Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (12 page)

But the mission was up to him now. The truck with the agent was totaled and they had neither the time, nor the means, to transfer the agent to another truck. He had to get closer if he was to finish the mission. He was about to make a dash to the next doorway when some movement caught his eye. A large black man in an army uniform emerged from the burning truck. He looked like a man brought straight from hell. The blood from his head and shoulder stained his torn uniform, and the grin on his face made him look evil in the flickering light of the burning engine. The Deliveryman watched as the man willed his heavily muscled frame erect and slowly circled the truck, approaching the once screaming man. The light from the fire reflected off the blade of the knife as he slowly drew it from his belt and held it up for the man to see.

The screaming began again.

•      •      •

The Major smiled at the man’s fear. He had some idea of what he must look like in his current condition. He also knew the deep rooted fears of the tribesmen in his country. He let the blood from his wounds flow over his skin and pushed the blood in his mouth out through his white teeth to better scare the man. He also took in the man’s injuries, and it was apparent that he would soon be unconscious. He would have to start the questions now.

“Who are you?” he roared.

“M-M-Mashiq.”

“Who sent you?”

“The man . . . from, from the embassy.”

The major turned the knife in his hand. There was now blood dripping down the blade. The man’s eyes caught every drop.

“What man?”

“The men from the truck . . . the . . . the ones who bring the cure,” he cried.

“Major?”

Major Arusha spun and brandished the knife, only to see Jack and Larry staring at him.

“You live, Mr. Randall. As do I. This man was just telling me who I will be visiting soon.” He returned his gaze to the pinned man as he continued in Swahili. “So that I might kill him quickly.” He spit blood on the ground before grinning at the man and thumbing the blade of the knife.

The man’s eyes widened even more as he stared at the devil before him. He opened his mouth to beg for his life, but it was taken as a three round burst of rifle fire tore into his chest.

Larry spun and returned fire at the windows of the building across the street as Jack tackled the major and pulled him under the burning truck. The muzzle flash and distinctive sound marked the rifle as an AK. Jack and Larry returned fire until all the windows were shot out. They both stopped and waited for more, but none came.

Something landed in the back of the truck over their heads with a loud thump, making them all flinch. They spun around in the dust as they heard the sound of running footsteps retreating into the darkness. Jack scrambled out from under the truck on the side away from the buildings and peered into the interior. He saw and heard the active fuse connected to the satchel charge lying next to the crate of medications.

“Run!” he yelled. He grabbed the major’s bloody hand, dragging him to his feet and propelling him toward the cover of the abandoned cars. They had just made it when the charge blew, destroying the truck and everything in it.

They traded looks with each other as the debris rained down around them. What the hell was going on?

The sound of gunfire down the street and well off into the darkness did little to answer their question.

•      •      •

The Marine driver of the second truck was still unconscious. This was a good thing as the pain of his wounds would have been augmented greatly by the potholed road he was currently being dragged down. Jack and Larry had retrieved him from the cab of the truck and were pulling him down the street on a large piece of canvas torn from the rear of the deuce. The major had stopped his own bleeding with the help of the battle dressings and was now walking point with an M-4 gift from Larry. They had gone only two blocks when they saw the figure of a man, dimly lit by the partial moon, lying in the street. They approached cautiously to find a large black man with three bullets in the center of his chest. Jack looked at the wounds closely and smiled.

“What are you grinning about now?” Larry asked.

Before Jack could answer, a voice addressed them from the darkness.

“You guys want a ride?”

Jack pushed the barrel of the major’s M-4 down as a figure approached from the dark.

“About time you showed up,” Jack said.

Corporal Sullivan stepped out into the light with a grin on his face. “Yeah well, I couldn’t find a place to park.”

Arctic ice to vanish in summer.
October 10, 2009—CNN
 

—EIGHT—

“Y
ou guys are fools!” Sydney announced her opinion to all in the room. “What made you run off without some of Greg’s ninjas with you? I mean really, what the hell did we bring them for anyway?”

“I’m afraid I gotta side with her on this one, Jack. You should have let me know,” Greg added. He was not shy about voicing his opinion.

Jack sat in a chair with his twisted ankle propped up on another. Ice packs were both over and under it, and he could no longer feel anything. He had been thankful for this a few minutes ago, but now was starting to regret the fact that he couldn’t get up and walk away from the double scolding he was getting.

“And what happened to your escort? They find them yet?” she continued to rant as she plucked more glass from Larry’s backside. Larry grimaced, but said nothing. He knew it would only make things worse. He had first been scrubbed with a stiff brush by a nun, before being stitched by a doctor who could barely stay awake. Sydney had finally stepped in and sent the man to bed. He didn’t argue. She had finished the sutures and was now plucking shards of glass out of his sizable butt. Larry had lost count at nineteen.

The major had been first and his wounds were not as bad as they first appeared. The forehead was bloody and would leave a nasty scar. The neck wound was more severe and had been cleaned and bandaged. The hole in his trapezoid muscle was through and through. They packed it off and probed for bone splinters. Finding none, they had stitched him up and, after a shot of antibiotics, had sent him on his way. He would visit the dentist later.

“They will be found,” he spoke from a bed across the room, “but most likely they are dead, also.” His tone left little doubt to either point.

Jack stayed silent as he thought about that. He had ordered the recovery of all the bodies from the ambush site. The Marine driver had been sent to the Mercy docked in the harbor. Word of the ambush and abandonment by the escort Jeep had reached the Marines working at the embassy and they were in a foul mood. Jack asked Sullivan to leak the story of the major’s actions. Once the word got around, any talk of retaliation ceased. The Tanzanian Army’s presence had doubled around the embassy site, and the hotel was now sporting a tank in the parking lot. Greg made a few suggestions to the new commander which were all executed without question. One of his heavily armed HRT shooters stood in the hallway outside the room. Passing hospital workers gave him a wide berth.

Jack started thinking out loud, as he was prone to do. “I can understand the ambush if they were just after the supplies for black market resale, but these guys went beyond that. Why?”

“Deny the competition?” Larry ventured.

“Maybe, but why waste the ammo? I know it’s plentiful in this part of the world, but a satchel charge rigged like that shows some sophistication. That wasn’t some Molotov cocktail he threw in the back. They wanted to make sure it was totally destroyed.”

“What was in the truck?” Sydney asked as she dug deeply for another piece of glass.

“Larry?” Jack passed the question.

Larry was busy biting his lip while Sydney probed and didn’t answer right away. Sydney shot an evil grin at Jack as she tossed another chunk of glass in the metal pan. Larry took a couple of breaths before he finally answered.

“The medications. We grouped them all together before we sent them out. You about done yet, Syd? You’re killing me.”

“Couple more,” she replied as she swabbed the area with alcohol. Larry clenched his teeth as well as his cheeks against the burn.

“Relax,” Sydney told him. “I can’t get these last two if you fight me.”

“Fight you? I’m fighting you? My ass was already sore from that damn shot of cement you stuck in there before we left! Now you’re sticking a pair of salad spoons in there and I’m the one who’s being difficult?”

“Just hold still, ya big baby,” she teased as she pulled another piece free. “There, all done.” The glass pinged in the metal tray.

“About time,” Larry groused as he started to push himself up.

Sydney got him with another swab of alcohol. “Stay put till I get you bandaged up!”

“Damn it!”

Jack watched with a smile he couldn’t avoid as Sydney prepped another syringe of antibiotics, keeping it out of Larry’s view. Larry caught the look on his face.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

Jack just shook his head and tried to appear innocent.

Sydney plunged the syringe into Larry’s left cheek and quickly shot the plunger before retreating even quicker as Larry leaped off the stretcher.

“Jesus Christ, woman! I swear you enjoy that!”

The rest of the room laughed at Larry’s discomfort, including a roar from the major. It was the tension relief they all needed.

•      •      •

“You’re not going to like this.”

Jack looked up from the papers he was reading. Sydney and Bradford were standing in the makeshift office they had made in one of the larger hotel rooms. He had his ankle propped up per Sydney’s instructions and was told he couldn’t come out till the next day. Almost through all the paperwork, he had watched the latest update of Eric’s electronic reenactment of the attack twice. Two of the cameras had been found, and the data was being reviewed. He was told they would have more tomorrow. The truck was slowly being rebuilt in the hangar on a large wood and steel frame. Progress was slow, but at least there was some.

“What am I not going to like?”

“I did a quick exam of all the attackers’ bodies. Took some pictures and gave them to the major. He says one is a well-known thief and smuggler. Two others they are trying to track down, but the other two . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I think they’re Americans, Jack.”

Jack looked to Bradford who nodded his agreement. He didn’t look pleased.

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at these.” She handed him several black and white photos. “This guy has a mess of dental work. All professionally done, and the bridge and fillings appear to match an American manufacturer. Look at these tattoos. They also look professionally done and American made. This guy has some scarring that looks to be from laser tattoo removal surgery. I put it under my magic light and this is what I got. It’s just a faint outline. I faxed it to the home office and this is what they sent back.” She laid a paper over the photo. “Says it’s an old US Army tattoo. Special Forces. You recognize it?”

Jack stared at the blob-like shape until it became clear. He could just make out the crossed arrows. “Yeah, I see it now. Is that all you got? Kinda thin.”

“The other guy had a plate in his leg from a previous fracture. I pulled it and I
know
it’s American made. There’s just one thing. The serial number’s been removed. Nobody does that unless they need to remain invisible. That bridgework on the first guy? No number on it either.”

“Okay, so run their prints and faces through the database,” Jack said.

“We did. Nothing.”

“Nothing? Not even a codeword clearance?”

“Absolutely nothing, Jack. We’ve all heard of Black Operations, but even those guys exist. You just never find out the truth about them, it’s always some cover story file full of whatever it needs to say that week,” Bradford added. “I know. I used to be one of those guys. These guys just plain don’t exist.”

Jack nodded in agreement. He used to be one of them, too. “You think they had something to do with the bombing?”

Sydney and Bradford exchanged a look before she answered. “We don’t know, but we think it’s something worth looking into.”

Jack tapped the photos with his pen while he thought it through. Could be some ex-CIA or Special Ops guys who were now freelancing for themselves, or just hiring out their skills to whoever could pay for them. But who could pay for guys like that in this country? And why did they go after the medications? He slipped a hand in his pocket to make sure the vials were still there. Something wasn’t adding up, and Jack’s instincts were telling him to track it down.

He looked up at the two faces waiting for his answer. Sydney had a look that he knew well. She smelled a rat, too.

“Okay, let’s do this. I’ll make a call to Deacon and we’ll set up some secure commo to talk about it. Who else knows about this?”

“Just us three right now. The major knows a little.”

“Murphy or Heather?”

“No.”

“Let’s keep it that way for now. I’ll bring Greg into the loop and tell you when it’s safe to talk to him. No more communication with the home office until we get secure comms. We’ll dig into it, but the primary mission is the identification of the bombers. We can’t stray from that. Clear?”