Payback (6 page)

But this
man sounded American.

“Why
don’t you enlighten us?” she said, trying to keep the disdain in her voice to a
minimum.

“In good
time. Unfortunately we are on a tight schedule and must leave at once.” He
motioned to one of his men, also in uniform, and the ropes binding their hands
were cut. Sarah gingerly rubbed her wrists, finding no cuts, only minor
abrasions, her struggles minimal after Jacques’ beheading.

“What
will happen to us?” she asked as Koroma motioned for them to stand.

“You
will come with me in the lead vehicle. She will go with the lieutenant.” He
nodded toward the man who had cut the bindings. “You will show your
identification at any checkpoints we encounter and tell them that you are
doctors transporting supplies to the Ebola treatment center in Port Loko.”

“Port
Loko? That’s awfully far.”

“We’re
not going there, you’re just telling them that’s where we’re going.”

“Then
where
are
we going?”

“That’s
none of your concern.” He pointed at her chest. “But make no mistake, should
you try anything, either of you, you will both die horribly slow deaths.”

Tanya
yelped, slapping her hands over her mouth and Sarah felt her own knees weaken
slightly. This was real. It was serious.

And she
needed to shut up before she got them both killed.

“Do you
understand?” asked Koroma, stepping closer.

She
nodded.

“Good.”
He pointed to the nearest truck. “Get in.” He pointed at the second truck,
looking at Tanya. “You, over there.”

Tanya
shook her head rapidly. The lieutenant stepped forward, grabbed her by the arm
and dragged her toward the open door, Tanya struggling the entire way. He
stopped and punched her in the stomach, Tanya doubling over, gasping in pain.

“Hey,
that isn’t necessary!” cried Sarah as she rushed toward her friend. Major
Koroma caught her by the arm before she could reach her, his grip viselike.
“She’s just scared. Let her travel with me.”

“No.”

“Please.
If she’s with me, she’ll be okay.”

“No,
that is not the plan. In fact…” Koroma let go of her arm and pulled his weapon
from its holster. He walked over to Tanya, still doubled over in pain, placing
it against the top of her head. “She was never part of the plan.”

The
weapon cocked.

“No!”

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Senior Analyst Chris Leroux nodded at the others gathered in his
boss’ office. He recognized them all as heads of various groups like his own
team of eight. The best of the best were here. Not agents, not spies, but
analysts. He and the others were the people that gathered the intel that agents
like his friend Dylan Kane acted upon.

And
judging by the look on his boss’ face, they were about to get very busy.

National
Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison looked up from a file on his desk,
nodding at Leroux. “I’ll be brief,” he said, Leroux not knowing him to be
anything but. “Several hours ago the Vice President’s daughter was kidnapped in
Sierra Leone along with another doctor, a Ukrainian national. A third doctor, a
French national, was murdered we believe during the kidnapping. She was
volunteering at an Ebola clinic as part of Doctors Without Borders.” He closed
the file. “And that’s all we know.”

“No
ransom demand?” asked one.

“Not
yet.”

“Do they
know who they have?” asked Leroux, it to him the most pertinent question. If
they knew, then this was politically motivated. If they didn’t, then it could
simply have been a random snatch and grab.

A much
more dangerous situation.

“We’re
not sure, but the fact it was her of all people suggests they did.”

“But we
have no proof.”

“Not
yet.”

Leroux
pursed his lips. “They took the two female doctors, but not the male doctor.”

“Correct.”

“Perhaps
because they felt they would be easier to control.”

“But
that assumes she wasn’t the target,” said Donovan Eppes, another section head
that Leroux respected immensely. He was also about fifteen years Leroux’s
senior, gatherings like this always reminding him of just how young he was. Now
late twenties, Morrison had taken him under his wing and taken advantage of his
ability to take often disparate information and find links between them that no
one else seemed to make.

It was a
gift. And a curse.

He had
no desire to supervise staff but he had been given one despite his protests.

He was
moving up the ladder, kicking and screaming the entire way.

His
girlfriend, Sherrie White, an agent with the CIA, and way out of his league,
was supportive, understanding his shy ways but trying to convince him that the
additional resources would allow him to help more people.

While
true, he was finding too much of his time was now admin work.

And no
help to anyone except the HR department.

“Not
necessarily,” said Leroux to Eppes. “If they were just after her, then why take
the other doctor? They obviously didn’t have a problem killing. Why not just
kill her and leave with the one hostage. That would be much easier to deal
with.”

“What
are you thinking?” It was Morrison that asked the question the entire room had
on their minds, everyone well aware of Leroux’s talents.

He
shifted in his chair as all eyes were now on him. “Well, umm, if it were up to
me, I’d be, well, looking to see what else happened in the area around the same
time.”

“Such
as?”

“Well,
they just kidnapped two doctors. Did they also take supplies? Was anyone else
kidnapped? Killed?”

Morrison
leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You’re suggesting they took
them as doctors, not hostages.”

Leroux
shrugged. “Just a thought. It’s the Ukrainian. Was she sharing a room with
Doctor—what’s her name?”

“Sarah
Henderson. She kept her maiden name when she married.”

“Probably
not wise in hindsight,” observed Eppes.

“Why
not?” asked Cindy Fowler. “A woman can’t keep her name?”

Eppes
groaned. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Cindy, not everything’s a women’s rights issue.
All I meant was that if she had her husband’s name, they might not have made
the connection with her famous father.”

“And if
she
were a
he
?”

“What of
it? Then
he’d
be in the exact same damned boat as
she
is. Why
don’t we stick to reality rather than your conspiratorial fantasy?
She
is a
she
, with the same last name as her
father
, the
Vice
President.
”

“I’ll
stick to reality, as long as you stick to the relevant facts. The fact that she
kept her maiden name isn’t relevant.”

“Oh,
blow it out your ass.”

“Enough!”
snapped Morrison, the exchange too familiar among the group. Eppes and Fowler
hated each other. They had dated about ten years ago and the breakup had been
bitter, apparently wedding plans involved. Leroux didn’t know much of the
story, and he didn’t want to know. The personal lives of his colleagues was no
concern of his.

And
right now it was just interfering with the real issue.

Morrison
motioned toward Leroux. “You were saying, Chris?”

“Were
they sharing the room?”

“No, I
don’t think so, but we’ll have to have that confirmed. Our intel is very
sketchy at the moment.”

“Well,
if we assume no, then she was a target of opportunity most likely. They could
have killed her right then and there, making their resolve even clearer to the
Vice President. But the fact they didn’t suggests they saw a use for her too.”

“Her
skills as a doctor,” said Eppes, his head bobbing slowly as his red cheeks
slowly returned to their normal pasty pale white. “So if you kidnap a couple of
doctors…”

“You
probably want them to treat somebody, which means they need equipment,
supplies.”

Morrison
pointed at him. “Your team is on that.”

Leroux
nodded.

“Are
there going to be boots on the ground?” asked Fowler.

Morrison
nodded. “I think you can count on it.”

Belme Residence, West Luzon Drive, Fort Bragg

“Uncle Dog, can you fix my train set?”

Command
Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson looked over at young Bryson Belme as he
tugged on his t-shirt. Dawson was the young boy’s Godfather, a responsibility
he took very seriously. The little guy had been in his life coming up on nine
years now and he had to admit he was quite fond of the kid.

“Leave
your uncle alone, Bryson, Daddy will fix it later.”

Dawson
put his beer down on the patio table and winked at Bryson’s mom Shirley. “You
know Red, he’ll just break it.”

Master
Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme flipped him the bird from the barbeque.

“Mike!
Not in front of Bryson!”

Red made
a face at Bryson who giggled. “Sorry, hon.”

Dawson
followed Bryson into the house and down the hall to his room. It was a simple,
humble home, provided by the military for a reasonable rent. A lot of the guys
had them, especially the married ones. He lived on-post as well though he spent
little time there now, his girlfriend Maggie having a nice place in town and
the perks of staying over outweighing his Xbox One.

A quick
fix of the accidentally knocked apart tracks and Bryson was up and running
after a hug of thanks. Dawson returned to the patio to find steaks coming off
the grill.

“Success?”

“Reading
Railroad is running again.”

Red
slapped a steak on Dawson’s plate as he sat down. “How many times do I have to
tell you, ‘
reeding’
, not ‘
redding
’?”

“And how
many times do I have to tell you
you’re
wrong?”

Shirley
turned toward the open patio door. “Bryson, supper!”

Tiny
feet pounding on parquet could be heard before the little bundle of energy
burst through the door. He climbed into his chair and grabbed the hamburger his
father ladled onto the plate.

“Give me
your plate, BD, I’ll fix you up with some salad.”

Dawson
handed his plate to Shirley who spooned a large helping of homemade potato
salad then a three bean affair that he never would have thought he’d like but
actually did, he never a bean person. It was fairly standard fare here, steak
and cold salads a regular occurrence at the Belme household.

And he
had an open invite.

Red was
his best friend. Best he had ever had. They were as close as any two men could
get without actually sleeping together and with their bond forged under fire,
they were tight. He couldn’t imagine life without his friend or the family that
had taken him in. He had a sister that wasn’t too far away. She was married
with a daughter, and he adored his niece Tammy, but saw them far too
infrequently. He was making more of an effort though ever since his job had
dragged them into his secret world when he and his team had been targeted by a
madman. He still hadn’t completely forgiven himself for their kidnapping. It
wasn’t his fault, and his sister continually told him that, but he still felt
responsible.

It had
been a bad day, and he counted himself lucky. Their good friend Stucco and his
family hadn’t been so lucky, murdered while he and the rest of the team stood
powerless to save them.

It had
changed them all.

They had
lost men before in combat, but those were missions. In the field you knew you
could die. But at home, on base? With your family?

Never.

Their
identities were protected, their jobs classified, their deployments secret.

But that
day, someone had figured out who they were.

And it
had made them all that much more cautious.

“It’s
too bad Maggie couldn’t join us today,” said Shirley as he cut into his steak.
Blood flowed freely.

Yum!

“Rare
enough for you?” asked Red as he cut into his own.

Dawson
dropped his ear to within an inch of the steak. “Bryson, do you hear that?”

“What?”
asked the boy between chews.

“Don’t
talk with your mouth full,” scolded Shirley.

“Sorry,
Mommy,” replied Bryson, repeating the offense.

Shirley
shook her head.

Bryson
swallowed and leaned toward Dawson’s steak. “I don’t hear anything.”

“I swear
I heard a ‘moo’.”

Bryson
stood in his chair, leaning over the table, getting his ear as close as he
could. “I don’t hear it.”

Red bent
over, his head under the table. “Moooo.”

“I heard
it!” Bryson’s face brightened as he leaned in closer. Then he frowned. “You
can’t eat that, Uncle Dog. It’s alive!”

Red
laughed, mooing as he sat back up.

“Daddy!”

Bryson
looked pissed and Dawson tousled his hair as he sat back in his seat. “Don’t
worry, Bryson, we’ll get him back later.”

“So
where’s Maggie?”

“Visiting
her sister,” said Dawson as he dabbed his steak in a bit of horseradish,
finally getting his first bite.
Oh God yeah!
He pointed at the rib eye
with his fork. “Fanfriggintastic.”

“Not bad
if I do say so myself,” replied Red, taking a sip of beer.

“Hey,
don’t act as if you raised, slaughtered and aged the thing.” Dawson winked at
Bryson, eliciting a giggle.

“Hey,
I’ll have you know if it weren’t for my barbecuing skills you’d be eating a
slab of charcoal right now.”

“Hey, I
thought we agreed we wouldn’t talk about that ever again!” cried Shirley, mock
horror on her face.

Dawson
laughed. “The one time you cooked the steaks—”