Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

“Now, Doc, no need to be like that,” Sharp said to her.

What was that smile doing on his face? The one that made him look like he’d won a lottery.

“I’m sick, remember?” she said, and worked on finishing her food. Right now, sleep sounded like the safest thing she could do for her mental health.

Sharp suddenly straightened and turned to face the tunnel. The other soldiers quickly followed suit and within a second or two, all of them were on full alert, weapons in hand.

CIA emerged out of the dark, breathing a little too fast, his face a little too pale.

“Are we blown?” Sharp asked him, getting to his feet.

“No,” CIA panted. “Worse. The dead village your men were guarding came under attack by a large group of extremists. We’re not clear on which group it is, but all contact has been lost.”

“Fuck,” Sharp swore. “Leonard was there with Bart and Lee, along with some of Marshall’s men.”

“A group of Afghan soldiers has also gone missing.”

“Missing?”

“There’s been no contact from them in more than twenty-four hours.”

“Why is that relevant?” Falcon asked.

“Their last known check-in was only about forty kilometers from the village, farther north and west toward Tajikistan.”

“I don’t understand,” Grace said, unable to read from the expressions on the men’s faces what was going on.

“Extremists have been moving around that part of the world,” Sharp explained. “From Syria east through Iraq, Iran and toward Afghanistan. They’re gathering strength in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan.”

“If a group came into Afghanistan from Tajikistan, hit that Afghan patrol and your village, it could mean the beginning of a new offensive of extremists.”

“They sure as heck don’t want the current government to succeed,” Sharp agreed. “Killing a bunch of American soldiers and making Afghans disappear gives them credibility and power with locals and other groups.” He turned to CIA. “Has anyone or any group claimed responsibility for any of this?”

“No, but an unknown militant group has demanded that all American troops leave the country immediately or the Afghan troops will be executed.”

Grace listened to the men discussing these latest developments, but remained confused by them. The anthrax attack seemed unconnected to these acts. They were days apart, for one thing. The disappearance of the Afghans appeared to be politically motivated, while no one had even mentioned the anthrax attack, for another.

So why did something about all of this feel off?

“Who’s in command of American troops in this part of the world?” she asked of no one in particular.

“General Stone,” Sharp said.

“The same General Stone who is enroute to FOB Bostick?” she asked. “To straighten out the communication mess between me, Max, Marshall and the Special Forces?”

“He’s there now,” Falcon said. “Arrived about two hours ago if he kept to his schedule.”

“And what would his first priority be once he got there?” Grace asked.

“He’d send more men to reinforce our military presence at the village,” Falcon responded.

“And if a bunch of our allied soldiers just happened to disappear? What would he do?”

“He’d send out search-and-rescue.”

“Holy shit,” Sharp said, staring at Grace like he’d never seen her before. “You think Bostick is going to be the next anthrax target.”

Max stopped pretending to work and walked up to the plastic wall separating him from the rest of the cave. He stared at Grace with a horrified expression. “What better way to demoralize our troops than to take out a large number, along with their commanding officer?”

“It makes sense. Sick sense, but still...” Falcon said.

“Grace,” Max ordered. “You need to take your men and few of mine and go to Bostick to either stop that attack or get everyone out. General Stone will listen to you.”

“I thought I was too sick?” she asked. Either she was useful or not. This business of being around only when someone wanted her did not sit well with her.

“You
are
too sick, but you’re the only one with the knowledge to convince General Stone, and I think, to talk Marshall off of the ledge he’s put himself on.”

“Marshall tried to kill her and the rest of us. Why the hell would you want to help him?” Sharp demanded.

“Because he’s a victim, just like the rest of us. Right now, he’s in a place where the pain is constant and he can’t see a way out, so he’s not thinking clearly,” Max replied. He glanced at Grace again. “I think Dr. Samuels can patch up some of those wounds, if she’s given a chance.”

“So, you know what caused his—” she searched for the right word to describe Marshall’s behavior “—fury?”

“I haven’t come right out and asked him, but I did do a more thorough look into all of the personnel present two years ago,” Max said.

“I wish I had done that before I went to Bostick,” she said. “I would have dealt with him differently. I don’t think I can salvage the situation.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sharp asked her and Max, his voice a cool growl that made her wince.

“It’s a long story,” Grace said, “but the short version is, Marshall blames me for the death of his son. And—” she took in a deep breath “—he might be right.”

Everyone stared at her for a long moment.

“Bullshit,” Smoke said, the word slicing through the silence.

“Smoke’s right,” Sharp said. “There’s no way. You’re one of those people who wouldn’t think twice about throwing themselves on a grenade to save someone else.”

“Two years ago,” Hernandez said, joining the conversation for the first time, “when you earned your Star?”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything further.

“She saved two men who were bleeding out, and shot two extremists who were taking turns shooting anyone who moved,” Max said. “What most people don’t know is that she was also shot during the event.”

“It was just a scratch,” she said, her teeth clenched so tight together her jaw hurt. “And I’m no hero, I was doing my job. If I could give that medal back, I would.”

She turned to Max. “What should we do?”

He glanced behind him at the equipment. “I’ve started the sensitivity testing and it’s got to cook for at least several hours. I can’t go, but you can.”

Sharp pushed his way between Grace and the plastic wall Max was behind.

Was he trying to protect her?

“And do what?” he asked. “We don’t know if our situation has changed.”

“We brought enough aviation fuel to get your helicopter to Bostick. So get going and call on the way. If General Stone has been there a couple of hours already, that arrest order has been rescinded.”

“Jamal?” Falcon said to CIA. Only his name.

“Officially, the arrest order is gone, but unofficially—” CIA looked at Grace “—there’s still a price for her.”

Max mused, “Interesting.”

“That’s not what I’d call it,” Sharp growled, still staring at her like it was all her fault.

“Stop staring at me like I’m some sort of evil genius. I didn’t ask for all this.”

“Sharpshooter,” Max barked.

Sharp responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Stop arguing and start moving. You and the men you choose to take with you, along with Grace, have two objectives. One, warn General Stone. He and the base are the most likely targets of our bug baker. Two, find the damn cook and kill him.”

Sharp smiled a shark’s smile. “Yes, sir.” That grin died as he glanced at Grace. “Sir, about Grace—”

“She goes with you. Not negotiable. You may need her, and we both shouldn’t be in the same place in case things go...bad here.”

“Understood.”

“Grace, I left some oral antibiotics for you on your pack.”

“Wonderful. I hate IVs.” She got up and went to the alcove where her pack rested and found the pills.

Movement behind her caught her attention.

Sharp crouched in front of her. “I’ll take your IV out.”

She held out her arm silently and he pulled the plastic catheter out of the vein on the back of her hand. His thumb pressed a piece of gauze down on her tender flesh, then he put a Band-Aid over it to hold it in place.

“Let’s see your leg.” His tone allowed for no argument.

She silently pulled off her pants. Again. “I should have listened to my grandmother,” she muttered. “She always told me to stash a clean pair of underwear in one of my pockets in case shit hits the fan.”

“Really?”

“She was a WASP, an Air Force service pilot during World War Two. It’s how she met my granddad. She’d be disappointed in my lack of preparedness. But it’s not like I’ve had time to change my underwear, and far too many people have seen...mine.”

He leaned close and said quietly, “The only people who’ve seen your underwear are Max, me and our guys, and they were very careful not to look.”

She froze and slowly met his gaze.

His grin was pure sin. “I’m becoming enamored with the color pink.”

“Isn’t that against the Special Forces soldier rules?”

“Not when that’s the color of your girl’s panties.”

“Your girl?”

His grin got wider and he said, “Let’s see those stitches.”

She slid her pants down and exposed the wound.

He reached out with his hands to remove the bandage.

“Gloves,” she reminded him.

He grabbed a pair from her pack and peeled the bandage away. While still red and puffy, the swelling had gone down and the stitches seemed to have stopped weeping and were scabbed over.

“How many doses have I had of antibiotic?” she asked. She could have slept through one or two depending on how often Max had ordered them.

“Two.”

“This looks good, then. The pills should be all I need.”

“How do you feel?” Sharp asked as he took off the gloves and threw them in a makeshift garbage can.

“Tired, but not light-headed or achy like I did before.”

He stared at her hard, like he was trying to decide if she was telling the truth or not.

“I’m okay,” she told him, putting her hand on his, which still rested on her leg. “I’m not great, but I’m okay.”

“You
will
tell me if you feel any worse than okay.” It was an order.

“Of course, and I’d like you to do the same. Don’t ignore it if the pain in any of your wounds gets worse. Pain is the body’s way of telling you there’s a problem.”

“Deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

She took it, expecting a professional, impersonal handshake.

What he did was yank her up against him and kiss her. Hard. His lips gave no quarter, his tongue no escape.

She didn’t want to escape. Her heart sped up and her breathing got choppy, and all she wanted to do was get closer to him. When he kissed her no pain could reach her, and no memory could destroy the pleasure and peace his touch inspired.

What was she doing? Anyone could walk past and catch them. It could ruin both of their careers.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, like he needed time to collect himself before facing anyone else. Had they kissed for two seconds, two minutes or two hours?

His eyes opened and he stared at her, the expression on his face changing from dangerously hot to plain dangerous. “When I get you naked, you’re going to stay that way for a month.”

“We shouldn’t do that anymore,” she whispered. “It’s not...professional.” Though the idea was shockingly tempting. She could picture herself and Sharp, naked and wrapped around each other in a bed, the pillows and sheets spilled onto the floor. She breathed out a shaky breath and said, “No, we can’t.” She waved a hand between them. “Isn’t a good idea.”

He snorted. “None of this is a good idea.”

She opened her mouth to explain further, but he shook his head. “No, I get you. Regulations and common sense say not to go there. The thing is, I’m not sure I care what the rules say.”

“I care,” she said in a very small voice.

He stared at her, his gaze so deep he had to be seeing all the way to the bottom of her soul.

“We’ll be heading out in a couple of minutes,” he said as if the last few minutes of their conversation hadn’t happened. “Remember, you’re human and you’re not indestructible.”

There was so much they needed to talk about, but there wasn’t time. As she finished getting her pants on, she said, “Pot. Kettle. Black.” She grabbed her antibiotics, her pack and moved to get up, but Sharp hadn’t moved and didn’t seem interested in getting out of her way. “Sergeant, do I have to order you to stand down?”

“No, ma’am.” His face was shuttered, but there was an edge of violence in the set of his jaw and narrowed eyes.

She put a tentative hand on his shoulder, met his formidable gaze and said for him alone, “I promise I won’t do anything to jeopardize myself or anyone else unless I have to. I’ll be careful and I’ll be smart.”

“It’s killing me knowing the danger that’s ahead. The guy behind this biological weapon is nuts. He’s like a loaded handgun with no safety. One squeeze and there’s no calling the bullet back.”

“Are you saying I’m not capable of doing what might be needed?”

“No, that’s the problem,” he said in a tone that sounded casual when the words were the opposite. “How fine is the line between a situation you can salvage and one you can’t?” He stood and left her considering her answer.

She didn’t know.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Someone found Sharp a backpack and he jammed in every weapon he could get his hands on, along with extra water and energy bars.

He found himself wishing Grace wasn’t the damn good soldier she was.

Then there was her tendency to do practically
anything
to save another person.

He’d seen her, goddamn it, seen her leave a place of safety and put herself in harm’s way to save another soldier. Him. She’d do it again. She’d do it over and over. It was the way she was built, for service and sacrifice.

If she were a man, she’d have made an excellent Special Forces soldier.

Green Berets were trained to get the job done and to think outside standard warfare tactics. Grace and Max were the only two people who understood the weapon their enemy was using, and neither of them were disposable. Max, at least, was doing the smart thing by staying out of sight and getting the lab work done. Where he wasn’t smart was sending Grace to do the fieldwork.

She was a wild card. She didn’t think in terms of warfare, she thought in terms of life and death.

Black and white.

No compromise. No surrender.

It hit him like a two-by-four to the back of his head. She thought like their enemy thought, in terms of all or nothing. She was willing to die to defend her people, like their enemy was willing to die to kill them.

If only Marshall knew he had the perfect weapon in the woman he seemed to be trying to destroy.

She also probably saw them as friends with benefits. Could he be satisfied with a pseudo-relationship? A part-time girlfriend, a woman not totally his own?

No way in hell.

He wanted her, all of her, twenty-four-seven, no holding back, no hiding anything. He wanted to shout to the world that she belonged to him and he belonged to her. She was the best partner he’d ever worked with at anything. Her laughter, her smile, her gorgeous eyes. He couldn’t imagine a future without her in it.

Oh
fuck
. He
loved
her.

Smoke appeared in front of him. “You ready?”

Sharp jerked his stunned brain back to earth, gave his pack one last look, decided it was full and closed it up. “Yeah.”

He found Grace outside the plastic wall, talking to Max. He wanted to kiss her, hold her and order her to stay here in the relative safety of this disguised garbage dump. He could do none of those things.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do?” she asked her commanding officer.

Max shook his head.

“Grace,” Sharp said. “Can I have a word?”

“Of course.” She followed him a short distance way. “What is it?”

“We’re missing some vital intel.” He hoped what he was about to ask her wouldn’t blow up in his face. “What happened two years ago to make Marshall think you’re responsible for the death of his son? Which brings up my next question. He had a son?”

Grace stared at him for a moment, the color draining from her face.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s impacting everything we’re trying to do.” He glanced around at the men in the cave. “We’re all soldiers here and you won a Star for what you did then. Whatever it is that’s tearing you up inside, we
understand
.”

“Yeah.” She nodded and seemed to deflate, her shoulders hunching. “I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago, right after the night he confronted me. I don’t like thinking about it, let alone talking about it.” She shook her head. “I’ve tried to forget that day, but it’s a part of me now.” She glanced around, blew out a breath and said, “I need a place where I can sit down.”

Smoke gestured at the rock he’d been sitting on earlier and she sat. “Okay.” She took a couple of moments to get settled. “The convoy had a dozen trucks in it. We were moving our combat support hospital to one of the forward bases seeing a lot of injuries. We were supported by armored vehicles with mounted guns. You know, the big ones.” She’d spoken to Sharp, but all around him, he could see heads nodding.

“I don’t remember how long we’d been driving when the IED went off. Maybe two or three hours? The explosion took out the first vehicle entirely, and no one survived. The second truck was badly damaged, and the third was disabled by enough shrapnel from the blast to make it mechanically unsound.

“There had been six people in the second truck. Two died right away, the other four sustained injuries. Only two people in the third truck were injured. The other four escaped immediate injury.

“My surgical team was split up between three trucks in the middle of the convoy. We grabbed first-aid kits, jumped out and ran toward the blast zone. That’s when we started taking fire. I don’t know how many people were shooting at us, but it seemed like the bullets were coming from everywhere.” She stopped to catch her breath, but she couldn’t seem to slow her breathing down.

Sharp crouched next to her rock and put a hand on her shoulder. She relaxed a little. This was going to be bad. Really bad.

“I don’t remember how I ended up there, but the next thing I knew, I was behind the door of another armored truck, a marine crowding me into the corner as he fired again and again at whoever was firing on us. A bullet took him in the neck. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it ripped his carotid artery apart and there was nothing I could do.” She sort of smiled, but not really. It was the kind of thing a person did when they felt they’d done a particularly stupid thing.

“It made me angry, so I grabbed my weapon and began firing myself. I shot at every target I could see until I ran out of ammunition. For a second or two I thought the weapon had jammed, then I realized I was out of bullets. Shouting for help from farther forward in the convoy got me moving again, but without anyone firing at me. I figured I’d scared off whoever had been responsible for the shooting.” She twisted her fingers together, pulling at them as if there was something wrong with them.

“When I got to the third truck, I was waved forward by the lead surgeon. He couldn’t go as he had his hand inside a man’s chest, probably trying to control a bleeder. I rushed up to the second vehicle and found two of our trauma nurses dead. Shot in the back of their heads while trying to triage the dead and wounded inside, I think. At first I thought everyone was dead, then I heard moans and knew someone was alive inside.”

She swallowed hard and continued. “I pulled the bodies of the nurses aside and discovered two men alive. One was even conscious. I began triaging them, but someone started shooting at us again. One of the wounded’s sidearm was only inches from my hand. I grabbed it, turned and aimed over the edge of the door. The shooter was only about twenty feet from me and couldn’t have been older than nine or ten years. He looked terrified and was shouting at me in Arabic or Dari, but I don’t speak either one, so I didn’t know what he was saying.”

She glanced at Sharp. “How could I kill a child?” She looked away before he could answer and continued. “I hesitated, certain that if I just stayed still and let the boy calm down, he wouldn’t shoot.”

Tears dripped down her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice. “There was a shout from down the convoy and a marine ran toward me, firing at the boy. He missed. The boy didn’t. It was a head shot and the marine went down fast. So fast. The boy turned his weapon on me, but I shot him first. Twice in the chest. More extremists came toward the convoy and I kept shooting.”

“Marshall’s son was the marine who tried to help you? The one the kid shot?” Sharp asked.

“Yes. I hesitated to kill that boy, and Marshall’s son paid the price for my mistake.”

“They don’t share a name.”

“No. Marshall told me he’d only become aware of his son’s existence when the soldier tracked his father down after his mother died. He found his birth certificate with her papers with Marshall’s name on it. Marshall told me, he’d never been prouder of anything or anyone than he was of his son. He’d only known him a year.”

“Grief is one thing,” Sharp said slowly. “But blaming you for the death of a soldier—”

“They gave me a medal,” she interrupted. “If he had been your son, how would you have felt?”

“Proud,” Sharp said. “He drew fire from you and gave you the chance to defend yourself and the wounded.”

All around the room, men nodded in agreement.

She stared at them, her hands opening and closing, like she wanted to hit someone. “He should have gotten the medal, not me.”

“Several someones thought differently,” Sharp said, keeping his tone as solid and sure as tempered steel. “We’re fighting people who use terror as their primary weapon. They want you to feel guilty. They want you to feel afraid. Don’t rent them space in your head.”

“Oh,” she said, partly laughing and partly crying. “They’ve got a mortgage on the whole thing. I’m going to need a good therapist after all this is over.”

“Get evicting already, we’ve got a job to do,” Sharp told her in his best drill sergeant voice.

“But, Marshall—”

“You let me worry about him. You’ve got to get your head back in the game. Get your stuff together. Wheels up in ten.”

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she visibly pulled herself together and stood.

Max pointed at a stack of crates. “There’s ten percent formaldehyde solution. Take as much as you can.”

“Formaldehyde?” Sharp asked.

“It’s one of the better disinfectants for anthrax spores,” Grace explained.

“How else do you kill them?”

“Heat works, but it needs to be a controlled burn.”

“So blowing shit up is out?”

“That would be my last choice. Surfaces contaminated with spores might be moved or thrown clear of any resulting fire before the spores are destroyed. Spores can be viable even after forty years in soil. No viability range has been established for surfaces exposed to air, but I would err on the side of caution and assume years.” She began sorting through the supplies Max brought and seemed fine enough to leave alone for a few minutes.

Sharp walked to the other side of the plastic room Max worked in and waved the doctor over. “I don’t have time to convince you she’s safer with me than anyone else.”

Max didn’t say anything, just watched him with careful eyes.

“You’re her commanding officer and her friend. How do I help her?”

“That was the right question.” Max smiled at him, the ruthless sort of smile a brother might wear when he’s about to irritate his little sister for her own good. “She’s intelligent and fearless when it comes to the safety of other people. It’s herself she’s not so good at looking after,” Max said in a low, rushed voice. “Become her shadow. Support her decisions. If she tells you to run, grab her and take her with you.”

Sharp let out a breath. “Thanks.” He turned, gathered up her pack and his, grabbed his loaned sniper rifle and flashed the hand signal for a huddle with his team.

“You can come with Grace and me to Bostick or stay here. What’s it going to be?”

Hernandez spoke first. “We’re with you and the doc.”

The others nodded.

Sharp looked at them all in return. “Okay. Let’s get moving.” He headed toward the stockpile of supplies with his men a step behind him.

Grace looked up from an open box filled with what looked like spray bottles. “We need this case of disinfectant.”

“There is more in the truck,” Max told them without looking up from the microscope. “In buckets. Take what you need.”

“There aren’t enough bio-suits for everyone,” she said, her lips pressed together tight. “Only me.”

“You’re the most likely person to come in contact with the spores, so that makes sense,” Sharp said.

She bit her bottom lip. “Maybe we should limit the number of people who come on this trip.”

Sharp smiled gently. “You’re going to need all of us, darling. You’re the bug expert, but we’re the bad-guy exterminators.”

She glanced behind him and the team and said, “But—”

“You can’t talk us out of this,” Sharp explained. “We don’t know how Marshall is going to react when we get there. You need backup.”

“What about General Stone?”

“We’re going to recommend he leaves as soon as possible after we land.” Sharp waved a hand at the case of spray bottles, and Hernandez stepped forward to pick it up.

“Are you ready?” Sharp asked her.

“No,” she told him with a sigh. “But I guess I’m going anyway.”

Sharp offered her pack to her and she took it with a wry grimace. “I think I’m going to burn this when I get home.”

“There you go,” Sharp said, nudging her a little with one elbow. “Now you’re thinking ahead.” He led the way into the tunnel and they began the trek toward the hatch at the other end. She fell in behind him.

“Why are you so cheerful?” she asked, frowning at him.

“It’s just nice to get out of the cave for a little while,” he said like he was some 1950s housewife.

She rolled her eyes. “Why is it, that when the danger is the highest, you get really silly? Like when you had to slap me out of my hysterics after our helicopter crash.”

“Dude,” Hernandez said, disapproval coloring his tone. “You slapped her?”

“No. I slipped a spare magazine for her Beretta into her back pocket.”

“Huh,” Smoke grunted. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

For a moment no one said anything, then Grace began to laugh. So hard she stopped walking, slapped a hand over her mouth and had to lean one hand against the tunnel wall to keep from sliding down to her knees.

Sharp grinned at Smoke, the sly devil, and winked at the other man.

Smoke gave him a brief smile in return, his straight white teeth gleaming in the darkness and against his tanned skin.

Grace stopped laughing and smacked Smoke on the shoulder. “You ought to come with a warning label.”

“What, like slippery when wet?” Hernandez asked.

Smoke appeared to give it some serious thought. “Smoke. Fire. Boom,” he said.

“Yours would read, ‘out for lunch,’ Hernandez,” Sharp said as he started walking again.

Very quietly behind him, Grace said, “I shouldn’t be laughing. Our situation is so...terrible. Is it okay to laugh?”