Payback (5 page)

Jacques
swung his legs off the cot and rose, standing only inches from her, his body
heat radiating out toward her, a furnace of passion that made her tingle where
she shouldn’t, not as a married woman. “I assure you my intentions are quite
honorable.”

“I find
that hard to believe.”

Jacques’
hand slapped against his chest, over his heart, his jaw dropping. “Mademoiselle,
I am ’urt. You of all people I would ’ave thought above believing the ’urtful
gossip surrounding me. It is a reputation I assure you is quite underserved.”

She
loved the way he didn’t pronounce his H’s. “I’ve heard you laying pipe to two
different women this week in this very room—”

Jacques
pointed to the floor with a sly grin. “
This
very room?”

“You
know what I mean.”

Jacques
shrugged. “Who am I to say ‘no’ when a woman requires the comfort only I can
provide.”

The
ego on this guy!
Despite herself she found the
physical attraction undeniable. And it disgusted her. “
Only
you?”

He
shrugged again. “I am French. We are skilled in the art of the love making.”

“Don’t
believe your own press.” She jerked her thumb at the door again. “Now out.”

Jacques
smiled and sidestepped past her, stopping in the doorway. “Aren’t you going to
ask why I was waiting for you?”

She
sighed, exasperated at his antics and her body’s response to them. She kept her
back to him. The last thing she needed was him seeing her flustered. “Fine, why
were you waiting for me?”

“I was
going to tell you that—” His voice cut off, a gurgling sound replacing it as he
gasped for breath.

She
shook her head as she turned around. “What are you playing it, Jac—”

She
screamed, a bloodcurdling eruption cut off within moments as a gun was raised
past Jacques and aimed directly at her. The look of shock and pain on Jacques’
face was explained by the large blade shoved through his abdomen, the tip,
several inches in length, twisting back and forth as the man it belonged to
turned his wrist, scrambling the young doctor’s insides while a hand held
tightly over his mouth prevented him screaming from the agony he was clearly
in.

She
froze, bladder control momentarily forgotten.

She
squeezed, stemming the flow, but enough had escaped that if she weren’t so
terrified, she might actually be embarrassed.

“You are
Sarah Henderson?” asked the large black man with the gun, his partner pulling
what appeared to be a machete out of Jacques’ back.

She
should have said no, but she wasn’t thinking clearly, and she found her body
almost irresistibly nodding as she trembled.

 “The doctor?”

She
nodded, it not yet occurring to her to ask why she was being asked for by name.

The man
flicked the gun, motioning for her to move forward as Jacques was shoved to the
side, still gasping for air, unable to speak. Their eyes met and she recognized
the look immediately. It was a look she had seen hundreds of times since her
arrival in this godforsaken country.

It was
the look of someone who knew they were going to die.

“Let me
help him.”

The man
with the machete reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her
out the door. “He’s dead already,” said the man with the gun, looking down at
Jacques’ gurgling form, blood flowing freely from the wound.

And she
knew he was right. Even with proper medical facilities he would be tough to
save. Here? There was no way.

But she
felt like she had to do something.

“Please,
let me try.”

The man
with the gun growled. “Forget him.” He switched the gun to his left hand then
motioned with his right for the machete. The man tossed it to him. He swung,
swiftly, his hand clearly practiced, and chopped halfway through Jacques’ neck
sending a spray of arterial blood across the room, some splashing across the
thin white t-shirt she was wearing, some getting into her mouth.

She spat.

Pushing
on Jacques’ chest with his boot, he yanked the blade free, taking a moment to
wipe it clean on her bed sheets. He tossed it back to her captor, he easily
catching it with his hand then holding it against her throat.

Jacques
took his last breath, a gasping rattle that had her eyes squeezing shut and
looking away as all strength left her.

There
was a double-knock on the door. “Sarah! It’s me!”

Sarah
watched in horror as Tanya pushed the classroom door open. She was about to
shout a warning when a hand was clasped over her mouth, the grip viciously
tight. She tried to will a warning toward her friend, her eyes wide, trying to
make eye contact through the door, but it was too late. The man with the gun
was already at the door, hauling the shocked Ukrainian inside, slamming the
door shut as he pressed his gun against her forehead.

“Silence.”

Tanya
trembled out a nod as she finally made eye contact with Sarah then whimpered
when she saw Jacques’ blood staining her shirt. She gave a questioning look and
Sarah motioned slightly toward her room, Jacques’ body still visible through
the door.

Tanya
fainted.

“Is she
a doctor?”

Sarah
shook her head. “No.”

“You
lie.”

“She’s
not a doctor.”

“Then
what is she?”

Sarah
tried to think of something, a job that they couldn’t possibly find important.

“Sh-she’s
a reporter.”

“Then
she’s no good to us. Kill her.”

“No
wait! She’s a doctor!”

The man
glared at her for a moment. “Which is it? Reporter or doctor?”

“Doctor.
I’m sorry, I lied.”

The man
with the gun motioned at Tanya’s still unconscious figure. “Pick her up.”

The man
shoved his machete through a loop on his belt and hauled the poor woman off the
floor, flipping her over his shoulder with ease.

“Wh-why
are you doing this?”

“To send
a message,” replied the man as he poked his head through the open window.

“Wh-what
do you mean? A message to whom?”

The man
stepped through the window and onto the ground below. He looked back. “You
stupid little girl. You know very well who the message is to.” He reached in
and grabbed her wrist, hauling her toward the window frame. She yelped and
swung herself through, helping protect Tanya’s head as she was roughly handed over.

Tanya
began to come to as she was stood up on the grass. And that was when Sarah
realized what was going on, what was truly happening. He had asked her name.
They were here for her, not some random doctor. They wanted her specifically.

And
there was only one reason for it.

Her
father.

Vice President Philip Henderson’s Office, The White House,
Washington DC

“Mr. Vice President, I—”

Philip
Henderson looked up from his laptop as his aide, Vincent Harper, entered the
room. His eyes narrowed. Harper was usually a very confident man but the visage
being presented now could only be described as one of fear.

But it
wasn’t fear.

He had
seen fear. Fear was 9/11. Fear was Boston.

This was
something different. It wasn’t fear of some external threat.

He’s
afraid to tell you something.

“What is
it, Vince?”

Harper
stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Henderson caught a glimpse of his
secretary.

And she
looked terrified.

But
again, it wasn’t terror.

She’s
concerned for you.

His
chest tightened. “What’s happened?” he asked, rising, his thoughts immediately
of his wife and daughter. “Has something happened to my family?” And as the
words came out of his mouth he knew exactly what was going on. He collapsed
back into his chair. “It’s Sarah, isn’t it?”

Harper
nodded, handing him a file, opening it to the first page.

He
didn’t look. “What’s happened? Is she—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the
word. He simply looked up at his old friend and colleague.

“We
don’t know, Mr. Vice President. All we know is that there was a murder at the
compound she was at, in her room, and that she and another doctor are missing.”

“Murder?”
His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white
with the strain. “Do they think—”

“No! God
no, they don’t think she did it. The man’s head was practically chopped off—”

Henderson
gasped and felt himself pale.

Harper
lost a few shades as he realized what he had said. “Oh God, I’m sorry, sir, I
didn’t mean to say that, I mean, I’m sure she’s okay, I mean—” Harper stopped,
looking for a chair and dropping into the closest one, grabbing his hair. “I’m
so sorry, sir. I just can’t think straight.”

Henderson’s
ears were pounding, blood rushing through his system as his heart slammed into
his chest. He felt lightheaded.

Breathe!

He
suddenly sucked in a breath, exhaling quickly as he let go of the one he had
been unknowingly holding. The world began to come back into focus.

“Does
her mother know?”

Harper
shook his head. “Not yet. I figured you’d want to tell her yourself. I’ve
ordered the car brought around and have confirmed Mrs. Henderson is home.”

“How—”

“Security
detail.”

Henderson
nodded, then breathed deeply. “Okay, give me the facts.”

“All we
have is the initial report from Doctors Without Borders. One of their
doctors—the name is in the file, can’t remember it—French I think—was found
murdered in your daughter’s room. They think a machete.”

Henderson
winced, causing Harper to stop. “Continue.”

“There
was an open window and they think your daughter and another doctor, a female
from the Ukraine, were taken out the window by the assailants. There’s no
evidence they were hurt, and there’s been no ransom demands, at least not yet.”

“So they
might not know who they have.” It was wishful thinking. Of all the doctors to
choose from, why his Sarah? He was certain they knew exactly who they had. And
that might just save her life, at least for now.

“Possibly.”

Harper
sounded as doubtful as he felt.

“We both
know they know who they’ve got. I’m guessing this Frenchman got in the way
somehow.”

“What
about the other woman? Why not kill her?”

“You
said she was a doctor?”

Harper
nodded.

“Then
maybe they’ve got multiple motivations.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, his
mind racing through the possibilities. If it were just his daughter, he would
dismiss the possibility they were looking for a doctor. But to take two? He
paused. “Any word of supplies being stolen at the same time?”

Harper’s
eyes narrowed. “Supplies?”

“You
heard me.”

“I don’t
know, not that I know of. That’s more the CIA’s department.”

“Get
them on it.” He pushed himself up, straightening his tie. “I have to go tell my
wife that her daughter is missing and I might be the cause of it.”

Freetown, Sierra Leone

Dr. Sarah Henderson squeezed her eyes shut as the hood she had been
wearing since their abduction was ripped off her head. She tentatively opened
her eyes, blinking several times before finally focusing. She was sitting on a
chair in what looked like a small warehouse, big enough to fit what appeared to
be three transport trucks and a dozen men loading supplies into them.

Tanya
was sitting beside her, eyes red, cheeks stained from tears, her bottom lip
still trembling. The man who had held the gun during their abduction
approached. He was wearing what appeared to be an army uniform. “I am Major
Koroma and you are my guests.”

Sarah’s
eyebrows popped up at this.

Guests?

The man
had killed their colleague, assaulted them, kidnapped them, and he had the
audacity to call them his guests? Apparently her expression was enough to
convey her feelings on the matter.

“I see
you don’t believe me. That is understandable. You must understand that what
happened was necessary.”

“Killing
Jacques was necessary?”

Koroma
nodded. “A necessary
evil
as you Americans might say. His death will
serve a greater purpose in the days to come.”

“I fail
to see any way in which his murder could benefit anyone.”

Tanya
whimpered, apparently terrified that Sarah was making it worse, and Sarah had
to admit part of her was screaming at her to shut up, but she found she
couldn’t. She hadn’t been raised that way. Her father had taught her from the
beginning to speak up and to speak out, especially when an injustice was being
committed.

And she
could think of no greater injustice than murder.

Not to
mention the fact there were now three less doctors at their treatment center.
The impact would be dramatic, there only being ten of them to begin with. And
that assumed they were the only two captives. For all she knew there could be
others.

Major
Koroma smiled. “That is because your view is shortsighted and based upon a lack
of information.”

For the
first time Sarah noticed how well the major spoke English. Though English was
the official language of Sierra Leone, it was not what was most commonly
spoken. Amazingly, the lingua franca of Sierra Leone was descendent from Nova
Scotian settlers, forced south from their homes centuries ago. Creole was the
resulting language that had developed among these settlers, slaves and
Caribbean natives, and after slavery had been abolished in the United States
and many slaves were repatriated to West Africa, the Krio language resulted. A
mix of many languages, it was spoken by 97% of the population of Sierra Leone,
resulting in a heavily accented English when spoken by most locals.