented car with the driver of the truck and trailer. They’d gotten the big vehicle moved at some point, and the rest of the cars were gone. Mom jumped up when she saw us, her hand covering her mouth.

  I cut the engine of the ATV and collapsed over the handlebars.

  Done. It was over, and things could finally get back to normal.

  Chapter 30

  IT WASN’T that easy, of course.

  First we had to clean wounds. The cut on my face wasn’t bad enough to need stitches. A couple of Steri-Strips and I was set. Dad’s shoulder, on the other hand, required one of the Nameless Agency’s medical personnel to patch up. Henry, despite the amount of time he’d spent with the mercenaries, only required a bottle of electrolyte-infused water and some antibiotics.

  Then we had to “debrief” with some other of the Nameless Agency Suits. We headed back to the Sangha Lodge where The Suits commandeered the main building and forced the employees to go elsewhere while we met.

  According to The New Suits (neither of these Suits were the ones from Brussels) the mission was a success. Averyanov and his crew were captured, the weapons confiscated. I didn’t ask (and they didn’t tell) if anyone had died during the exchange. I did, however, ask about The Slav and why he was at the lodge. According to The New Suits’ intel, The Slav, whose name it turned out was Svatomir Kavka, was at the lodge to meet with Sonja Babineaux, a French arms dealer. They didn’t know if he’d recognized me or not. When The New Suits questioned the mercenaries, I wasn’t high on their list of priority subjects.

  Finally we were given the go-ahead to go home.

  Mom wanted to leave the minute we were done with The New Suits. While I definitely wanted to get home—I’d had enough of Africa for a while—I wanted a chance to talk with Henry, to clear the air. In the end, there was no time. It didn’t help that he seemed to be avoiding me. Whenever we were in the same room together, he managed to make sure someone else was between us at all times. He wouldn’t meet my eyes either.

  I got more determined the closer it got to my departure time. Mom and I would be flown by helicopter back to the airport in Gemena, and then we’d begin the four legs of our trek to Milwaukee. Dad and Henry were returning to the Lobéké refugee camp.

  Finally, two hours before we were to leave for the airport, I stalked to where Henry was sitting in a corner reading one of the animal magazines I’d seen in the gift shop the night before. I tore it from his hands and pulled him into the lodge manager’s office.

  “What’s got into you?” he demanded as soon as I shut the door behind us.

  “Damn it, Hank, we need to talk.”

  “About what?” He wore the calm, empty mask he’d used when the mercenaries had first kidnapped us. The mask he used to hide his fear. Why would he be afraid of me?

  “Don’t be stupid. You know what.”

  He crossed his hands over his chest. He wore one of the T-shirts and a pair of the pajama bottoms Dad had picked up for me in Brussels. He’d been allowed to shower and his still-damp hair waved a bit. “I know you’re disgusted with me. I really don’t need to hear you tell me.”

  I blinked. Disgusted with him? “No, you see, that’s exactly why I needed to talk to you. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted. You saved my life, and then I treated you like crap. I’m sorry.”

  Henry looked down at his feet. “I didn’t expect you to react any differently. I didn’t want you to have to see me like that.”

  “Here’s the thing,” I said, pacing the small room. “I wasn’t disgusted by what you did. Either back when you lived on the streets or back at the lumberyard. I was mad that you did it.”

  “I know—”

  “You don’t know,” I interrupted. “It was like the snakebite all over again. You stepped between me and danger, no matter what it did to you. You put my life and well-being above your own. It’s like you don’t realize that you’re important too.” I jabbed a finger at him. “You need to take better care of yourself. You can’t help anyone if you destroy yourself in the process.”

  Henry leaned against the desk. It was old, painted an institutional green that didn’t match the glossy, elegant lobby at all. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You want me to promise not to do it again? I can’t. I won’t. I’d do it again if that’s what it took to keep you from dying. What I did, it was nothing. It didn’t mean anything to me, and it’s nothing I haven’t done before. So, as far as sacrifices go, it wasn’t one.”

  “That’s such bullshit.” I stood toe-to-toe with him, close enough that our chests almost touched. “It w
asn’t nothing. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past. What you did to save me hurt you here.” I jabbed him in the chest. “You think I didn’t notice? I may have been delirious, but I saw that.”

  Henry pushed back into me. “It would have hurt worse to watch you die.”

  “Self-sacrificing son of a bitch.”

  “Martyr.”

  Henry grabbed my head and mashed his mouth down on mine. It was a kiss of passion and frustration and desperation. I gripped his shoulders, pressing into him. It didn’t take long for the aggression to change into something different, something softer. When I had the choice of pulling back or passing out from lack of breath, I stepped back. It was a close call. Passing out would have been a small price to pay to continue the fun.

  “Thank you.” I rested my head on his shoulder.

  I felt rather than heard his chuckle. “My pleasure. Absolutely.”

  My hand slid from his shoulder, trailing down his arm until I could link fingers with him. “No, I mean, thank you for what you did. You probably saved my life. I don’t think there’s any way I can thank you for everything you did—the snakebite, the insulin, heck, even just keeping me sane.”

  He cupped my cheek with his free hand, his golden brown eyes serious. “You came back for me. Your father told me it was you who demanded I be rescued, you who pushed for it. If not for you, I would probably have died there.” His thumb traced the edge of the cut on my cheekbone. “You came back for me. No one has ever put me first. You did. I’ll never forget that.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back. That sounded an awful lot like a good-bye. I didn’t want to say good-bye.

  “Come with us.” The words burst out before I could think better of them. “Come back to the States.”

  He shook his head and looked away from me. “I can’t,” he said after a long pause. “I don’t have anything to do there. At least here I have a purpose.”

  “What, you want to be my dad’s errand boy for the rest of your life? What about the animals and things you love so much? If you come back you can go to school, get a degree. Do something meaningful to you.”