CHAPTER 14
B
y the time he got back to Decker, she had completely filled the canisters and was almost done filling the bladder.
“What did you see?” she asked. “Is anyone at the clinic?”
He shook his head. “Everything’s quiet.” Pointing at her empty buckets, he added, “Want me to finish the bladder?”
“Thanks,” she replied.
Taking Jambo’s machete, he chopped off a tree branch about the diameter of a closet rod, notched it in two places at both ends and then, picking up his buckets, as well as Decker’s, headed down to the river.
When he returned with the pole across his shoulders and two buckets on each side, Decker was drinking from one of the large, plastic water bottles they had brought in with them.
“You want some?” she asked, holding the bottle out to him.
“No, you finish it,” he answered as he set the buckets of water down. “You’re going to need it.”
“So are you.”
She was right. Now was as good as any time to get started. He pulled a bottle from his pack, twisted off the top, and guzzled over half of it. Then he turned his attention to the canvas sling that held the bladder.
A gallon of water weighed almost eight and a half pounds. While he figured they would only need ten to fifteen gallons apiece, he had spec’d a forty-gallon bladder, just in case. Not counting the powdered-chemicals he had added, the weight of which was negligible, the bladder clocked in at over three hundred pounds.
Once they were a “safe” distance away from the river, he had begun looking for a level piece of ground with a strong enough tree. That’s how he had chosen where to stop.
Into each of the sling’s heavy-duty grommets, he attached a carabiner, which itself was attached to a cable leading to a hoist ring. He removed a ratchet lever hoist, suspended it from the tree limb, and went to work lifting the bladder.
When he had it at the level he wanted, he moved the PVC frame underneath it, extended the hose and tried the nozzle. The water was cold, but it smelled clean and the pressure was excellent. He positioned the supplies they would need and then returned to the bottle of water sitting next to his pack.
As he was drinking, Decker tossed him a pair of surgical scrubs.
“Time to get dressed,” she said.
He half expected her to either retreat down the path, or behind the opaque sheeting affixed to the makeshift PVC shower stall, but she didn’t bother.
Instead, standing next to her own pack, Decker began to slowly get undressed. Apparently modesty wasn’t one of her strong suits. Neither was subtlety.
Harvath didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t help himself. The way in which she took off her clothes practically begged for a cover charge and a two drink minimum. He disliked everything about her, but when her mouth was shut and her clothes were dropping to the ground, she wasn’t half bad.
The only reason he shifted his eyes away was because he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing he was looking.
As he focused on getting himself undressed, he had to give her points for style. If he had been a woman travelling in the wilds of Congo, he doubted a thong and sexy bra would have been on his packing list.
Shaking his head, he continued to get undressed. She was a boatload of trouble and he figured she probably knew it. Her undoubtedly expensive lingerie was completely impractical and totally out of place in the middle of the jungle. She had to have known that too.
It was, of course, total theater, but in one of the crummiest places in the world, Jessica Decker had decided that the show must go on. He had
to give her an A for effort. Any man who couldn’t applaud, or at the very least appreciate her dedication to maintaining a modicum of sex appeal, didn’t deserve to call himself a man.
While it didn’t mean he had any intention of hanging an “Open For Business” sign on his hammock, he decided to sneak one more peek. When he did, he found that she was already looking at him, admiring his body.
Their eyes met. They were both completely naked and they held each other’s gaze for several beats longer than they should have.
It was Harvath who eventually broke it off and looked away. That word that rhymed with
truck
leapt back into his mind.
It might have been a game to Decker, but he knew he had to be careful. Hanging off a skyscraper, only a fool whipped out his knife and starting sawing away at the rope. It was amazing, though, how foolish even the most resolute of men could be.
Thankfully, when he looked back over, Decker was nearly dressed. She made a show of pulling the top of her scrubs over her breasts before smoothing it down. She was trouble all right and she
definitely
knew it. Harvath, though, had enough other things to think about and shifted his mind to those.
Taking only the bare minimum of things they would need, he repacked Decker’s ruck and covered it with one of their ponchos. He used the other poncho to cover a hole he had dug and needed to keep dry. There had been no rain since they had left the Brits back at camp. For the time being, Mother Nature seemed to be smiling on them, or at least unaware of their presence.
When Decker indicated that she was ready, Harvath struck off toward the clinic.
The idea was to get as close as possible before climbing into the stifling heat of their biohazard suits. At most, they would be good for a half hour—and even then it would feel like they had done an Ironman race in one hundred degree heat. Dehydration and heat stroke were very serious concerns, which was why they had been drinking water and would be watching the clock once they were suited up.
At the clinic’s perimeter, Harvath took a long look around and then removed his night vision goggles and allowed Decker to take a look. His
primary goal was to put her at ease. If she was at all nervous, the stress would erode the amount of time she could remain in her suit.
His secondary goal was to give her an opportunity to reacquaint herself with the property and see if she noticed anything out of place.
After a couple of minutes, she handed the goggles back to him.
“Does it look the way you remembered it?” he asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Okay. Let’s get suited up.”
Unpacking his ruck, Harvath laid out their gear in stacks of
his
and
hers
. Though they had already examined the suits, gloves, hoods, and booties for punctures, tears, or any other vulnerability whatsoever, they went through each pile once more and then switched, checking each other’s work.
Content that the suits had not been compromised they began climbing into their personal protective equipment, also known as PPE.
The process required multiple pairs of sterile gloves and each one had to be taped to your suit. The tape had to be applied in a very specific manner, so as not to “tent,” which might provide an opening for a virus or other deadly pathogens to get in. This was one of the biggest reasons Harvath had been overruled and Decker was along for the assignment. A person not only needed help donning their PPE, but it was crucial to have help in doffing it. It simply wasn’t possible to properly remove the suit on one’s own.
Decker had been through extensive training and knew what she was doing. She stepped Harvath through what he needed to do as her partner.
When he asked about the multiple pairs of gloves, she explained that while they were a protection against the outermost level being punctured or torn, their primary raison d’être was to provide uncontaminated gloves beneath the outer gloves in order to help you get out of your suit.
The whole process, right down to getting out of your boots and slithering out of the suit was like the board game Operation. Touch the sides at any time and that was it. It came down to partnership and absolute trust.
While Decker may have pissed him off immeasurably with her behavior that morning, right now she radiated professionalism.
Taping the seams at his wrists and ankles, running her hands over the exterior of his suit—all of it was expert and clinical. However coquettish
she may or may not have intended to be while getting into her scrubs, all of that was now gone. Jessica Decker was one hundred percent business.
They were going through the final stages of taping when Harvath heard her curse.
At first, he thought he had done something wrong. Then, he saw what had triggered the expletive.
A large raindrop had landed on her face panel. It was quickly followed by another and then another. Without any preamble, the clouds had opened up and the rain was now pounding down.
Congo.
“We need to work fast,” Decker shouted over the din, “but methodically. Don’t screw up.”
Harvath did as she instructed, taking great care to make sure his tape didn’t tent. They were working beneath their headlamps, which had been wrapped around a tree limb. It was already less than optimal conditions. The rain only made it worse.
When he was done, Harvath flashed her the thumbs-up.
She examined her seams, then his. It was now that faith entered the equation. They had either done everything right, or they hadn’t. Only time would tell.
Taking a step back, Decker moved out of the way so that Harvath could lead.
The suit was extremely uncomfortable. Because of its bulk, his range of motion was severely limited. He felt like the midwestern boy in
A Christmas Story
, whose mother had over-bundled him with umpteen layers against the severe winter walk to school.
The hood not only impacted his hearing, but it also narrowed his field of view. His peripheral vision was all but nonexistent.
Usually, they would have taken each other’s vitals before suiting up, but they didn’t have the luxury of allowing vitals to dictate go or no-go for this assignment.
After powering up a small IR video camera, Harvath stepped into the clearing and kept his head on a swivel as they walked toward the clinic.
He had told Decker to inform him right away if anything seemed out of place. Twice he looked back at her and twice she flashed him the thumbs-up.
From across the clearing, the clinic had somehow looked more formidable, more robust. The closer they came, the more shabby and run-down it became. He had thought that maybe it was a trick of the rain streaming down his faceplate, but it wasn’t. Like everything else in Congo, even this American-funded medical clinic was woefully underwhelming.
There was a crappy, hand-painted wooden sign above the dilapidated covered entrance. Written in French and English it read:
CARE
I
NTERNATIONAL:
M
ATUMAINI
M
EDICAL
C
LINIC.
Its ridiculously hopeful blue shutters were drawn flush against the chipped and peeling white façade. The faded front door was also closed.
Standing beneath the overhang, Harvath wiped the rain from his faceplate and then leaned in to study the door.
“What is it?” Decker asked.
With his finger, he pointed to a discolored inch-and-a-half-wide strip around the frame.
“Something was taped over this door at one point,” he said. And then, examining the windows on either side added, “The windows were too. Stay here.”
Before Decker could respond, he had already stepped out from under the overhang and into the rain to examine the rest of the structure.
She didn’t like being left alone, especially not right at the front door. What if someone was inside? What if that someone came out? How would she protect herself? Decker willed herself to calm down.
This was her clinic. She used to be in charge here. There was nothing to worry about.
Staring out into the rain, she thought about all the people she had worked with here. They were good people, hard-working people, whose only sin was to have been born in Congo. Why someone would attack this clinic was beyond her. In fact, why someone would attack any clinic was beyond her. It was that kind of senselessness that had made her want to stop reporting tragedies and become part of making people’s lives better. They had done that at the Matumaini Clinic and she hoped they would be able to do it again.
A rumble of thunder echoed from somewhere off in the distance. Decker took a step back and pressed herself against the wall. It was pitch
black and the rain was coming down in sheets. She couldn’t make out where the clinic grounds ended and the jungle began.
Nevertheless, someone was watching. She could feel it. She had sensed eyes on them from the moment they had stepped out of the jungle. She wished she still had the machete. Something wasn’t right.
No sooner had that thought popped into her mind than she heard the sound of glass breaking from inside the clinic.
CHAPTER 15
L
ying in the sill to Decker’s left was a short piece of rebar used for propping open the window. She grabbed it. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something.
There was another noise from inside, followed by the groan of metal on metal and the scraping of wood against stone as the faded front door creaked and began to open.
She made ready to strike until she saw the outline of Harvath’s hazmat suit as he stepped out of the clinic.
“What the hell are you doing? I thought you were checking the exterior of the building.”
“I saw enough. Come inside.”
Decker followed him. Parts of the interior were illuminated with an eerie, greenish glow. Harvath had brought along a box of his own full-sized chemlights and was snapping and tossing them into various corners as he went. They provided enough light to see by, but not so much that it would be noticed from outside.
“What was that crash I heard?” Decker asked.
“Nothing,” Harvath replied. “I had to break a window to get in.”
“Let me check the integrity of your suit.”
“I’m fine.” He was already overheating and not in a good mood.
“Let me check,” Decker insisted.
Harvath complied and she pulled out her headlamp, activated the low-level red beam, and examined him from head to toe.
“You’re good.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Now, come look at this.”
He led her into the main ward. It was a graveyard of metal bedframes. All of the mattresses had been stripped away. There wasn’t a sheet or blanket to be seen either.
“It’s like a swarm of locusts came through here,” Decker stated. “Even the mosquito netting and privacy dividers are gone.”
All of the bedframes had been jumbled together in the center of the ward. Harvath pulled a large plastic bottle of liquid from his bag and began spraying it in different places around the room.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Luminol. It reacts with the iron in hemoglobin. If there’s any blood in here, it’ll start glowing blue.”
Decker waited, but she didn’t see anything. Neither did Harvath.
“There,” she suddenly said, pointing to an area glowing in the corner. “And there. And there.”
Harvath turned and looked at each occurrence, along with several others that were actively glowing.
“My God,” Decker exclaimed. “There’s blood everywhere!”
“Take it easy,” replied Harvath, as he began spraying more luminol around the room. He even stood on one of the bedframes to spray several spots along the ceiling. All of them started to glow blue.
“How is that possible?” she asked. “It’s like the whole ward was painted in blood.”
“Not exactly,” he said as he exited the ward and made his way through the clinic, randomly spraying walls, doors, floors, windows, and ceilings with the luminol.
“It’s all glowing,” he heard her shout as she trailed behind him. “Every single thing you’re spraying.”
She caught up with him in the small dispensary that also acted as the clinic’s laboratory. Harvath was spraying the small, empty refrigerator. It all glowed blue.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“There’s only two other substances that can cause luminol to glow like this and I don’t think it’s the first one.”
“What’s the first one?”
Harvath got out an
S
and an
H
before catching himself and saying, “Excrement.”
“And the second?” Decker asked.
“Bleach.”
“Bleach?”
He nodded. “I think this entire place has been sanitized. Literally from top to bottom. I also think,” he began, but his voice trailed off as something caught his eye.
“What is it?”
Harvath motioned for her to back out of the dispensary. He had been bending down near the tiny fridge and saw something beneath the cabinets on the adjacent wall.
There was a narrow strip of black, plastic trim along the top of the fridge that had begun to peel back on one side. Harvath helped it the rest of the way off.
Lying down on his stomach, he slid the piece of trim under the cabinets and coaxed out the item from underneath. Once he got it out, he held it up.
“What is it?” Decker repeated from the doorway. It looked like a giant mint the size of a hockey puck. It was chipped, and a large portion appeared to have been burned.
“No one ever used these when you were here?”
“I don’t even know what it is.”
Harvath sprayed it with luminol. Seconds later it started to glow.
“It’s a bleach tablet,” he said.
“Why would that be here?”
“Drop this in a pie plate and set it on top of a camping stove, and you can gasify it. The fumes go everywhere and will sanitize anything your liquid bleach missed.”
“Then you’re right. The clinic was sanitized. But by whom? And why? What were they sanitizing?”
Good questions, none of which Harvath wanted to waste time deciphering right now. His scrubs were soaked through and the sweat was rolling down his face into his eyes. He wanted to finish looking around and get the hell out of here.
Retreating to the front door, he reenacted what he had seen on the
video. Though someone outside had filmed it, he could approximate where the shooters had been standing when they entered and had opened fire.
In his restrictive biohazard suit, Harvath pantomimed a tactical entry, stepping inside with a rifle and shooting.
If the shooters had been following the same protocols he was, they might have wanted a few modifications to their weapons. Wearing the layers of gloves, the more refined features of the weapons would be difficult to manipulate. Perhaps they had upgraded to larger trigger guards and beefier charging handles to accommodate their thicker, less dexterous fingers.
It was also possible that for such a quick, in-and-out assignment where no resistance would have been expected, the men had just made do with whatever weapons they normally carried or had access to. There was no way of knowing for sure.
What he was able to know for sure came from examining the wall directly opposite the front door.
Based on the furniture scattered nearby, it had been some sort of clerical or nurse’s station, likely the place patients checked in and then were shown to a row of chairs where they would wait to see one of the clinic’s medical staff.
He ran his hand up and down the entire wall.
“What do you see?” Decker asked him.
“It’s not what I see,” said Harvath. “But what I don’t see. There are no bullet holes. At least not anymore. Look.”
She bent down and studied the places he pointed to.
“Whoever this was,” he continued, “they were absolute professionals. They did a full cleanup job. Right down to digging out the bullets and patching and painting the walls.”
While Decker looked for any records of what might have been going on at the clinic, Harvath examined the walls and floor in the ward and found more evidence of the walls having been repaired.
He was convinced that whoever it was had come in, killed the staff, and then had murdered all of the patients. He didn’t need to ask where their bodies had been taken. He already knew.
Decker rejoined him from the back of the clinic and shook her head.
“I can’t find anything,” she said.
“I’m not surprised,” he replied. “Don’t worry. We’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”
Decker nodded and they exited the clinic. Harvath went first.
As was his habit, he took a long, slow look around before signaling that it was safe for her to join him. It was still raining and the moment they stepped out from under the overhang, the rain began streaking down their faceplates.
Neither of them cared. They were both bordering on heatstroke. All that mattered was getting out of the suits.
Reentering the jungle, they retraced their steps to where they had positioned the canisters. Harvath had already mixed the solution inside, but he picked up each one and gave it a good shake before pumping their handles up and down.
It was a maddening process to have to go through when you were this uncomfortable, but because their lives depended on it, they took extra precautions not to rush things. They had made it this far. It was only a little bit further. Now was not the time to be cutting any corners.
Decker reminded Harvath to take a deep breath. It was thick with humidity, but he did so anyway. She then lifted the wand attached to her canister and began spraying him down.
He lifted his arms in the air and turned in a slow circle. She stopped to pump the handle and then had him repeat the process. He did the same for her.
They did it again and again until they had both exhausted two full canisters of the solution. Then came the hard part—doffing the PPE.
All sorts of horrible diseases had infected untold numbers of medical workers over the years—not because their suits had failed, but because they had failed to properly remove those suits.
Next to visiting an outbreak, the next most dangerous step involved was slithering out of the suit. The doffing procedure required steely patience and total concentration. Slowly, carefully, Decker walked him through every step.
Their scrubs and everything else went into the hole he had previously dug and packed with tinder.
While Decker showered, he doused the pile of gear with some of the
kerosene he’d asked the Brits to source for the clinic. As soon as the fire was burning good and hot, it was his turn to shower.
He stood under the water and used the soap and shampoo to clean himself from top to bottom. His PPE had held and he was confident they had followed all the doffing procedures correctly. He wasn’t a hypochondriac and didn’t need to scrub himself raw.
He allowed the lukewarm water to trickle over his neck and shoulders. He was glad the clinic part was over. They would have to go back and check the burn pit, but it was pro forma at this point and at least he wouldn’t have to get back in one of those suits. It did indeed feel like he had competed in an Ironman race in one hundred degree heat.
He reached down for one of the water bottles mixed with Gatorade powder he had left on the edge of the shower, but it wasn’t there.
Straightening up, he saw Decker. She was standing there, naked, just looking at him with the bottle of Gatorade in her hand. Then, she stepped into the shower.