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Authors: Elizabeth Jennings

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Suspense, #Contemporary, #Fiction

Darkness at Dawn (21 page)

BOOK: Darkness at Dawn
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And now this.
He looked down at what the courier—who undoubtedly had a PhD in either political science or contemporary history or Arabic studies—had left him. A flash drive and a small piece of paper on which was printed a series of numbers and a message.
This was sent to us by the South African National Intelligence Service.
Montgomery frowned. The US didn’t have close relations with the South African NIS. Maybe, and the thought chilled him, the intel was too much for NIS to handle.
He inserted the flash drive into the USB port at the side of his Powerbook, and when the field came up, he carefully typed in the twelve-digit code. Instantly, there was a beep and a file name came up.
Stop Cold. Nigeria.
Nigeria
? Montgomery thought. Christ. He rubbed his tired eyes again and clicked on the file.
A video file opened crisply. Some kind of surveillance monitor, panning slowly over the canopy of an equatorial forest. Underneath were latitude and longitude data and the date and the time. Three p.m. yesterday. He had no idea if that was local time or EST. The camera moved slowly, on the underbelly of a drone.
Did the NIS operate surveillance satellites? He made a note to ask.
And then everything else fled his mind and he looked forward, eyes locked onto the screen.
A large clearing. He estimated it at five hundred yards across. Small, well-maintained huts on beaten earth. Several campfires burning.
And bodies, everywhere.
At least a hundred corpses fallen to the ground, heads ringed with red. Looking more closely, Montgomery could see that one of the bodies had fallen into a small campfire and was burning. The quality of the video was first-rate, and Montgomery thanked whoever arranged these things up there—he’d long ago stopped believing in a benevolent God—that they still couldn’t reproduce smell together with vision.
He forced himself to study the screen carefully and saw signs that the men, women and children had dropped suddenly. He could see dark clouds of flies congregated over the masses of vomited blood.
A few held something in their hands. He peered more closely, touched the screen for a zoom shot. The picture went out of focus then focused in again, more tightly. Several of the tribesmen held small crystal cylinders in their hands. Montgomery couldn’t tell how long they were until he noticed several glints on the ground.
He zoomed in even closer, frowning. More cylinders, scattered around on the beaten earth. About an inch long. Some had a pattern of streaked dust around them, as if a small air explosion had gone off.
Undoubtedly then, there was a release mechanism that was air fired, shooting the virus into the air.
He could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest, could feel the individual cardiac muscles pulsing, as all the permutations of what he was seeing occurred to him.
This was a test run, on a circumscribed population. And it was successful.
A man came stumbling into the clearing from the north, a tribesman. He staggered, looking around with wide eyes. The resolution of the screen was so good Montgomery could clearly read his expression—one of absolute terror. He kneeled next to a woman, perhaps his wife, and held her in his arms, looking up at the sky, his mouth a perfect
O
of horror, his sweaty face shining under the African sun.
He was shouting something and Montgomery was glad there was no sound. There would be no intel to be had, just raw human pain. The man wasn’t talking. He was screaming his despair at the sky, and there was nothing to be got out of him but sadness.
Montgomery felt that out of humanity he should turn his face away to preserve the man’s dignity, but it was wartime, and human dignity is one of the first luxuries to go when man raises his hand against man.
The only live man left, possibly the last of his tribe, rose to his feet and roamed through the camp. Montgomery watched as he stumbled his way from corpse to corpse, desperation clear in the strong, slumped shoulders, big arms held listlessly to the sides.
Suddenly, the man dropped to his knees and Montgomery’s heart skipped a beat.
That was happening more and more lately. ‘Extrasystolic arrhythmia’ his cardiologist called it, a symptom of an ailing heart. Though this time it wasn’t a physical phenomenon but a reaction to what he was seeing. For he knew what was coming next.
And, indeed, the African’s head bowed and a bright red stream of vomit spewed from his mouth, soaking instantly into the dust. It was painful to watch. Another bout of vomiting and the man fell face-first into the dust, vomiting again. His movements were now weak, more twitches than gestures.
Montgomery watched, face impassive, as the man died.
There was a counter at the bottom of the screen giving the percentage of time elapsed in white numerals. He’d only watched 10 percent of the video. He clicked onto the counter and scrolled it slowly to the right, the white numbers flicking rapidly.
 
10%-20%-35%-50%-75%-90%-100%.
 
As green filled the field from left to right, the bodies on the ground in far-off Africa began to shrink, as if being mummified. Within half an hour, all the bodies were dust the wind whisked away, leaving only red circles in the dirt, some scraps of cloth and various implements.
In the end, at the very last, Montgomery watched as the last man’s body started to shrink. The video was over, but he knew what the man would shortly become. Dust.
It was as if no one had ever lived in the clearing.
Montgomery had been in the intelligence business for a long, long time. For all of his life, his greatest fear had been of a Broken Arrow, a nuclear incident. He’d thought of it daily, been woken up gasping from a nightmare of a mushroom cloud. He’d dedicated himself heart and soul to ensuring that a Broken Arrow never happened, and so far, it hadn’t.
But now, he had a new, far more terrible fear. It was real and it was coming soon.
NHALA THE PALACE
 
Lucy rushed into the room, straight into Paso’s arms, and hugged her tightly. Paso was holding her just as tightly, and they rocked together.
Oh, it felt so
good
to hold her friend again! They were both babbling in Nhalan, nonsense words of affection. Lucy rested her forehead against Paso’s and whispered how much she’d missed her. Paso stroked her hair, then wiped the tears from her eyes and then the tears from Lucy’s eyes. Lucy hadn’t even realized she’d been crying.
A soldier of the Royal Guard, a captain, was standing behind Paso. Lucy recognized his face. He’d been the head of the Royal Guard at the welcome ceremony. He stood behind Paso stolidly, at parade rest.
Finally Lucy pulled back and held Paso by her shoulders at arm’s length and looked at her. Oh, how she’d missed her!
Her friend was still a beautiful woman, with the clear, smooth, golden olive skin Lucy had envied so much as a girl. But Paso also had swollen eyes with deep circles under them. Instead of the elaborate ceremonial robes she’d worn at the greeting ceremony, Paso was wearing slim jeans and a white shirt, her uniform as a girl. Lucy was happy to see that she could shed the princess persona that had so chafed her as a girl.
“I am so happy you could come, my friend,” Paso said softly, in the musical tones Lucy remembered so well. “I need you so much.”
“Of course I came,” Lucy said. “You knew I would.”
Lucy released Paso and took Mike’s arm, walking forward. “My fiancé insisted on coming with me. Mike, meet my dear friend, Princess Paso of Nhala. Paso, my fiancé, Michael Harrington.”
Lucy looked briefly at Mike, the merest flicker of a glance. It was never a good idea to give away more information than necessary, even to friends and allies.
Would he understand?
She’d underestimated him. He held out his hand to Paso, body language casual and relaxed. “Princess Paso, it’s a real pleasure. I sort of invited myself along. I hope that’s okay with you.”
His face was unsmiling, though, and there was a very strong subtext.
If it’s not okay with you, that’s too bad.
His tone, his entire demeanor, was immensely protective. He put a heavy arm around Lucy’s shoulders and squeezed.
It was playacting, Lucy knew that. But it felt so incredibly
good
. She’d never had a protective boyfriend, and her parents hadn’t been the protecting kind at all. For the first time, Lucy understood the appeal of chivalry. Of having a strong man at your back. She was filled with warmth and strength. She told herself she was a fool, but she felt the warm mantle of protection settle over her. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she leaned against him, her entire left side heating up, soaking up the warm, steely strength of him.
Paso looked up into Mike’s face, studying him, her own face troubled. She switched her gaze to Lucy. “Is he trustworthy?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Lucy answered firmly. “He’s very trustworthy. I’d trust him with my life.” That part was true, because she was trusting him with her life. His hand on her shoulder tightened.
“All right.” Paso gave a tentative smile up at Mike.
“But I don’t know about this guy behind you.” Mike’s deep voice held suspicion. “Isn’t he one of Changa’s guys? I don’t know what’s going on, but it seems to me that Changa isn’t one of the good guys here.”
The princess dipped her head in acknowledgement. “No, indeed. He is definitely not a good guy.” And then Lucy was surprised when Paso stepped back and the soldier put his arm around her, mimicking Mike’s stance. It surprised her doubly because Paso hadn’t given any sign at all that the captain was special to her. Paso looked up into the captain’s face, smiling faintly, and his arm tightened.
“Lucy, Mike. This is Captain Mohar Thakin, of the Royal Guard. And if General Changa had any idea that he was here tonight, with me, he’d have him immediately executed.”
Lucy believed her, absolutely. “Don’t worry,” she said gently and met the captain’s dark eyes. “Your secret is safe with us.”
Paso sighed. “There are many things I must tell you. Let’s find a place to sit down.”
The Orangerie was huge, warm and green, the air fragrant and fresh, filled with all sorts of exotic plants. The Frenchman who’d designed it had torn down one entire south wall and filled it with glass panes, letting in as much sunlight as was possible.
The plants were thriving and provided perfect cover for a meeting. A minute into the huge Orangerie and they were completely hidden from view, both from the entrance door and from the outside. Here and there were benches where the greenhouse workers could sit down and work.
The lights of the Orangerie were refracted by the thick, dense leaves of the plants. It looked as if they were meeting underwater.
The scent of all the plants in the overheated steamy air was almost overwhelming, all the smells of Nhala concentrated and intensified.
They sat down, Paso still in the captain’s embrace. She was pale and tense, and she clearly derived strength and comfort from his touch.
Odd that, Lucy thought. She understood completely now, but wouldn’t have even just two days ago. She realized that she touched very few people, and never for comfort. The touch of friendship, the touch of desire, these she was familiar with, though they were infrequent in her life.
But the touch of comfort? Before Mike, she’d never really thought to seek comfort and strength from someone else. Mike’s touch was fictitious, the embrace of a man playing a role. And yet even that was delicious, a bulwark against the world.
Clearly, Paso had found her bulwark, and she needed it. Her world was as treacherous as shark-infested waters. If General Changa needed her for his plans and discovered that she’d already given her heart, he wouldn’t hesitate to take his revenge. He might have to be careful with a princess and couldn’t hurt her publicly, but the captain . . . Lucy shivered. Changa could have the captain accused of treason and hung, all in the space of an hour.
Or worse.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Lucy,” Paso said, reaching out to clutch Lucy’s hand. Her skin was cold and clammy. Her hand trembled. Lucy held Paso’s hand between hers, trying to warm it up.
“I’m glad to be here. Now, tell me everything that’s happened. Where’d this Changa come from, anyway? He wasn’t around when we were together here.”
Holding Paso’s hand, Lucy felt the slight jolt at hearing Changa’s name, saw color drain from her face. Paso was terrified of him.
“No, you never met him. He was just a lieutenant in the regular army fifteen years ago. He wasn’t even in Chilongo during the coup. Lucy . . .” Paso’s grip tightened even more. “When all that happened . . . when we almost lost the country to the Chinese, when your parents lost their lives . . . Well, it was all such a mess. My father sent Jomo and me away to the Summer Palace in Bhoktu. The Americans immediately came and took your parents’ bodies and you away. I never got a chance to say good-bye. Never got a chance to thank you on behalf of the Royal Family. I don’t even know whether my father thanked you.”
BOOK: Darkness at Dawn
3.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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