Out of the Shadows (17 page)

She was relieved to see the bleeding from his leg appeared to have stopped. His pulse was still too fast and his blood pressure too low, but they were stable, and there was nothing more she could do except pray. So for the next fifty minutes, she did just that. “Please, God. Please God. Please,” she whispered over and over. “Don’t take him from me...please.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
HE
L
AND
R
OVER
STOPPED
. Leslie glanced out the window and saw that they were parked on one of the dry lake beds that dotted the arid regions of southern Kenya. The ground was thick, dried, broken mud, and, other than widespread clumps of knee-high golden grass, very little vegetation was visible in any direction. Nervously, she looked around for wildlife; lions were known to inhabit these grassy areas. The two men got out of the vehicle and moved to the front to watch for the promised transport. She was relieved to see Paul was holding a shotgun.

She looked at her watch—eight-forty. Amazing. They had made the trip in only fifty-five minutes, a tribute to Paul’s aggressive driving and the durability of the Land Rover.

Ben appeared to be sleeping. “Ben,” she whispered, “please, please stay with me. I need you. I love you.” She kissed him on the forehead, and he opened his eyes.

“Are we there?” His voice was gravelly.

She nodded. “Yes. Paul and Simon are watching for a plane.” She tried to smile. “I hope this guy is as good a pilot as you, because this looks like a really impossible place to land.”

His lips curved slightly. “Maybe he’ll let me help....” His voice trailed off, and he was asleep again.

Only a few minutes passed before Leslie became aware of a low hum. She scrambled out of the SUV and searched the sky for the source of the sound. In the distance she saw a silver speck, and as she watched, the speck grew larger and louder. Paul and Simon waved frantically, and as the plane neared the Land Rover, the pilot dipped its wings to each side.

As she observed the plane, Leslie concluded that it was strange, somehow different from any she had seen before. She was surprised by the route the pilot was taking. He approached them at an alarmingly fast speed until he was almost directly overhead. The plane slowed but flew a little past them. While still at an altitude of several hundred feet, the pilot made a quick, banking turn and headed back.

Just before the plane reached them, it appeared to stall. The trio on the ground stared as the twin propellers moved from being positioned in front of the plane to being above it, like rotors on a helicopter. Then, like a helicopter, the aircraft continued its descent as it moved slowly toward them. Within a minute, it landed less than sixty feet away. The aircraft was marked with a U.S. flag, an identification number, and, in bold black letters, “USMC.”

The small group was still staring at the odd plane when three men wearing olive coveralls climbed out and jogged toward them. There were no markings or insignias on their clothing, and they were all hatless. Two pilots remained on the aircraft and could be seen waiting in the cockpit.

One of the men carried a large canvas bag; another held what appeared to be a collapsible stretcher. As the three reached them, the one in the lead spoke to Paul. “We’re here for Ben Murphy.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the rotors.

Paul nodded and pointed to the Land Rover. “In there.”

The men moved to the vehicle, and the one carrying the bag crawled into the back. Leslie started to follow but was detained by the nearest man. He said, “Stay here, ma’am. He’s going to check the patient.”

Leslie pushed his hand aside. “Excuse me, but Mr. Murphy is
my
patient.” The guard scanned her bloody shirt and skirt, registered the determined look in her eyes and wisely stepped aside.

Inside the Land Rover, she briefly studied the man who was bent over Ben. He looked to be in his early twenties and had black hair, dark brown eyes, and an olive complexion. She watched him pull a stethoscope out of his bag and take Ben’s blood pressure. After he got the reading, she informed him, “It’s been running about eighty over fifty. His pulse has ranged between one hundred and one-ten.”

The man nodded. He pointed to the bag of fluid hanging from a coat hanger above Ben. “Is this the first liter?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s the second. I ran in 1000 cc with one gram of cephalosporin. He’s also had ten milligrams of morphine.”

He nodded as he listened to Ben’s chest. “Any problems breathing?”

She shook her head a second time. “No. I’m less concerned about the chest wound than the abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood from the leg, but that’s stopped for now.”

The man pulled an insulated container from his backpack and removed a large syringe filled with yellow fluid. He handed it to Leslie and said, “Plasma. Push it.”

Although not as good as a blood transfusion, the plasma was considerably superior to the IV fluid Ben had been receiving, and she quickly complied. While she was injecting the plasma into the IV tubing, the young man hurriedly assessed the bandaged wounds. Apparently determining there was little else that could be done in the rear of the SUV, he balled his stethoscope and shoved his equipment into his backpack. Leaning toward the door, he shouted, “Sid! Marty! Open out the stretcher. Let’s get this guy out of here!”

The pair hurried to comply. The man in the truck turned back to Ben and said, “Sir, I’m Corpsman Enrique Garcia. Our team is going to lift you out of here. You should be fine.”

Leslie saw Ben open his eyes and nod. He made a brief, waving gesture with one hand and said in a tired voice, “The bag... Get the bag...hard drives. Need to destroy the phone...” He closed his eyes again.

Garcia replied with a sharp “Yes, sir,” then squatted at the back of the truck to help the other two with the little stretcher. In a few movements they slid the stretcher into the vehicle beside Ben, and Garcia rolled him carefully on his side to place the apparatus under him and then let him roll back on top of it. When Ben was in position, they pulled the stretcher from the truck.

Without a word to Paul, Leslie or Simon, Garcia and the man called Sid carried Ben to the waiting plane. As they passed the third man—evidently Marty—Garcia said something and jerked his head toward the SUV. Marty then jumped into the truck to retrieve the canvas bag. He checked the contents and, apparently satisfied, exited the vehicle. He paused momentarily to address the little group. “Thank you for your assistance.”

With that, he turned and jogged to the plane, climbed aboard and shut the door. In only seconds the rotors were turning faster, and moments later the aircraft was aloft. When it had risen a few hundred feet, the three on the ground watched in amazement as the aircraft started moving forward. Steadily the rotors shifted downward to become propellers once more. All the while, the plane was moving away with increasing speed. Within a minute it was only a speck in the eastern sky. Then it disappeared.

Leslie looked at her watch and was astonished to find that the entire process had taken less than ten minutes. They’d been so focused on the bone-jarring drive through the savanna that she hadn’t really stopped to contemplate what would happen when they arrived. She had been terrified for Ben, and the relief she felt that he was evidently being flown somewhere for emergency care was beset with concurrent uneasiness about the events that had just transpired. She turned to Paul. His eyes were closed, and she suspected he was praying.
Good,
she thought with gratitude.
Ben needs all the help he can get
.

As she watched Paul, she finally paused to analyze the events of the past hour. She’d been so caught up in her concern for Ben and doing what she could to save his life that she hadn’t thought to consider what was going on. Why had Ben been shot? What was the deal with the hidden laptop? The black computer devices? The phone? Obviously there had been a known threat, and certainly the possibility of injury had been anticipated—there’d been a contingency plan for just this sort of occurrence! And he’d asked for Paul because the preacher would know what to do. Paul hadn’t even questioned driving to the middle of nowhere rather than trying to take Ben to Nairobi. Suddenly, it became clear that Paul knew more than he was letting on.

The cautious drive home took longer than the rush to the rendezvous site, and Leslie spent most of the time musing on the events of the morning and trying to avoid dwelling on Ben’s condition.

Paul dropped Leslie by the clinic first, planning on taking Simon back to his own house to retrieve Ben’s Jeep. She asked Paul to accompany her to the door, where she paused to ask, “What happened?”

He hesitated a breath before answering, “Leslie, it might have been bandits trying to rob him, or maybe steal the plane...”

She frowned. “Paul, you know that’s not what I mean. What was the deal with the phone and the funny-looking airplane and the three men and all? Obviously, they were military. And Ben said something about Rasheesh...and he asked for you. I know you know... What is Ben involved in?”

Paul sighed and looked her in the eye. “Leslie, I promised I wouldn’t tell. He only told me in case something like this happened. He needed someone to know where the hard drives were—”

“Hard drives?” she interrupted.

Paul rolled his eyes in exasperation, “Oh, good grief. I can’t believe I said that. I am really rattled... I’m usually better at keeping confidences than this.”

“Paul, I’m not asking you to break a confidence. I just want to understand. I have no intention of doing anything that would harm Ben. You know that.”

He took her hand. “I know, Leslie. And I know that he’s in love with you. He’s been afraid to say anything. He wasn’t sure what you felt—well, because of his lifestyle and all...”

He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers before looking back at her. “Leslie, I can’t tell you everything, mostly because I don’t know everything. But I will say this. Since he’s been here, Ben has been doing some work for the CIA and the Defense Department.”

Leslie stared at him. “The CIA? The Defense Department?” She recalled the title of his dissertation—
Aerial Reconnaissance and Surveillance
. She experienced a moment of disjointed confusion that suddenly cleared, as if puzzle pieces had jumbled and some fell into place. She absorbed the new revelation. Her voice was slightly tremulous when she asked, “Is...he a spy?”

“I don’t think so—not exactly, at any rate,” Paul answered. “While he’s gone, for the most part he looks for evidence of terrorist activities and plans by groups like the pirates who are working off the east coast of Africa. He talks to people, observes movements and plots his findings on maps and in databases, which he gets to analysts somewhere via satellite.” Paul’s attempt to look blank failed miserably, and he was noticeably uncomfortable as he paused.

Finally, he sighed and said, “He also acts like an arms broker of sorts. He tries to learn who is buying and selling guns and other weaponry. They’re particularly worried about short-range missiles—you know, SAMs, or surface-to-air missiles—the kind that can be used to shoot down airplanes. I’m not sure what else is involved, but Ben’s been at it for almost three years now. The drinking, the smuggling, the women—that’s all a ruse.”

Leslie nodded and smiled slightly, but the smile was rueful. “I figured out that part.” She looked puzzled then. “But I thought he was kicked out of the air force. Was that real?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t part of what he shared.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally, Leslie asked, “So do you think those guys were marines?”

“That would be my guess. Either that or CIA...or maybe both. I’m not sure.”

Leslie frowned. Concern and fear were interspersed with a growing sense of relief that Ben’s activities were honorable. As she considered all that Paul told her, her emotion grew into pride and even awe. Regret quickly followed. She had doubted him. She wished she could tell him she was sorry. “I wonder where they took him.”

Paul shook his head. “Leslie, I have no idea. Why don’t we wait a day or two, and then we can go to Nairobi to try to find out where he is.”

Leslie nodded, grateful for the suggestion. She was anxious to find out news about Ben, but she didn’t want to be alone in case the news was bad. Besides, she knew Paul would probably be more successful in getting information from reluctant bureaucrats, military officials or intelligence agencies. “Okay. Day after tomorrow, we go to Nairobi.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

P
AUL
AND
L
ESLIE
’
S
quest was initially met with interest and concern. But concern turned to skepticism when they told officials at the American embassy about the tilt-rotor aircraft and the three U.S. military servicemen who had picked up the seriously injured man they were seeking.

The ambassador’s assistant they spoke with first referred them to the marine master sergeant in charge of security for the embassy. He simply stared at the pair with his eyebrow raised and in essence dismissed them. They were informed that the aircraft they described was only a prototype. He was certain it was not currently being used by the marines in the Indian Ocean. He sent them back to the ambassador’s assistant.

In desperation, Paul asked the assistant whom they might speak with about American military or CIA operations in the region. They were politely but firmly told that if there were any such activities in the area—which there weren’t—they would not be privy to the details. Anything covert was classified.

After leaving the embassy, Paul and Leslie checked the hospitals. They were not surprised to find that no Americans had been brought in with gunshot wounds in more than six months. They returned home discouraged.

The following week, they drove back to Nairobi. It had been nine days since Ben’s assault, and Leslie was extremely anxious for news. But they met with similar results on the second visit. Once again, the embassy officials insisted they’d heard of no U.S. military activity in the area and they assured Leslie and Paul they knew nothing about a pilot named Ben Murphy.

Frustrated, Paul suggested visiting a man named Kenneth Day. Mr. Day was a retired diplomat who’d worked in East Africa for more than thirty years and knew virtually all of the expatriates. He had a reputation for having contacts outside of routine channels, which most likely included American intelligence officials.

Mr. Day saw them at once, and they talked with him for more than an hour. Leslie was impressed by the elderly man, who in some ways reminded her of Mama Joe. He was in his eighties, slight and apparently frail, but his eyes and demeanor retained a youthful exuberance that inspired confidence. After listening to the entire story, he told Paul and Leslie he’d make a few calls and see if he could help. He told them to come back in the afternoon for tea.

When they returned at the appointed time, Mr. Day regretfully told them that he’d been unable to learn any news about Ben. He admitted that he was surprised about the brick wall he had encountered. “Frankly,” he mused, “either my contacts really don’t know anything about Ben, or this is so top secret that no one is talking.”

Seeing their discouragement, he took Leslie’s hand in his. “I’m sorry I wasn’t any help. I hope you find your young man.” His words were heartfelt.

Paul and Leslie thanked Mr. Day and left to make the long drive back to Namanga. It was after dark when they arrived at the clinic. As Paul walked Leslie to the door he saw that tears of fear and disappointment clouded her eyes.

“Paul, what can we do now? I need to know if he’s all right.”

He shook his head in frustration. “The only other avenue I can think of is his parents.” He thought for a moment then asked, “Have you made arrangements to pick up Mama Joe next week?”

Leslie wiped her eyes. “Yes. I had Elizabeth contact Andy Singleton, and it’s all scheduled. I’ll be going along to meet her.”

“When you’re there, stop by the East Africa Mission office and get Ben’s parents’ address in Florida. When you get back to the States, you can either call them or go by. Surely they’ll have been informed about his injuries.” Both of them thought, but neither said out loud, that his parents would certainly have been informed if Ben had died.

It wasn’t much, but it was a plan. Leslie tried to control her voice. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.” She wiped her eyes and managed a soggy smile. “It’s hard to believe that Mama Joe will be back in a week and I’ll be going home.”

He gave her a smile, and she kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Paul, for trying. You’ve been a terrific friend.”

* * *

I
N
A
REVERSAL
of the scene almost six months before, Leslie was waiting at the airport in Nairobi when Mama Joe returned. Because of the pervasive worry over Ben, the last days had been among the most challenging since Leslie had arrived in Kenya, and she was eager to see her friend. She never allowed herself to dwell on the possibility that Ben was dead—it was too painful. She recalled the long, hopeless days that had followed Brian and Emma’s deaths, and she resolutely battled sinking into that type of depression again.

Happy tears filled Leslie’s eyes when she spied Mama Joe hurrying toward her, dragging her large suitcase. After an enthusiastic embrace, Leslie stepped back and studied her friend. She touched the gray hair that had been shortened significantly. “You look terrific! I love your new hairdo. It makes you look like a teenager!”

Mama Joe laughed and self-consciously smoothed her new bob. “My daughter and daughter-in-law gave me a spa day for my birthday. This was part of it.”

“You also gained a little weight—which you needed to do! I’m guessing American food agreed with you. And hopefully you got a little rest.”

Mama Joe studied Leslie in return and was both pleased and alarmed by what she saw. The emotional fragility and sorrow that had been so evident were almost gone. Leslie seemed confident and content. But there was an unmistakable air of worry in her eyes that bordered on fear, and Mama Joe was aware of its cause. Through a series of emails and other contacts between Leslie and the home EAM office, Mama Joe had learned of Ben’s injuries and knew that he’d disappeared. “Is there any news about Ben?” she inquired.

“No.” Leslie’s smile vanished. She bit her lip and blinked several times to try to hold back the tears that threatened all too frequently. “I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid...” She shook her head and tried to smile.

Mama Joe hugged her again. “I’ve been praying since I heard.” She patted Leslie’s hand. “Leslie, it will be okay.”

Leslie looked at the warm brown eyes. “Mama Joe, I’m in love with him.”

“I know, dear. I can tell by your expression. And I’m certain he feels the same.”

* * *

T
WO
DAYS
LATER
,
the nurses were seeing the last of the day’s patients. Leslie was tired and her back ached, but she was grateful the work kept her busy.

She was at the reception area charting her findings from her final patient when she heard the sound of a vehicle. She peered through a window expecting Paul or one of the tour guides who occasionally brought patients to the clinic. Instead she saw two unfamiliar men driving a covered Jeep.

Somewhat apprehensive, she ventured onto the porch to meet them. The men were identically dressed, wearing plain khaki shirts and pants. As they approached her, almost in unison they removed their canvas hats. Both were rather lean and of average height. One appeared to be in his early thirties and had dark red hair and a smattering of freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. The other man was a few years younger, with black hair and dark brown eyes.

A powerful sense of déjà vu accosted Leslie as the men approached. Her heart rate soared and she stood motionless in the clinic’s doorway as she recalled being notified of Brian and Emma’s deaths.

The redheaded man climbed the steps and stopped in front of her. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Major Bradley Littlejohn from the U.S. Air Force.” He presented her with an official-looking picture identification card. He gestured toward the younger man. “This is Lieutenant Josh Smith.”

Leslie’s vision blurred, and she grew light-headed.
Oh God,
she prayed silently.
Not again. Please, God, not again.
Her hand was unsteady when she took the card. She nodded slightly and said, “Yes?”

“Are you Leslie Carpenter?” Major Littlejohn questioned.

She nodded again. “Yes” was all she could manage. Her mouth was dry, and her peripheral vision darkened. She desperately needed to sit down.

Apparently alarmed by her sudden pallor, the major stepped toward her and clasped her arm. “Ma’am, are you okay?” He studied her carefully.

His touch steadied her, and she answered, “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just a little dizzy.” She nervously rubbed her forehead and glanced from one man to the other, trying to read their expressions. They were not foreboding; rather, they seemed intent. Leslie’s heart was still racing, but she managed to say, “Is there something I can do for you?”

Littlejohn reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a plain white envelope. “I’ve been instructed to give this to you.”

Leslie’s hand trembled as she took the envelope. She fortified herself with deep breaths then looked down to discover that her name was printed neatly in black ink on the back. Her fingers were shaking so badly she had trouble tearing open the envelope. She pulled out a plain sheet of paper and had to blink a couple of times to read the words:

“Thanks for saving my life. Will you marry me? Ben.”

He was alive. Tears stung her eyes, and she turned her back on the air force officers. Despite the blurring caused by the tears, she reread the short note. In a heartbeat, her fear was replaced by elation. Hastily, she wiped her eyes and turned to face the two men. With a voice much calmer than she felt, she asked, “Where is he?”

“He’s at a hospital in Europe,” the major replied.

She swallowed and asked the question that was foremost on her mind, “How is he?”

“Recovering very well, from all accounts. He had a couple of surgeries, but that’s all I’m at liberty to discuss.” Major Littlejohn watched her closely as he added, “We’ve also been instructed to take you to meet him.”

Relief made tears threaten again, but Leslie did not waver in her reply. “When?”

Lieutenant Smith spoke for the first time. “If we leave within the hour, we can fly to one of our bases tonight. Then tomorrow morning, you’ll take a transport to Germany. If we wait much later, it will be tomorrow morning before we can leave.”

Leslie was unwilling to consider waiting even one more moment than necessary to see Ben. “Please come in. I need to pack a few things.” She hesitated. “I’d like to make one quick stop on the way.”

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
HOUR
was a blur. Leslie introduced the men to Mama Joe and showed her Ben’s note. Tears of joy clouded the older woman’s eyes as she hugged Leslie. “I knew it would all work out! I am so happy for both of you! I was there at the beginning.” She laughed and rubbed the wetness from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Well, get going. Naomi and I can finish up here. You need to pack!”

Hurriedly, Leslie packed her nicest clothes, toiletries, money and her passport. Everything else would be left, either to be picked up when she returned or shipped to her at home. She paused to hug Naomi, Titus, Elizabeth and Agnes and to kiss them all goodbye. “I’ll email you as soon as I can and let you know what happens.”

Leslie looked lovingly and longingly at her mentor and friends and at the little clinic. She would have liked more time to say goodbye, but that couldn’t be helped. She blew kisses and waved to everyone as they drove off.

Before they left Namanga, she directed the air force officers to the Merdians’ house. Fortunately, Paul and Judy were both home, and upon hearing the sound of the vehicle, they met the trio at the door.

They were clearly surprised to see the two men dressed in neat khaki, and Paul was even more surprised to see Leslie with them. But Leslie was beaming, and she greeted them with a smile that left no doubt the news was good. Quickly she showed her friends Ben’s note. In the few moments she could spare, she kissed each of the children goodbye. She hugged Judy and then Paul. “Thank you both for everything! I’m not sure when we’ll be back...”

Judy laughed through her tears and said, “I can’t wait to learn what happens. I just wish we could see the wedding!”

Major Littlejohn cleared his throat, and Leslie pulled away and climbed into the Jeep. She waved at the family as they drove down the dusty road.

It was nearly dusk when they arrived at the airfield. As they approached, Leslie blinked at the unusual sight of the relatively small silver twin-engine plane sitting at the edge of the grass strip. Two uniformed men armed with automatic weapons were standing watch, and two more came from the small hangar when they heard the Jeep approach.

Hastily, the group loaded Leslie and her bag into the plane. On board, she was introduced to Captain David Wilson, who, along with Lieutenant Smith, piloted the plane. She was shown where to sit, and within minutes, the small jet had taxied to one end of the field and was airborne.

About an hour into the flight, one of the young airmen who’d been guarding the plane left his seat and rifled through an ice chest that was anchored at the rear of the compartment. He handed Leslie a soda and smiled shyly; he couldn’t be much older than twenty. “Here, ma’am. I’m about all we have in the way of a flight attendant.”

“Thank you very much. I think I could use the sugar and caffeine.” He started to make his way back to the rear of the plane, but Leslie stopped him. “Excuse me, please. Can you tell me where we’re going?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Didn’t the major tell you? We’re going to Incirlik.”

Leslie blinked.
“Incirlik?”
The word was unfamiliar. It sounded like something one might find at a dentist’s office or hear in a sci-fi movie.

“Yes, ma’am. Incirlik Air Base.” Evidently Leslie still looked confused, because he added, “Turkey, ma’am.” He smiled again, nodded and returned to his seat.

* * *

T
HE
FLIGHT
TO
southern Turkey took nearly five hours, so it was long after dark when they landed at the massive American installation. Despite the lateness of the hour, the landing area of the giant air base was brightly lit, allowing Leslie the opportunity to observe the bustling activity. Servicemen and -women were moving with varying purposes across the lit taxiways and among the hangars and other buildings that bordered the runways. A large collection of trucks, containers and military equipment appeared to be in various stages of being loaded or unloaded from transport planes and service helicopters in an impressively choreographed manner.