“New World Petroleum’s president?”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Yeah. He’s refusing to clean any of this up and insisting I write that damn report for OPEC.”
“You can’t do that.”
Cassidy stared at her assistant. “I know. They’ve reassigned me, Anna. ZEBRA’s pulling out in ten days.”
The expression drained from the other woman’s face; then her features changed, distrust and accusation shining from her eyes. “Giving up are you?”
Cassidy picked up the bird and released it into the cage. She reached for Anna’s arm and held tight. “Not on your life. I’ll be back. But right now, this is what I must do.”
Anna bent her head and slumped her shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to accuse you like that. It’s just…” She glanced around the village. “We’ve come so far.”
“I know. I know.” A ring of childish laughter filled the night air, and Cassidy turned in its direction. “That’s what I need right about now.”
Anna laughed softly as a young boy ran up and wrapped his arms around her legs. “This is our life, Cassidy. Don’t blame yourself for our mistakes.”
Cassidy turned her face away from Anna’s son, purposely ignoring him. “It shouldn’t be—not under these conditions.” Unable to hold out any longer, she glanced down and grinned. “Who’s this handsome little man?” Georgie giggled and tried to hide behind Anna’s body. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in anything I might find in my pockets?” Georgie giggled again and held out his hand.
“You spoil my son.”
Cassidy patted her pockets, pretending to have lost something. “It’s one of the greatest moments of my day.” She finally dug her hand into her jeans and retrieved a handful of wrapped bubble gum. “Want these?”
Georgie yelped with joy and threw his arms around Cassidy’s neck. She accepted the sweet and innocent embrace, blinking back a startling blur of tears. “I need to finish my report. I’ll see you in the morning, Anna.” Cassidy sniffed and focused on the tip of her shoes to hide the tears. Shaking her head, she turned and walked toward her tent. The familiar noise of camp slipped beneath her skin. Its rhythm, once soothing, drove stakes of guilt into her heart.
The suffocating humidity of her tent surrounded Cassidy. It was near midnight, and she’d closed all her flaps against the preternatural light created by the gas flares. Stripping off her pants and shirt, she padded barefoot to her desk. Settling in the chair, she inhaled the dank air and snorted at her attire. Tank top and bikini pants were a far cry from the flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers her mother raised her in. Wyoming’s climate certainly was the polar opposite of West Africa’s.
Yellowstone National Park. The playground of her youth.
Tapping a pencil against her lips, Cassidy stared at a picture positioned precariously on top of a stack of scientific journals. Her parents, vibrant and alive, smiled at her from behind the smudged and dirty glass of the frame. Behind them the peaks of the Tetons cut a jagged edge into the horizon.
It was late. She stretched her arms to the ceiling of the tent and yawned. One more item on the agenda. Moving her shoulders to shake out some of the stiffness, Cassidy reached for a small manila envelope. Slitting the edge, she removed a tiny flash drive and inserted it into her computer.
Clicking on the appropriate icon, she opened the geological survey prepared by Charles. A detailed sketch of the earth’s layers beneath the surface of the Niger Delta flickered on the screen. Cassidy glanced at it briefly and scrolled down to find the fine points on Port Harcourt. Nigerian scientists reported several years ago their concern for the city, and she’d wanted to confirm the theories and potentially gain more positive interest from President Nuna.
Before reaching the section on Port Harcourt, Cassidy paused and began reading a blurb about the Jurassic period and its impact on the Niger Delta. She reread the same paragraph four times before finally giving up. Sleep called. There was something in the text that sparked her curiosity, but her brain lay in a fog of exhaustion and refused to fire off the neurons that would puzzle out her questions.
Pushing away from the desk, Cassidy moved to sit on the edge of her cot. She refused to dwell on everything that had happened that day, instead turning her mind to pleasant thoughts and preparing for sleep. Flipping off the small halogen lamp on the edge of her desk, she lay down. No covers tonight. Fatigue quickly shut down her consciousness as she slipped into the comforting embrace of oblivion.
Cassidy shivered.
Trying not to rise too far out of her sleep stupor, she turned and snuggled deeper into the warmth of her pillow. A gentle kiss of air fanned her face.
She blinked her eyes, rubbed her cheek, and mumbled incoherently, intent on finding the comfort of sleep again.
A swish of fabric, barely audible, echoed within the tight confines of her tent. Her breath caught and she froze, alarm signals jangling across every inch of her body, firing up nerves and muscles. Her senses were on full alert.
She wasn’t alone.
Nick Fowler crouched beyond a thin line of mangroves. A distant gas flare cast a faint orange glow to the camp, shadows from the tents weaving irregular shapes along the hard-packed ground. Closing his eyes, Nick tilted his chin up and inhaled.
He could smell her.
Tonight the edge of his knife would sink into her skin, slicing skillfully through her perfect complexion. It would reveal the beauty of muscle and tendons entwined with fear-engorged veins of dark, crimson blood. She’d plead for her life first, then cry and whimper like a scared bitch. When reality dawned and Blondie faced her own mortality, she’d scream. Loud and long. Its music would wrap around him and lift him to a higher plain of existence. He craved this. He needed this.
“Mr. Fowler?”
Nick snapped open his eyes, releasing himself from the fantasy that had plagued his mind since that fateful moment six months ago when her perfect beauty had invaded his world. “Yeah?”
“We’re ready.”
Nick glanced past the large black man and scanned the line of trucks laden with a mix of local militia and NWP oil workers. This was Kill-and-Go, Fowler style. Handpicked for their ruthlessness and bloodlust, these men would massacre the village leaving behind an unmistakable “don’t fuck with oil” message.
He gave the signal to move out and jumped into the cab of the lead truck. “Remember,” he said, his voice a low growl, “the girl’s mine.”
Cassidy remained still, only her eyes moving to scan the capsule of her tent.
A hand pressed against her mouth.
Panic slammed into her chest, and she inhaled using the fear-induced adrenaline to heave herself off the cot. Her attacker swore and scrambled to regain control.
Cassidy ducked under his arm and kicked at the back of his knees.
He outmaneuvered her, pinning her to the ground and lodging his forearm firmly beneath her chin. “Dammit, be still.” All she could see was a pair of brilliant blue eyes peering at her from a camo-painted face.
She paused, recognizing a familiar Southern cadence in his voice. “Who are you?”
He shook his head and placed a finger to her lips. “Hush.”
A gunshot rang, splitting the night air with its resounding echo. Screams filtered through the flaps of her tent. Cassidy’s eyes widened, and she swallowed against a lump in her throat. What the hell was going on? She and her captor remained still for what felt like hours until he nodded and released his hold.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
He moved toward the front of her tent and peered through the slight gap in the flap. “Hush. I’m the good guy.” His voice was deep and menacing. He certainly didn’t sound like a good guy. Screams filtered through the opening, echoing within the small enclosure.
She was frightened and feeling out of her element. Inhaling short deep breaths, Cassidy tried to convince herself she was in the midst of a nightmare and would awaken any second.
Silence. Then more gunshots.
“It’s the Kill-and-Go squad.”
Cassidy shook her head. She didn’t want to acknowledge any of this. “You’re wrong. We’re protected.”
He ripped up the sleeve of his camouflage T-shirt to reveal a tattoo of a jagged black “Z” striking the center of an American flag. “Not anymore.”
Cassidy squinted at it, trying to decipher the meaning. Could this situation get any more bizarre? Perplexed, she glanced at his face. His features were undistinguishable beneath heavy camo paint, but his gaze was steady and unwavering, making her feel a bit like Alice down the rabbit hole. Her mind tumbled through the significance of his tattoo, but nothing clarified the mystery. “Zorro Squad?” she asked, unimpressed with this display of masculine pride and struggling with the fear that slammed her heart against her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
His shoulders dropped, and he rolled his eyes at her.
She shrugged, her fear turning into anger. “I’m not psychic, you know.”
“Zebra. Black Stripe.”
Her breath caught. The “Z” on his arm was suddenly more deadly than lightning and no longer amusing. She moved her head from side to side. “No way.”
A sarcastic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “’fraid so.”
“You’re a myth. You don’t exist.”
She flinched when he reached out to take her arm. “Some days I wish that were true.” A bullet split the top of her tent, and he slammed her to the floor. “No more time for pleasantries.” His words were a rush of hot air against her cheek. She scrambled to find her pants, but her fingers only connected with air.
Her thigh slammed into the edge of the desk, which wobbled and caused the laptop to slip and tumble to the ground, smacking her on the head. She winced and reached over, releasing the flash drive. She heard him muttering and swearing as he pulled on her arm. “Just a sec.” Making a fist around the miniscule plastic hard drive, Cassidy crawled behind him. At least she’d save some evidence.
Whipping out a knife, he cut the base of the tent, reached back, and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her forward and shoving her through the hole. “Move!”
Cassidy ignored the sharp bite of rocks and rough ground and scrambled to her feet. He pushed her from behind, and she stumbled. A scream rang above the chaotic gunfire, making Cassidy cry out loud. “Anna! That’s Anna! We have to get Anna and Georgie!” She struggled against the arm holding her and pulling her away from the camp.
“Doc, my orders are to get you out. Let’s go.”
Cassidy screamed at him. “No! Anna and Georgie! I won’t leave without them!” He pulled her tightly against his chest and prevented her from running.
His eyes glittered dangerously beneath the orange haze of night. “The Kill-and-Go are here for you. Understand?”
Shock froze her. She gazed into his face, trying to latch onto something familiar and grounding. “No.” Cassidy swore when her vision blurred. She shook her head, refusing to allow the tears to fall.
His face softened, and he offered her a halfhearted smile. “Sorry, Doc. We need to go.” Bullets shattered the branches of a tree behind them. “Now!”
Cassidy spun around, spotting the Kill-and-Go. A group of heavily armed soldiers, faces pockmarked with the cruelty and destruction of their trade, wove through the camp shooting at anything, man or beast, that moved. Leading the mass of angry men was a figure she recognized, the jagged scar that ran from the edge of his cropped dirty-blonde hair down across his chin and below his neck unmistakable even at this distance.
As if in response to a silent signal, his head swung in her direction. Their eyes locked and he lifted an arm, pointing at her. Nick Fowler. Her security guard. Why was NWP targeting their camp?
Revulsion and fear coursed down her spine, and her hands came up clutching onto the man from Black Stripe as if he were the last person alive on earth. Nick Fowler’s howl of rage rang through the camp, and the evil and danger buried in its tone struck at Cassidy’s heart. Her gaze dimmed, and brilliant sparks of light flickered before her eyes.
She heard a muffled swear, and suddenly Cassidy felt her body being lifted and then the sharp edges of Zorro’s shoulder cutting into her abdomen. They were moving. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. She tried to speak, but her mouth couldn’t work its way around coherent words. She heard him yell, and then the deep baritone of other male voices drifted through the haze of absolute shock.
She closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them. Misty figures ran behind them, firing machine guns at a heavily armed pack of militia. Cassidy recognized the figures of her biologist and ecologist colleagues; then she lost sight of them as she was lifted off the man’s shoulder and swung in a circle.
Cold metal slammed against her back. Her teeth snapped together, followed by the bitter taste of blood. Shaking her head, Cassidy realized she’d been tossed into a helicopter. She scrambled back against the door, gripped the outside edge, and bent forward, offering her hand to the other two ZEBRA employees being pushed inside.
Although dazed, Cassidy heard Anna’s cry for help. “Anna! Anna! Run, dammit, run!” Her voice cracked and disintegrated against the whirring sound of revving helicopter props. Panicked, she glanced at the faces within the chopper. “Where’s Charles?” The other ZEBRA scientists shook their heads, indicating they didn’t know.
Cassidy swung around to search the camp and watched in desperation as Anna raced across the ground, little Georgie cradled against her chest. A small band of militia ran to intercept her. Cassidy screamed at the men inside the chopper. “Help her!”
The helicopter lifted. Cassidy grabbed the edge to steady herself, ignoring the arm that anchored her in place. A man, black as a panther, knelt on the earth below. He lifted his elbow, pointing a rifle across the field. Cassidy followed the angle of his arm. Screams ripped from her throat.
Anna glanced over her shoulder, then spun and lifted Georgie toward the helicopter. “Oh my God,” Cassidy pleaded, tears coursing down her face and blurring her vision. “Please, I beg you! Go back! Please go back!” A gunshot snapped, an alien noise against the rhythmic thud of the helicopter blades. Her friend fell to her knees.
“Anna!” she sobbed. Fear flooded Georgie’s small face. A red stain spread across the left corner of his mother’s shirt. She bent her head and crumpled against the ground, protecting her son from the rain of bullets.
Cassidy leaned over the edge of the helicopter, trying in vain to reach her. But they were airborne and nothing but a cold blast of air entered her embrace. She spun around and pounded on the nearest soldier’s arm. “Go back! What’s wrong with you people? Go back!”
Horror gripped her chest, making it difficult to breathe and racking her body with uncontrollable shakes. Cassidy’s eyes connected with the hard gaze of the Black Stripe soldier. An emotion kicked in her gut. One that was all too familiar. One that she’d fought against the last nine years.
Hate.
It bloomed within. Fired by the power of evil that invaded the land below and fueled by self-loathing. If she’d been better, been stronger, been smarter …
CHAPTER 5
Gardiner, Montana
EDWARD FISKE PAUSED IN THE CENTER OF THE CIRCULAR GRAVEL drive, the toe of his shoe grinding into the tiny gray rocks. The entrance to Livingston Golf Course and Country Club lay before him, its wrought iron gates mocking his poor attempt at proper golf attire. Patting down the strands of hair once again whisked away from his bald spot, he breathed deeply. He didn’t belong in places like this.
Edward tugged at the pleat on his tan corduroys and prayed his inexpensive white button-down shirt wasn’t too full of wrinkles. He knew his clothes were out of place among the bright colored golf pants and polo shirts decorated with designer logos.
A man beyond the gates lifted an arm and waved him forward. Edward hitched his overburdened messenger bag more comfortably on his shoulder, sniffed, and almost sneezed
as the scent of freshly cut grass assaulted his nose. He walked toward the gentleman. Counting each step as it crunched on the stone drive, Edward concentrated on not allowing his nerves to publicly display themselves.
He’d never met this particular board member. Actually, he’d not been aware that there was a member of the corporation positioned this close to his laboratory.
“Mr. Jacobs?” Edward asked, attempting to sound confident and at ease.
Mr. Jacobs nodded and extended his hand. “Edward, on behalf of the board and myself, let me be the first to congratulate you on your success. I’m sorry that we were unable to convene at a more respectable arena. Everyone is extremely anxious to learn of your results. However, it has been left to me to speak with you personally.”
Edward frowned. This was a first. Normally, the board barked orders and pressured him for results via e-mail and video conferencing. Never had they ever expressed any gratitude. Returning the man’s handshake with enough strength to avoid the image of being weak, he assumed that these men finally realized the importance of his discovery. “Mr. Jacobs, thank you very much.” Edward glanced around. His eyes scanned the span of perfectly manicured grass. In the distance a small lake glittered beneath the sun, affording a scenic landscape. “Where would you like me to set up?”
“Set up?”
Edward shifted his weight and refrained from sliding his sweat-soaked palms against the edge of his pants. “Yes, sir. I’ve blown up my notes and created a diagram to explain the procedure. Also, I have a three-dimensional computer program that explains more detail on the genetic compound and mutation.”
Mr. Jacobs walked toward a golf cart, jumped behind the wheel, and signaled for Edward to join him. “Actually, Edward, what we’re most interested in is the composition of CPV-19.”
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