by Rachel Grant
She released their hands, realizing Pax hadn’t had a chance to tell the men anything of what had happened yesterday. She dropped to the ground next to the excavation and grabbed her trowel from the shallow pit where she’d left it yesterday when she fled the site, feeling strangely grateful the tool had survived. She still had her Marshalltown, the trowel she’d gotten for field school ten years ago and that she’d used on every project she’d worked on since then. She’d lost so much in the explosion, but not her trowel.
As she told Mouktar and Ibrahim about what had happened outside the base yesterday, she poked at the hard ground with the dull tip of her trowel. She needed to sharpen it, but then, that was the least of her chores if she was going to stay.
She stared at Linus’s long bones, still embedded in rock, then glanced in Pax’s direction, before facing what was left of her crew. “After yesterday, I considered leaving Djibouti.” She shrugged and reminded herself to own her actions. “Okay. I didn’t just consider it—I’d have left right then if I could. So I understand completely why the others have quit. They get no judgment from me. But for myself, I’ve changed my mind. I’m staying to see the project through.”
She touched a three-point-five-million-year-old bone that lay exposed just inches from her fingers. “There isn’t much more we can do for Linus. We’ll leave what’s left in situ. I’m sure the Leakey Foundation and other scientific organizations will fund grants to ensure the work is done properly and no more data is lost. Tomorrow, I’m going start surveying the alternate route. I hope you both will consider continuing on the project, but will understand if you don’t wish to stay.”
Ibrahim flashed a wide smile. “I came back today, Dr. Morgan, because you have infected me with archaeology. I like the job. I like what I can do for Djibouti.”
It had taken weeks to get the crew to stop calling her Dr. Adler. The compromise was Dr. Morgan, which now made her smile. “Thank you.” She turned to Mouktar and raised a brow in question.
He nodded. “I will work. Desta has already taken my sister—my only family. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
She squeezed his fingers again. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It was years ago. She is probably dead.” The words were delivered in a flat, matter-of-fact tone that warned her not to ask more questions. There was so much about Ibrahim’s and Mouktar’s lives she didn’t know, and she wondered if they resented her privilege. Mouktar’s sister had been taken by a warlord and likely sold into sexual slavery, while Morgan was given a Green Beret to protect her.
She released his hand. “Maybe the militant who attacked us in the wadi will give the US Navy Desta’s location. He can be captured.” Although really, if they knew where he was, his operation would be bombed if it could be done without harming civilians. His drugs and weaponry would be destroyed along with the man. Swift and efficient, because bullets were cheaper than blood transfusions, and it was the only way to ensure the man’s militia was disarmed and defunded. She knew it, and likely Mouktar knew it.
“I will hope for that, Dr. Morgan,” Mouktar said.
She turned to face Pax’s brooding stare. He wasn’t happy she’d decided to stay, but she’d expected that.
She stood and dusted off her pants. The decision to remain in Djibouti expanded the day’s to-do list by quite a bit. “I need to pack up my apartment for the move to the base.” Her apartment in Djibouti City was free—provided by the local government—but she wasn’t about to question the offer of lodging that came with protection from the US military, not after her car had been bombed. And she was thankful to have her own personal Green Beret for security, even though that meant she had to keep her hands off the man.
“We’ll do that next,” Pax said.
She frowned. “Actually, first we should meet with Charles Lemaire, the Djiboutian minister of culture and discuss how they’re going to deal with Desta and the theft of Linus’s skull.”
He gave a sharp nod.
“Plus I need field notebooks and to replace my camera and computer.”
“You can probably get the skipper to sign off on purchases at the base store and sort the contract out later. I’m going to ask SOCOM to issue you a gun.”
She nodded. “I’d like Mouktar and Ibrahim to have cell phones.”
“That can be arranged,” Pax said.
“But cell phones don’t work out here, Dr. Morgan,” Ibrahim said.
“But they work where you live, and I’d like to be able to reach you should something go wrong again.” She shaded her eyes as she looked across the valley toward the alternate Area of Potential Effect where she would begin surveying tomorrow. That APE was more open than this one. Fewer rocky outcrops to provide even minimal shade. She turned to her reluctant bodyguard. “And I need to buy a hat.”
Much as he wanted out, Pax wouldn’t consider asking his XO to rescind his order. Aside from the fact that a request like that would damage his standing within SOCOM, he had a secondary concern. What if the request was granted and his replacement wasn’t up to the job? What if something happened to her?
What if I fail?
He never thought about failing. It wasn’t an option. The fact that he considered it now was another sign that she’d gotten in his head in a dangerous way.
He was so fucked.
“Is the embassy still in lockdown?” Morgan asked as he drove through the busy city streets on the way to see the minister of culture.
“No. Lockdown ended sometime overnight.”
“I wonder if we should go there before we meet with the minister. We need to tell them about the skull.”
“Who is your contact there?”
“The community liaison, Kaylea Halpert.”
Pax grabbed his cell from the center console and handed it to her. “She’s in the address book.”
She stiffened. “Kaylea’s in your phone.”
“Yes.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask why. Kaylea knows about the bets. She’s not amused.”
He understood what Morgan referred to. Kaylea Halpert was stunning, with flawless mocha skin, big brown eyes, and Beyoncé’s curves. Recently divorced, she wanted nothing to do with the American military personnel who found excuses to parade through her office. There was graffiti about the US embassy employee in the CLUville showers, because sailors were basically adolescent boys, although he supposed the soldiers were no better. He too had heard talk of the bets placed on attempts to get a date with the woman. “My A-Team is training locals to be American-style guerilla fighters, and while we work more with the force protection detachment officer at the embassy, there’s also a community outreach component. She’s in my phone purely for work purposes.” He paused, then added, “Kaylea’s attractive, but no, I’ve never hit on her and don’t have plans to do so.”
He caught her small smile before she held up the phone and said, “Passcode?”
He gave her his four-digit PIN. “Put it on speaker,” he said. When Kaylea came on the line, Pax identified himself and explained he was providing security for Morgan.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Kaylea said. “Captain O’Leary said Morgan is in serious danger.”
Unease slid down Pax’s spine. “O’Leary contacted you?” It was an odd move for the base commander. But then, nothing about this situation was normal.
“Yes, he needed the location of the Linus site. Morgan, why didn’t you tell me about Linus?”
“He wanted the location?” Morgan asked in a strained voice, showing she too, was disturbed by the skipper’s undue interest.
“Of course, I couldn’t give it to him, because I didn’t know about it.”
Morgan let out a soft sigh of relief.
“But I explained the situation to Charles,” Kaylea continued.
Pax took his gaze off the road long enough to mouth, Charles?
“Lemaire. The minister of culture,” she whispered. “Kaylea, do you know if Charles told Captain O’Leary the site lo
cation?”
“I think he did. At least, I hope he did. O’Leary said Desta planned to loot the site, and he would make sure the fossils were protected.”
That sounded good on the surface, but there hadn’t been a battalion of marines guarding the site today. The opposite, in fact—Linus was missing his head and a militant had been lying in wait for Morgan. Forcing Pax to wonder if “protected,” in Captain O’Leary’s parlance, meant “yank the fossil from the ground.”
Pax could tell Morgan was holding her breath against a stream of curses that could rival yesterday’s foul tirade. The hand that held the cell phone between them shook with anger. Pax pulled onto a side street and parked. Into the phone, he said, “Thanks, Kaylea.”
“No problem.” She paused. “Sergeant? Did I do something wrong? Captain O’Leary is the final authority when it comes to the base. He told me about the explosion.”
“You did fine. Captain O’Leary was just doing his job.” He hit the End button then took the phone from Morgan’s hand and set it on the dash. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms.
She let out a low sob as she pressed her face into his shoulder. Her body shook. She finally took a deep, hiccupping breath and said, “I cry when I’m very angry.” Her tone was both embarrassed and defensive, which made him want to smile, but he didn’t dare because he had a feeling she might break out her crazy ninja skills if she thought he was making fun of her, which was the last thing on his mind.
He cupped her face between his palms and made her look at him. Her face was red and blotchy, and her eyes verged on swollen. “I’m not some asshole who would ever tell a woman—or a man—not to cry. Tears are a way we process emotion. Emotions make life interesting.”
One corner of her mouth turned up in the tiniest of smiles. “Those hippie parents.”
“They were right about a lot of stuff.”
“O’Leary sent a team out to steal Linus, Pax!” Tears started to roll again. “They could have destroyed the cranium! For all we know, they did destroy it.” She caught her breath. “Plus, they violated about a dozen international agreements and even more US laws—”
She was forgetting that Djibouti was lawless. Sure, those agreements were on the books, but here, they really didn’t apply. It wasn’t that O’Leary was untouchable, just that the consequences could be far less dire. No reason to make that point now; it would only make her outrage worse. “We don’t know if they harmed the cranium. We don’t even know if US military personnel took it.”
“But it makes sense. If they’d gone out to protect the site, they’d have been there when we arrived, but they weren’t.”
She’d followed the same logic he had. Damn, but he liked this woman far too much.
“The skull was embedded in solid rock,” she continued. “It would have been impossible to remove without damaging it. That’s the reason I left it behind after Desta’s henchmen showed up.”
“Do you want to see O’Leary now?”
She wiped the tears from her face with the palms of both hands. “As long as we’re here, I may as well talk to the cultural minister.”
“And we need to go to your apartment and pack.”
She shook her head. “I can’t move to the base and live under O’Leary’s command. Not if he ordered the looting of the site.”
“It’s not safe for you off base. And I can’t protect you here.” His XO would never authorize him to stay in Djibouti City with her, which was a good thing, because Pax couldn’t imagine living with her for more than two hours before they became lovers.
“Maybe the threat is over. They used me to deliver a bomb to the base. Maybe I’m out of it now.”
“Did you forget that someone grabbed you at the site just a few hours ago?”
“And I kicked his ass.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The next guy might lead with the gun.”
She stiffened her jaw. “I’m good with a gun.”
“But you don’t have a gun.”
She shrugged. “So I’ll get one.”
“That won’t be easy without Captain O’Leary’s approval—which he won’t give if you refuse to live on the base.”
“Let’s table this discussion for now and go talk to the minister.”
Charles Lemaire greeted Morgan warmly and immediately called in two other ministers to join their discussion—Minister of Natural Resources Ali Imbert, and Minister of Tourism Jean Savin.
Pax stood by the door, doing his best wallpaper impersonation as Morgan was introduced to the ministers. He wanted all three men to view him as a bodyguard and nothing more. Someone had told Etefu Desta about Linus, and it hadn’t been Kaylea Halpert, because she hadn’t known of the find until O’Leary contacted her. Now, the question was, did one of these ministers tell Desta? And if so, why?
Lemaire, the culture minister, a black man and, from his accent, Pax guessed either a French national or educated in France, was eager to discuss Linus. “I trust he is protected now that your captain has sent out a team to guard him?”
Pax stiffened. Shit. The minister didn’t know what O’Leary had done. If, indeed, O’Leary had done it. Was it possible O’Leary had sent guards, but they’d misunderstood and collected what they could instead of patrolling?
Morgan’s back had stiffened, and Pax wondered what she’d say. If she was right, if O’Leary had given orders that broke international law, Lemaire was the one man in Djibouti with the power to do something about it. It was possible Morgan held Captain O’Leary’s military career in her hands.
“I don’t think the US military will provide around-the-clock security,” she said, neatly sidestepping the issue. “I’m also not entirely certain I’d like them to.” She leaned forward, conspiratorially. “You know how the US military is. Always trying to take control.” She laughed to soften the statement, and he had a glimpse of the businesswoman who knew how to bring others to her side. “I would be much more comfortable with Djiboutian security. Can your office provide guards for the site?”
The minister raised his hands in defeat. “Of course, I will try, but my men are no good against a warlord like Desta. Their job is to defend cultural heritage sites against looters who would sell trinkets to tourists in the market, not a warlord who wants to overthrow our government.”
Savin, the minister of tourism, joined in. “With more tourists, we’d have a larger budget for security, but without security, we cannot lure tourists who are leery of the perpetual unrest in Somalia and Eritrea and fear Issa warlords like Desta in Ethiopia.”
Pax spent his days in Djibouti with locals and was versed in the factions of the deeply ingrained clans and resulting political divide. In Djibouti, where tribalism ruled, men were quick to identify themselves as Issa or Afar. Issas were of Somali descent, while Afars were related to the neighboring Ethiopian Danakils. But even those regional boundaries weren’t as steadfast as the tribes themselves. Etefu Desta, an Ethiopian warlord, was Issa, a fact that the obviously Afar tourism minister managed to slip into his speech.
Imbert, the minister of natural resources, stiffened, making Pax think he too was Issa and didn’t appreciate being reminded of his notorious clansman.
The first job for Pax’s A-Team had been to get their Djiboutian trainees to identify as Djiboutians first, clan second. Soldiers who couldn’t do that had been booted from the program.
Imbert leaned into Morgan, a little too close for Pax’s liking. If Morgan’s rigid spine was any indication, she didn’t like it either. “If you could convince your military to guard the site,” Imbert said, “Djibouti would be most grateful for the assistance.”
“I’ll talk to the powers that be, but I’m afraid it might be better if you go through official channels,” Morgan said. “I’m not in the military. I have no power there.”
“But isn’t your father a general?” Imbert asked.
Pax stiffened. How the hell did the natural resources minister know General Adler was Morgan’s dad?
He didn’t like this development at all.
Morgan cleared her throat. “He is, sir, but his work and my work have no connection.”
Imbert gave Morgan a cold smile. “Perhaps we don’t need the US military’s help at all. China is always looking for ways to help Djibouti. Soon they will break ground on the desalinization plant in Eritrea, and have promised to build us a pipeline for the water if we allow them to further expand their military presence at Obock.”
Pax kept his face blank to mask a surge of anger. The US military was recently forced to vacate the small secondary base at Obock, so the Chinese could station ten thousand soldiers there. China was dumping money into Djibouti at a rate with which the US couldn’t compete, and the Djiboutian government took their money, not caring that they were opening the door to a country that was likely arranging for the overthrow of their government with Eritrean or Ethiopian allies.
China didn’t care who they backed, so long as they held the reins of power when the governments fell.
Like hell would China protect Linus. Morgan had explained earlier that China had destroyed many archaeological sites on the west end of the rail line until Lemaire got wind of the resources being lost. He was one of the few men in the country who understood how valuable those sites could be to Djibouti’s tourism industry, and had pushed for an archaeological survey of the rest of the rail line, which led to Morgan’s contract and the US military’s agreement to expedite the survey in exchange for more land—to counterbalance the foothold China was gaining in the region.
It was a convoluted tangle that involved high-level bribes and may well have included threats of military action. Through it all, Pax was training soldiers to defend a government that might not exist in a few weeks or a few months. Who would the trainees fight for if the Djiboutian government fell? Issas or Afars? Or Eritreans over Ethiopians? What would happen to the Djiboutians?
Camp Citron was the only permanent US military presence in all of Africa, and the US could lose their base of operations on the whim of a president whose grip on power was loose at best. Meanwhile next door, people fled Eritrea in boats due to horrific human rights violations, while China just stirred the pot and waited for it to boil over.