Payback (19 page)

The man
behind the counter shook his head. “Staples.”

Red
picked one up, pretending to read it but instead watching their reactions
through his peripheral vision. “Looks like it might be fun.” He rubbed the
paper between his fingers, detecting nothing. “Feels new. Last week?” The man
behind the counter nodded. “First batch?” Another nod. “That’s good, then we’re
getting somewhere.”

“What do
you mean?” asked Ballo.

“Well,
this flyer was on Mr. Conteh’s fridge, so we now know that he was here after
you had these printed last week.”

Ballo
glared at the man behind the counter for an instant then caught himself.
“Perhaps someone gave it to him.”

“That’s
always a possibility.” Red was impressed, Ballo clearly quick on his feet.
“Which means someone that frequents this place saw him recently.” He suddenly
changed tactics. “Where are you from?”

Ballo’s
eyes narrowed. “Sierra Leone.”

“Where
in Sierra Leone.”

“Kamakwie.”

“That’s
fairly close to where Mr. Conteh is from, isn’t it?”

Ballo
nodded, though he appeared reluctant to do so. He looked at the other two. “Are
you from the same area?” The man behind the counter nodded, the other shook his
head.

Someone
from the next room yelled something in Krio, Ballo responding.

“He just
told the person in the back to tell the others to leave.”

Red
pretended to not know what was going on, Jagger and Sweets covering the rear
exit and listening in. “Can you tell whoever is back there to come out here,
please?”

Ballo
shouted something to the back.

“He just
told them to arm themselves. Sending backup to your location now.”

Red
stepped back, drawing his Glock 22, aiming it directly at Ballo’s chest, Spock
covering the other two. The man in the middle’s face visibly sagged, a small
yellow puddle forming at the soles of his shoes. “Now everybody is going to
remain calm and get on the floor,” said Red. The soiled man hit the floor
immediately, but Ballo didn’t budge, neither did the man behind the counter who
seemed to be taking all his cues from his boss.

And his
hands, on the counter, seemed to be twitching, as if ready to reach for
something.

“Now
listen,” said Red, moving slightly so Spock would have a clearer shot at the
man behind the counter, “nobody has to die here today. The rear exit is
covered, nobody’s leaving here. Tell your friends in the back to lay down their
weapons and nobody has to get hurt.”

“The man
behind the counter is named Camara Okeke. He’s got a wife and a daughter.”

Red
looked at Okeke. “Do you have a family?”

The man
nodded.

“Any
children?”

A rapid
nod, his eyes flittering between his boss and interrogator.

“Son?
Daughter?”

“D-daughter.”

“What’s
her name?”

“Tell
him nothing.”

Red
turned to Ballo. “What harm could there be in telling me his daughter’s name?”

“We will
tell your government nothing.”

Red
pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re an American citizen.
Isn’t it
your
government too?”

“It
ceased being my government the day they let my homeland die.”

Bingo!
Motive determined, now for the endgame.

“I
assume you mean Ebola?”

Ballo
nodded, lowering his slightly raised hands and turning to face Red’s weapon
directly, as if making certain there was no way a bullet could miss the large
target now provided. “You let our people die while wasting billions on your
wars over oil, and only react when someone shows up here sick. You spend
millions to save two of your white volunteers, but barely a penny on the
thousands of blacks suffering in Africa.”

“Ahh, so
it’s a race issue.”

“It is,
and it shouldn’t be.”

“I
agree.” Red was pretty certain where this was heading, but he had to make one
last effort to diffuse things before the ending Ballo seemed committed to was
triggered. “Listen, just because I work for the government doesn’t mean I agree
with everything they do. Between you, me and the lamppost, I think our
government should have gone all out in fighting this disease at the outset.
Thousands of lives would have been saved, and in the end, hundreds of millions
if not billions of dollars as well. By ignoring it thousands of your people died
needlessly, and now it will just cost that much more to try and stop it.” Red
shrugged. “Washington is filled with assholes who only care about getting
reelected. There’s nothing I can do about that except vote against them in the
next election. And as an American citizen, that’s what you can do too. You
though have a luxury I as a public servant don’t. You can publicly criticize
your government, organize rallies, protest, and change people’s opinions so
they change their elected representative’s opinion. There’s nothing more
terrifying to a politician than the thought of losing the next election. But
this”—he motioned with a turn of his head at the room—“is not the way. You will
never gain sympathy from Americans by killing innocent people in the name of your
cause. Lay down your weapons and tell your story. Americans will listen to you.
If you’re dead, your people lose what is obviously an impassioned voice.”

Ballo
seemed to be taking in Red’s words, and for a moment Red had a sliver of hope
that they might just be able to shut this impending disaster down when shouts
from the back erupted, the thunder of a shotgun piercing the tense silence of
the front room.

Okeke’s
hands dropped below the counter. Spock put two in his chest as Ballo lunged for
Red. Red shot him in the shoulder, spinning his body in mid-air. Ballo cried
out in agony as he hit the floor on his back, the third man, already on the
floor, begging not to be shot.

Red
pushed Ballo over then stepped on his back as Spock quickly zip-tied the man’s hands
and feet, moving on to the pisser. Sirens in the distance signaled that the local
backup response status had been upgraded to lights and sirens now that shots
had been fired. Red advanced, his weapon aimed at the door to the rear of the
building as the shotgun continued to pump rounds, a second one joining in.

The
distinctive sound of an AK47 upgraded the situation. “Bravo Zero-Eight, Bravo
Zero-Two, preparing to enter through door Alpha, over.”

“Bravo
Zero-Two, Bravo Zero-Eight, we’ll provide suppression fire, keep left, over.”

“Roger
that, keeping left. Proceed in three, two, one, execute!”

The
sound of two Glocks opening up on the rear of the building momentarily silenced
the opposition’s weapons as they took cover. Red advanced, Spock on his six, taking
a quick glance around the doorframe, finding what looked like a meeting area,
threadbare couches surrounding the walls, an old CRT television against one
wall and one man crouching near the door to the back room spinning toward them,
a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum gripped in his hand.

Red
double-tapped his chest.

Shouts
from the next room indicated their approach had been discovered and rounds from
the AK47 ripped through the thin gyprock. Red hit the floor as did Spock, both
opening up on the wall. Somebody screamed on the other side, the AK47 silenced
if only for a moment, but it was enough time for Red to jump to his feet and approach
the final door, it closed with several bullet holes in it.

“Approaching
Door Charlie, over.”

“Roger
that, continuing suppression fire, over.”

The
steady stream of fire from Jagger and Sweets minimized the response from what
should have been only one gunman but sounded like two. Somebody had obviously
already been in the building when it was unlocked less than half an hour ago.

Red kept
to the left and low, Spock directly behind him as they continued to pump their
own rounds through the wall, suddenly switching to the door as Red reached
forward and grabbed the knob, shoving the door open. Spock surged past, firing
three times, taking down the man holding the AK47, Red firing, eliminating an
already wounded man gripping a shotgun. A third man was dead near the window,
his own shotgun under his body.

“Clear!”
announced Spock, still hugging the wall, suppression fire continuing.

“Clear!”
said Red, activating his comm. “Hold your fire, situation is secure, over.”

The
gunfire from the rear of the building stopped immediately. “Roger that,
approaching Door Delta, over.”

“Opening
door,” said Red, nodding toward Spock who opened the rear door, waving at their
approaching comrades. Red immediately headed for the front of the building,
there still two hostiles alive, Spock close behind. He found Ballo almost at
the door, having wriggled his way across the floor, the urinator unmoved.

Ballo
rolled to his side, twisting his body so he had a view of his whimpering
partner, shouting something at him.

“He just
said if you tell them anything you’re dead.”

Red
smiled.

Good
to know he knows something.

Somewhere in Sierra Leone

Sarah Henderson double-checked her gear in a large mirror that had
been brought in from one of the houses. One of Koroma’s men was helping with a
checklist that she had written down from memory, but without another trained
eye to inspect her personal protective equipment, she had to rely on herself
when Tanya was sleeping. It was nerve racking knowing she might have missed
something, Tanya already having caught an improperly Velcroed seal, something
the “trained” men were supposed to catch.

It
showed the system was flawed.

At least
their hobbled together system.

Back at
the clinic she wasn’t concerned. She paid attention but two other people who
did this type of work day in and day out were there to make sure no one screwed
up. When she entered the isolation wards she was confident everything had been
done to protect her.

Here she
had no such confidence, especially when Tanya, with two months of experience,
wasn’t with her.

And now she
was about to do something already making her stomach sick with the thought of
it. She stepped into Zone One, it a little emptier now than it was earlier,
those who had tested negative to the blood test immediately moved into another
part of the building where they would be tested again until she was certain
they weren’t infected.

But it
was at least a little encouraging. The village had been thoroughly searched and
all symptomatic people had been brought to their makeshift clinic. Koroma’s
soldiers would be searching the village every day now, looking for previously
asymptomatic people. If they could contain things for three weeks, then they
might just beat the outbreak.

But
dozens more would die before then, of that much she was certain.

Including
perhaps the patient she was about to move into Zone Two.

She
pushed aside the sheet protecting her patient and felt tears flood her eyes as
the innocent little five year old girl looked up at her, fear in her own.

“I need
you to come with me,” said Sarah, her voice cracking as she held out her hand.
She knew the tiny creature didn’t understand her but her intent was clear, and
with the innocence only a child could possess, she quickly rose from her
makeshift bed where she had been playing with a threadbare homemade doll, and
took Sarah’s gloved hand. They stepped out from behind the sheet and Sarah
looked toward the entrance to Zone One, the squeak of its door drawing her
attention.

“Papa!”

The
little girl darted toward Koroma who stood in the doorway, but Sarah tightened
her grip as her captor dropped to his knees, the anguish clear on his face. He
held up his hands, urging his daughter to stay back.

“Pickin!”
he gasped. “Stay!” He said something in Krio and the little girl’s tugs on
Sarah’s hand eased somewhat, finally subsiding as her shoulders slumped in
defeat.

Koroma
looked up at Sarah, his eyes pools of tears. “Will she live?”

Sarah
shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll do everything I can to save her.”

Koroma
rose to his feet, a single tear racing down his left cheek. “You do nothing for
her you wouldn’t do for anyone else.”

Sarah’s
stomach felt hollow, bile filling her mouth as his words echoed in her head.

She
nodded then turned, pushing the sheet aside separating Zones One and Two,
leading the now sobbing little girl into a chamber filled with the sights and
sounds of the sick and dying. She put her on a donated mattress nearest Zone
One, the tiny bed separated from the others with a hanging sheet she had set up
earlier to help protect the child from the visual horror surrounding her.

“You’ll
stay here,” she said with as much reassurance as she could muster, pointing to
the bed. The little girl wiped her tears away with the back of her hands then
lay down on the mattress, curling into a little ball, hugging her doll and
squeezing her eyes shut.

Sarah
adjusted the sheet to try and provide as much privacy and protection as she
could. Taking one last look at the little girl, she made for the rear of the
building, quickly checking on each patient to see if there was anything she
could do to help them, but beyond filling water glasses, there was little.

And one
more was dead in Zone Three.

She
exited the rear of the building and waited while she was sprayed down with a
bleach and water solution by one of Koroma’s men then removed her equipment, a
check list read out by the same man in heavily accented English. She at last
headed for the showers, locking the door behind her. Stripping out of her
clothes she turned the water on, leaning against the wall as the cool liquid
spilled down her back, then turning around and sliding to the floor, she began
to sob as selfish thoughts flooded her mind.