Payback (10 page)

She
closed her eyes, already unfocused as she imagined them both being gang raped
for days or weeks on end until they both eventually died from the ordeal.

She
could imagine nothing worse.

Except
perhaps dying from Ebola.

Ebola.

The
thought hooked her, her downward spiral halting for just a brief moment as her
mind focused on the line that had been tossed it by her subconscious.

Ebola.

Death
from it was horrendous, painful, lonely. But it could be fought with some
success. And so could this situation. They couldn’t win against these men if
they were determined to physically harm them, but Major Koroma had implied
their expertise as doctors was partially why they were here.

You
can’t repeatedly rape your doctors and expect them to save your people.

Reality
rushed back as a modicum of hope resurfaced. She turned to Koroma and pointed
at the driver’s hand. “Are you going to allow that? I thought you were supposed
to be an honorable man?”

Koroma
leaned forward and looked, snapping some curt words at the driver whose hand
immediately darted away.

“Thank
you,” she said, wrapping her arm around Tanya’s shoulders, pulling her tight
against her as the poor woman sobbed.

She’s
going to be of no use.

She was
already mentally broken and Sarah feared if her friend didn’t snap out of it
soon she might not be able to serve any useful purpose beyond being a piece of
meat for the letches they could find themselves surrounded by.

“We’re
going to be okay,” she whispered in her friend’s ear. “You need to think of
your family. You need to be strong for them if we’re going to survive this.
Just keep thinking of them, okay?”

There
was no response, but she did feel Tanya’s chest heave as a deep breath was
sucked in and held.

At least
it was something.

The
truck came to a stop, it now pitch black, artificial lights few, flaming
barrels and torches more common, the stars brilliant in the night sky, the new
moon nowhere to be seen. Major Koroma climbed down then held out his hand for
her. She decided it was best to take it. If she could establish some sort of
connection with this man—a non-sexual connection ideally—he might take pity on
them. Her goal was survival, and if that meant sleeping with the man, she might
just do it, though the very thought disgusted and enraged her.

If I
were a man this wouldn’t be happening.

She took
a breath, helping Tanya down.

If I
were a man I’d be dead already.

She
shouldn’t have to use her sexuality to save her life, but at this moment she
could only think of three things she had to offer. Her father’s money, her skills
as a doctor, and her body.

She
hoped the first two would suffice but Koroma had certainly indicated they
wouldn’t.

She
jumped as they were suddenly surrounded by a group of men, handshakes exchanged
as the other two trucks pulled up. Flashlights played around the group and the
sounds of a sleepy village beginning to stir, lights and lanterns being lit
around them suggesting many more might be about to join them.

Which
was never good in an Ebola plagued country.

Crowds
meant death.

And
these people didn’t seem to understand that.

She
turned to Koroma. “If you have an Ebola problem here, I suggest nobody shake
hands or touch, and you minimize the size of the crowd.”

A
floodlight flicked on and Koroma’s face was suddenly visible, a frown creasing
it, his eyes suggesting concern. He nodded. “Keep everyone in their homes. I
need three crews to unload the supplies, everyone else home. I don’t want to
risk spreading the disease.”

A hush
descended upon those gathered as they seemed to recognize the foolishness of what
they had done. Shouts erupted and the sounds of doors slamming shut could be
heard up and down the street they were on as three crews were hastily chosen,
the unloading beginning within moments.

“Follow
me.”

Koroma
led them toward the only building that seemed to have some lighting. A
dilapidated sign in front indicated it was a community center, but someone had
spray painted the word ‘Ebola’ over ‘Community’. A skull and crossbones had
been tacked underneath it.

A sense
of foreboding swept over her as she felt a shiver race up her spine. She was in
regular clothes, no protective gear, and they were about to enter what might be
a building loaded with Ebola patients.

She
grabbed Koroma’s arm. “Wait.”

He
turned. “What?”

“Are
there infected people in there?”

“Yes.”

“We’re
not properly dressed. We need personal protective gear.”

“My
people have never been provided them by your governments, so why should
you
get them?”

She
paused, thinking of a suitable response to counter his political argument. She
smiled. On the inside. “The longer we stay free of infection, the longer we’ll
be able to help your people. If we get exposed, we could be useless within days
and no help to anyone. Let us treat your people properly and we may be able to
save many of them.”

This argument
seemed to at least give Koroma pause.

“What do
you suggest?”

She
pointed at the stack of supplies quickly forming. “Don’t bring any of that
inside.” She stepped toward the pile and spotted what she was looking for. “You
have the proper gear here. We’ll need to inventory everything we have, but
first we need to see what’s happening inside. Let us suit up and do an
assessment, then I’ll be able to tell you everything we need to do.”

Koroma
looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. It began to make her nervous. He
finally spoke. “You realize cooperating won’t save your lives.”

A pit
formed in her stomach, but she fought it off. This was the early minutes. If
she could prove their worth, their chances of survival would increase. And the
longer they stayed alive, the more likely they’d be rescued.

For she
had no doubt her father would stop at nothing to rescue her.

But she
couldn’t tell Koroma that.

“I’m not
doing it to save our lives. I’m doing it because I’m a doctor, and I took an
oath.”

Abbotts Park Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

“Baby, if you keep feeding me like this, I might just have to marry
you.”

“Don’t
you be making promises you’re not going to keep, Leon.”

Sergeant
Leon “Atlas” James smiled as he tucked into another slice of lasagna. His
girlfriend was going to culinary school and this week was Italian food.

And he
was loving it.

In fact
he couldn’t think of a type of food he didn’t like and he had tried pretty much
everything in his travels. He had met Vanessa six months ago at the grocery
store. He was picking up a couple of hundred hamburgers and buns for a Unit
barbecue, she was picking up the ingredients for her first cooking assignment.

They had
both arrived at the cashier at the same time.

He had
let beauty go first.

And a
conversation had resulted.

Hamburgers
were a little late that day.

He held
up his beer as she sat down. She lifted her glass of chianti and they clinked.
“To the cook!”

She
smiled, took a sip and cut off her own first bite with the edge of her fork.
Chewing, she swallowed and shook her head. “Not enough Italian seasoning.”

“Bah,
it’s perfect.”

“Of
course you’re going to say that. You just want sex later.”

“Baby,
you know you can’t resist me, so telling you the truth is risk free.”

“Mighty
full of ourselves, aren’t we?”

He
swallowed another bite. “I have it on good authority that I cure whatever ails
you.”

She
smacked his shoulder, giggling. “You’re terrible.”

“My mama
says I’m perfect just the way I am.”

“I’ve
met your mama. That woman spoils you like nobody’s business.”

Atlas
bit into a piece of garlic bread. “Right now, baby, you’re spoilin’ me.”

“Don’t
compare me to your mama. I don’t need that kind of pressure.”

Atlas
laughed, crumbs erupting from his mouth as his hand darted up to try and deal
with the aftermath of the accident. “Don’t make me laugh when my mouth is
full.”

“You
shouldn’t talk with it full then.”

He
reached over and squeezed her leg, lowering his voice. “You’re beautiful,
baby.”

She put
her fork down and placed her hand on top of his. “I know,” she said with a
wink. “And I also know this needs more Italian seasoning.” She jumped up and
grabbed a pencil, making a note on the page containing the recipe.

Atlas’
phone vibrated in his pocket, the distinct pattern indicating work.

Shit.

He had been
looking forward to a quiet night in with his girlfriend, yesterday’s plans
already screwed up by the hostage taking in Norfolk. He fished it out of his
pocket and answered.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,
buddy, but we’ve been called up.” It was Dawson delivering the news.

“Understood.”

“Not
again!” cried Vanessa.

“You at
Vanessa’s?”

“Yup.”

“How
much time do you need?”

“How
much time do I have?”

“You’re
a machine, my friend. Niner and Jimmy are coming in from Florida, so you’ve got
a couple of hours.”

“Vanessa
thanks you.”

“I’m
sure she does. See you at The Unit.”

The call
ended and Atlas returned his phone to his pocket, looking at Vanessa.

“So?”
she asked, sitting back down.

“I’m
needed at The Unit.”

Her
shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I hate your job.” She shook her head. “Can’t they
logisticate or whatever the hell it is you do without you?”

Atlas
laughed. “Logistics. I help coordinate the delivery of supplies to our troops
across the world. I guess there’s an op or something that they need stuff
organized for, and us Sergeants do the grunt work while the officers sit at
home with their wives, sipping their fine wines, eating their store bought
lasagnas that aren’t anywhere near as good as the one prepared by my incredibly
talented girlfriend.”

She
melted.

All was
forgiven.

“How
much time do you have?”

“Two
hours.”

“Then
eat up, big boy, you’re going to need all the energy you can get.”

He
grinned, shoveling the food into his mouth, determined to give his girlfriend a
great time, her status of
not
being his wife meaning she couldn’t know
the truth about what he really did for a living.

Which
meant their entire relationship was built around a lie.

And he
hated that.

Somewhere in Sierra Leone

Sarah Henderson stepped through the door, Tanya behind her, Major
Koroma following them both. Sarah and Tanya both were in full personal
protective gear but the Major was only wearing a facemask, refusing to don the
proper equipment.

Fool.
I hope you die.

As a
doctor she found her thoughts repugnant, but this man was repugnant. He was a
criminal and deserved to die. Her father had raised her to respect the law and
she had always felt it was better to be tough on criminals rather than hug them
to goodness. She was a firm believer that the smaller crimes like vandalism and
theft should be punished far more harshly to nip the behavior at an early age.
She had been known to express her feelings that vandals should be shot because
these people served no purpose in society. At least thieves were stealing to
profit, but vandals were merely out to destroy.

She
didn’t really believe they should be shot, but vandalism angered her so much
she felt a good baseball bat to the knees was definitely in order.

And the
mentality of thieves she simply couldn’t fathom. To think you were entitled to
someone else’s hard earned belongings was unthinkable to her. A few years ago
when she and her husband had moved to a new home they had to transport the
propane tank for the barbecue themselves, but the car was simply too full.

She left
it on the doorstep.

They
came back an hour later and it was gone.

Who
would have the brass to walk up to someone’s doorstep and steal a propane tank?

And what
had really floored her was that it was a residential street with almost no
traffic. She was convinced it had been a neighbor walking by that spotted it
and felt they were entitled to it. They would have had to take it and carry it
down the street for all to see.

And this
was an upper middle income area.

If
only I had my baseball bat and caught them!

Men like
Major Koroma definitely deserved the death penalty. She tacitly supported it
but had reservations. Far too many innocent people had been put to death over
the years, even more luckily found innocent before it was too late. If the
proof was irrefutable, then sure, murderers should meet their maker’s fallen
angel, but what was irrefutable? DNA evidence could be planted, even faked now,
video evidence could be edited or faked, witnesses could be mistaken or lie.

Better
to let them rot in prison for the rest of their lives just to be sure.

She
secretly prayed some American Special Forces sniper would put a new hole in
Major Koroma’s head for what he had done to Jacques.

And for
what he had promised to do to them.

Koroma
opened a door and flicked a switch on the wall, the room suddenly bathed in a
bright, sickly white light. She blinked a few times, shielding her eyes with
her gloved hand, allowing her eyes to adjust.