Another sharp scream of a rocket erupted.
She leaped back with even worse news. “This one’s coming straight at us!”
11
July 2, 5:04 A.M. EST
Washington, DC
Painter woke to the ringing of his cell phone, a crescendo of escalating notes that set his heart to thudding hard in his chest. He lay in bed next to Lisa, their naked limbs tangled together, his hand resting on the curve of her backside.
She sat up with him, going instantly alert, trained from years of being on-call at a hospital. The sheets shed from her breasts; her eyes shone in the predawn darkness. She also knew that particular ringtone, set for extreme emergencies.
Painter grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand and answered it.
“Director, we’ve got a problem.” It was Kat Bryant, calling from Sigma headquarters. He glanced at the clock. It was barely after five in the morning.
When he’d left last night with Lisa, Kat had still been in the bunker, running logistics for Gray’s operation and coordinating the various intelligence branches. Had she ever left?
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“I’m fielding some frantic S.O.S.’s out of that UNICEF camp in Somalia, where Gray was headed. Reports of rocket fire. Some sort of attack.”
“Do we have eyes on it?”
“Not yet. I’m already working with NRO . I tried to raise Gray, but so far there’s been no response.”
Likely a tad busy.
“What about support? We have the navy SEAL team cooling its heels in neighboring Djibouti.”
“I can get them airborne, but it’ll still be forty to fifty minutes for them to reach that inland camp.”
Painter closed his eyes, his mind racing through various parameters and scenarios. If he called in the SEAL team, it could threaten the entire mission, expose his hand too early. SEAL Team six had been assigned here specifically to extract the president’s daughter—not to play Un peacekeepers.
“Do we have any idea who is attacking?” Painter asked.
“The camp has been raided twice in the last ninety days. Both drug runs. And two months ago, a doctor got kidnapped by one of the local warlords. This attack may have nothing to do with Gray or the search for Amanda.”
Painter wasn’t buying it. He pictured the assassination of Amur Mahdi. The enemy seemed to know their every move. With all of the various intelligence agencies engaged in this mission—and now the British SRR—something was leaking out.
Painter trusted his own organization, but there were too many cooks in this international kitchen—not to mention the president’s family. The leak could be coming from anywhere.
Painter had to make a tough decision. He could not lose focus. He had to preserve the SEAL team and its operational readiness for a possible fast extraction.
“Director?” Kat asked.
He kept his voice firm. “Get me eyes in the field as soon as you can, but for now, Gray’s team is on their own.”
A short pause followed, then Kat responded, “Understood.”
Lisa’s hand slipped into his. She didn’t say a word, offering only her warmth.
“Should I delay the mission to South Carolina?” Kat asked.
Painter remembered the scheduled investigation into the clinic where Amanda had her in vitro fertilization performed. He could not escape the feeling that Amanda’s sudden flight to the Seychelles had something to do with her child. First, the assassination of Amur, and now this new attack on the hospital camp—somebody intended for Amanda never to be found.
“No,” he said, glancing at Lisa. “We’ll head over to Sigma command right now. I want you both out on that first flight to Charleston.”
A longer delay followed. Painter wondered if he’d lost Kat—then she came back on the line. “Director, I’ve got a few captured still shots of the camp. From a French weather satellite. They’re not the best, but I’m sending them to your phone.”
Painter pulled the device from his ear and switched to speaker as he waited for the image to fill the small screen. Line by line, the horror of the situation in Somalia revealed itself.
The image offered a high aerial view. Few details were discernible, especially with the thick pall of smoke obscuring most of the camp. Tiny dots represented people and vehicles trying to escape the attack. Overhead, the blurring image of a helicopter hovered above the chaos, like some predatory bird, waiting to pick off the weak.
Kat’s small voice emerged over the speaker. “Did you get the sat-photo?”
“Got it.”
Lisa peered over his shoulder, covering her mouth with a hand.
Painter struggled to keep to his original plan. It was easier to abandon Gray’s team to a bad situation when it wasn’t staring him in the face. But no matter how tough or callous, he knew his original decision was the correct one.
With a few final instructions, he signed off with Kat and lowered the phone. He stared out into the darkness.
Someone desperately wanted to stop Amanda from being found.
But who?
12:12 P.M. East Africa Time
Cal Madow mountains, Somalia
Dr. Edward Blake held the radio handset to his ear. He stood in the communications tent, crammed with gear and festooned with satellite dishes. The swelter of the day drew beads of perspiration down his forehead.
But he knew all of that sweat was not from the heat alone.
He even held his white safari hat in his other hand—not because he was indoors, but because of the presence at the other end of the line. Few personages ever intimidated him. He had been raised in an aristocratic family in Leeds, whose lineage included earls and dukes, all distantly related to the royal family. At estate dinners throughout the ages, their home had hosted famous figures of past and present, from the wartime leader General George Patton to entertainers who had been knighted by the queen. In Oxford, his roommate had been a billionaire’s son, a prince out of Saudi Arabia, a deadly man who would eventually head a Muslim fundamentalist group until he’d been caught and hung.
Still, none of that affected him or impressed him—not like now.
Edward’s fingers tightened on the handset.
The voice on the other end was computerized, masking the identity of the speaker. Edward had no idea to whom he spoke—but he knew the power behind that cloaked voice. It was somehow appropriate the voice was computerized, because he knew he was speaking to a vast machine, a powerhouse that had moved throughout the ages, destroying all in its wake and retooling the chaos to suit its ends.
And Edward wanted to be more than a cog in that vast machine; he intended to drive that massive engine. It had been luck that landed Amanda on his doorstep—his egg-harvesting clinic, one of many in this region, had been chosen to facilitate this matter—but it would take his skill to turn that good fortune into an opportunity to move up the ladder.
To achieve that, he needed success.
“The problem is being addressed,” Edward promised. “The Americans will never reach the mountains in time.”
“AND THE FETUS?” the voice asked.
“The DNA is stable. As we all hoped.”
He dabbed the sweat from his brow with the back of a sleeve. At least that was good news. Plans could move forward—behind schedule, yes, but still salvageable.
Edward continued, “As to that other matter, I can perform the C-section immediately. Get things ready.”
“VERY GOOD.” Though the voice was flat and affectless, Edward imagined the satisfaction behind those inhuman inflections.
“And what of the mother?” Edward asked, suspecting this was a touchy matter.
The answer came without hesitation. “SHE’S NO LONGER OF USE. HER DEATH WILL SERVE A GREATER PURPOSE.”
“Understood.”
The voice moved on to exacting detail about how preparations and procedures would continue from here. One last item concerning the mother was addressed.
“BURN HER BODY. IT SHOULD BE UNRECOGNIZABLE.”
The sweat down his back went cold. The pure callousness both appalled and excited him. What would it be like to move through the world with such utter disregard for morality—driven only by purpose?
The call finally ended.
Lost in preparations, he vacated the communications tent, strode through the sun-speckled glade of the camp, and up the steps to the makeshift medical ward. He tried his best to wear such a mantle of amoral drive as he stepped through the door and let it clap shut behind him.
Petra glanced up, shifting a fall of blond hair, her face open and questioning.
Edward looked beyond her to the hospital bed at the back of the ward. Amanda stared at him. He must have failed to fully don that cold mantle; something must have still shone in his face. The patient pulled her legs up, an instinctive desire to protect her child.
But it’s not your child that needs protecting at the moment …
Edward turned to Petra. “Get everything ready. We’re doing this now.”
12
July 2, 12:15 P.M. East Africa Time
UNICEF Camp, Somalia
With the blast still ringing in his head, Tucker pulled the dazed boy to his feet. Kane shook off dust and pieces of thatch. Smoke and sand floated in the air. The air reeked of burned flesh and flaming fuel.
The rocket had hit outside the hut, collapsing a corner of the clay-brick structure. A large blackened crater opened a few yards away. Bodies lay strewn at the edge, tossed and torn like so many rag dolls.
Tucker found his breathing growing heavier, flashing back to prior firefights in Afghanistan. He pulled the boy’s face into his chest, not wanting him to see. Baashi didn’t resist. Though deafened, he still felt the boy crying in terror, felt his wracking sobs.
Captain Alden groaned and rolled onto his rear end. Blood covered half his face, but it appeared to be only from a scalp wound. He must have caught a piece of the blast debris.
“Get him out of here!” Alden yelled, flopping his arm weakly toward the door.
Others rose out of the smoke, shedding rubble, bearing cuts and abrasions. Gray stumbled forward with Seichan.
Kowalski helped Major Jain to her feet. She wobbled slightly but found her footing. “You okay?” he asked
She shook free of him—teetered sideways, then grabbed his arm again. “Maybe not.”
When the Indian woman spotted her captain, she still tried to go to him, concern on her face. Alden waved her off. “Go with them, Jain. Help get them clear.”
“What about you?” Gray grabbed the map from the floor and passed it to Baashi. They still needed the boy to pinpoint the secret medical encampment rumored to be up in the mountains. Even rattled, the commander never lost sight of the mission objective. “Captain, you need medical attention.”
Alden grinned through the gore. “Then I guess I’m bloody well at the right place, aren’t I, commander?” He teetered back to his feet. “Besides, I’ve got two men here. I’m not leaving them until I know they’re safe.”
Or dead, Tucker added silently.
Punctuating that dour thought, another blast rocked deeper into the camp. Kane flinched, ducking lower.
Gray grabbed the captain by the upper arm. “You’ll do your men no good on your own.” He dragged the Brit out the door. “Come with me.”
Alden looked ready to argue, but Major Jain backed Gray up.
“Commander Pierce is right, sir.”
“Maybe we can argue later!” Kowalski shouted at them by the door. “Chopper’s swinging back this way!”
“Out of here! now!” Gray ordered.
The captain reluctantly followed. They rounded the hut and moved out among the field of parked vehicles.
Tucker guessed where the commander was taking them. He would’ve done the same, to utilize every resource to survive.
Gray led them straight to the minitank, painted white and emblazoned with the Un world logo. The Daimler Ferret armored car still sat where they’d seen it earlier. The peacekeeper posted beside it had climbed into the turret, manning the machine gun. The weapon smoked from prior shots, but the helicopter was currently beyond range on the other side of the camp, although it wouldn’t take long for the chopper to circle back around.
Gray called to the peacekeeper as a handful of refugees fled to either side of them. “You’re a sitting duck up there, soldier! You need to get this vehicle moving, help defend the camp.”
The man, dark-skinned and helmeted, yelled back in a French accent. He was young, likely not even twenty. Fear frosted his words. “I am alone! I cannot shoot and drive, monsieur.”
Gray turned to Alden. “Here is how you can best help your men. Put this tank in motion. Draw the chopper’s attention and take that bastard down.”
Alden understood. “I’ll do what I can to cover your escape.” The captain pointed to a pair of sand-rail buggies fifty yards away. The skeletal dune runners looked perfectly suited for this rough terrain. “If there are no keys, they’re easy to hotwire. Just jam something sharp into the ignition and twist to get them started.”
The captain’s next words were for his fellow soldier. “Stay with them, Jain. Get them all clear, and I’ll see what I can do from here.”
The major looked exasperated, but she knew how to take orders and nodded.
Gray shook Alden’s hand as they parted ways. “Be safe.”
“You do the same.” The captain stopped long enough to give Baashi a fast hug. “Do what they say!”
“I … I will, Mr. Trevor.”
The captain nodded and climbed into the armored car.
Gray hurried them forward, ordering them to secure their radio earpieces in place.
Ahead, the sand-rail cars were little more than engines strapped to roll cages with some seats bolted in place. They had no windows, fenders, or doors. But Tucker had played with them back in the dunes near Camp Pendleton. Their advantage was a low center of gravity and high flotation tires perfect for skimming over sand and hopping over obstacles.
Kowalski must have had a similar experience and rubbed his palms together as they reached the vehicles. “Which one’s mine?”
Machine-gun fire erupted behind them. They all leaped forward and split on the run, dividing between a smaller two-seater, which Gray and Seichan commandeered, and a larger four-seater with a bench in the rear.
Jain reached the driver’s seat first, but Kowalski wasn’t having any of it.
“I’ll drive!” he yelled.
“Listen, boyo, I’ve had plenty of tactical driving—”
“And I didn’t just get a concussion. So move it, sister!”
She looked ready to bite his head off, but she was still wobbly on her feet. She finally relented and abandoned the driver’s seat to Kowalski. He discovered a screwdriver already jammed in place in the steering column, serving as a key. Judging by the roar next to them, Gray started his vehicle with no more difficulty.
Jain took the passenger seat up front, leaving the rear bench to Tucker and the boy. Kane crouched between them, panting, flinging a bit of drool in his adrenaline-fired excitement.
“Hang on!” Kowalski yelled, grinning way too big.
The buggy leaped forward like a bee-stung horse—just as an ear-shattering explosion flung a nearby truck into the air.
Another rocket blast.
Tucker twisted around. Behind them, the helicopter roared out of the camp and aimed toward them. An M230 chain-gun on the chopper’s undercarriage chewed across the sand—chasing after them.
But they weren’t defenseless.
The Ferret armored car raced into view, as fleet-footed on its large tires as its nimble namesake. It crossed into the path of the attack helicopter. From the minitank’s turret, the machine gun chattered, firing up at the bird in the sky.
Captain Alden manned the weapon himself, shrouded in gun smoke and swirls of dusty sand. The minitank skidded around to face the diving helicopter h
ead-on. Rounds cracked into the chopper’s windshield, driving the bird to the side as the pilot panicked.
The armored car spun a full circle and took off, driving wildly through the parked vehicles. The chopper twisted in midair and took off after them, like a hawk after a fleeing rabbit—or, in this case, a fleeing ferret.
Tucker settled back around, looking forward. Kowalski hit a ridge at full speed and jumped the buggy into the air. The driver hollered his joy. Tucker and Baashi flew into the aluminum half-roof over the bench seat. Tucker managed to get hold of Kane’s leather collar as they crashed back down.
The dog growled angrily, ready to bite someone.
Tucker couldn’t blame him. He glared at the back of Kowalski’s stubbly head, suddenly wishing he were back with the rockets and chain guns. It would be safer than this backseat.
No wonder Gray had fled to the other buggy.
He was no fool.
12:48 P.M.
Maybe this wasn’t so smart.
Gray’s buggy twisted sideways down a steep hill, made treacherous by loose shale and slippery scree. He broadsided a patch of brittle bushes at the bottom of the slope and crashed through them.
Seichan ducked away as thorns and broken branches exploded through the open roll cage.
Once clear, she yelled at him, “Make for the gravel road we saw from the air!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do!”
He had set off overland initially, thinking the road would be too obvious an escape route if the helicopter decided to give chase. He’d already spotted other cars, trucks, even camels fleeing up that road, driven all in the same direction by the attack. He didn’t want to be trapped in that traffic jam if there was a firefight.
His original plan was to travel as far as they could, then cut back to the road. But the hilly terrain proved tougher than it looked, broken up into rocky hummocks, sudden cliffs, and thick patches of bushes and trees. Ahead, it looked even worse as the land pushed up toward the mountains.
Risky or not, the road had to be safer than this.
With that in mind, he drove the car up the next rise to get a better view and gain his bearings. In the rearview mirror, he spotted Kowalski following him. And farther behind him, an ominous column of oily black smoke marked the horizon.
Bloodline: A Sigma Force Novel Page 11