As Gray listened to Painter Crowe’s report over the phone, he knew the efforts here were for naught. Someone had kidnapped Frank and Monk from the university lab, firebombing everything on their way out. Gray’s jaw was clamped tight. It was further proof that the enemy had far too much intel on Sigma’s efforts here. Word had clearly spread to the wrong ears.
“Lisa will continue working with the doctors at the university hospital,” Painter continued. “She’ll try to carry on Dr. Whitaker’s virology work as best she can with the resources at hand. She’s also going to reach out to Dr. Remy Engonga, a pathologist with the International Centre for Medical Research who worked with Frank up in Gabon. Their institute has the closest Level 4 biosafety containment facility.”
Gray took this all in, already recalibrating his own plans. “What about Monk and Frank? We have to assume they were snatched by the same ones who attacked this U.N. camp.”
Kowalski overheard this and glanced up sharply from where he was kneeling beside an unusual weapon supplied to the team by Painter, a prototype rifle designed by DARPA for jungle warfare. The Shuriken—as it was nicknamed—had a shovel-nosed barrel. It looked like a dust-buster vacuum welded to the front of an assault rifle. A large cylindrical drum magazine held its unusual ammunition.
Tucker had also been eyeballing the strange rifle with some interest. Even Kane sniffed at the weapon’s case. But the ranger straightened upon hearing Gray’s end of the conversation. Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this about Frank?”
Gray read the concern, knowing Tucker and Frank were friends going back to the Gulf War. Gray held up a palm as he listened to Painter’s answer.
“That’s the only good news I have,” the director said.
“How is that good?”
“Lisa believes—and I concur—that Monk rushed over during the attack with little hope of rescuing Frank and more with the intent to be snatched along with the virologist.”
Gray nodded. Of course . . . “And have you been able to pick up Monk’s transponder?”
“Trust me. Kat is not about to lose track of her husband. The GPS unit built into his prosthesis remains active. Presently it continues to move in a northeasterly direction across the Congo.”
Gray let out a soft sigh of relief. Monk’s prosthetic hand—a marvel of engineering—was nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. At least from a cursory glance. He did not doubt that the enemy would have searched Monk, but in their haste to depart, they had clearly overlooked what was hidden in plain sight.
But how long would that last?
Suspicion rankled through him. He glanced over to Ndaye, remembering the eco-guard’s own warning about some of his fellow soldiers’ lack of loyalty to their uniforms. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We should keep this knowledge to ourselves,” he warned. “As much as I’d like to take advantage of the military’s support, someone knew we were at that university. The best hope of securing Monk and Frank will be through stealth rather than a show of force. At least, for now.”
Gray glanced across the ruins of the camp. They had to hope that Monk and Frank would be transported to the location where the kidnapped doctors had been taken. If so, his team would have only one chance to pull off a successful rescue. But if word again reached the wrong ears . . .
“So what’s your plan?” Painter asked.
“Let me discuss it with the others, and I’ll get back with you.”
“Understood.”
Gray signed off and lowered the phone. He appreciated Painter giving him the leeway to strategize further rather than issuing a command. Sometimes it took someone with boots on the ground to best assess a situation. Gray also trusted his gut, and thankfully the director did, too.
He waved the group into a tighter cluster, including Benjie and Faraji. He quickly related all that had happened at the university. Grim expressions met this account. No one spoke except for Kowalski, who swore under his breath, exhaling a stream of smoke from the cigar clamped between his molars.
Gray continued once the news had sunk in, “I hate to abandon the search along the trail left behind by the Reverend Sheppard. If there’s a source of the contagion somewhere out in the jungle—and a possible cure—we need to find it ASAP.”
A few nods acknowledged this. One only had to look at the devastation wrought here—not just from the assault by the enemy, but also from the debilitating illness that had struck the camp prior to the attack—to recognize how time was running out. Gray innately knew the entire Congo was at a tipping point. Something malevolent and ancient was smoldering out in that jungle, and it had to be stopped before it blew into a firestorm.
Tucker leaned closer. Gray could guess the ranger’s next words. “Kane and I’ll go after Frank and hopefully the others. You all continue into the jungle, following those clues. Just have the director keep me abreast of the tracker’s signal. I’ll let him know what I find.”
Gray nodded his thanks. He hated to leave Monk’s fate to another, but Tucker’s expertise during the war—especially paired with Kane—was in search and rescue, especially exfiltration of high-value targets from behind enemy lines. If anyone could secure the others, it was this pair.
Gray turned to Ndaye. The ICCN guard had piloted the helicopter that had ferried them all here. “Would you be willing to airlift Tucker, to get him over to that trail? I want to keep this operation limited to our group alone. I don’t trust anyone else.”
“Certainement,” Ndaye answered. “I understand.”
“And perhaps en route you could drop Benjie back in Kisangani with his samples.”
Benjie straightened and shook his head. “No. That makes no bloody sense.”
Gray fixed his gaze on the biologist.
“I wish to go with you, Commander Pierce.” The student’s voice was firm, but he had to swallow twice to get those words out. He also blinked rapidly, as if his body was trying to send a fearful SOS in Morse code. Still, Benjie pressed the matter further. “With cases of the afflicted already at the Kisangani hospital, I see little value in transporting my samples there. I could be of more use in the forest.”
Gray wanted to argue against the young man’s help, but so much remained unknown. Like how the contagion seemed to have a strange effect on jungle life. Gray dared not discount the assistance of a biologist. Still, he gave Benjie one last out.
“If you’re absolutely sure,” he offered. “It’ll just be us, along with Kowalski and hopefully Faraji.” He glanced over to the shaman’s apprentice and addressed the boy. “That is, if you’re still willing to help. We need someone local who might be able to interpret the clues hidden in Sheppard’s old photographs.”
Both Faraji and Benjie nodded their willingness to continue.
“Then it’s settled,” Gray said.
Kowalski heaved out another cloud of cigar smoke. “Great. We’re splitting up. That always ends well.”
Third
13
April 24, 3:02 P.M. CAT
Belka Island, Democratic Republic of the Congo
This is not good . . .
Charlotte continued her physical examination of Disanka inside the makeshift medical ward. The Lubu woman sat up on her cot. She must have read the worry in Charlotte’s face. The patient’s wide eyes reflected that same growing fear. Disanka’s gaze flicked to her son. The boy was swaddled and asleep in a bedside cradle, but even in slumber, there remained a distinct lassitude. The child was not curled on his side, sucking on a thumb as he dreamed. Instead, his head was lolled backward, his tiny limbs laying slack around him, looking boneless.
The mother was not the only one concerned for the boy.
“He’s getting worse,” Jameson said. The American pediatrician had just completed his own examination of the baby. “His pulse ox has fallen below ninety. Likely due to his breathing growing shallower and shallower.”
“We should get him on an oxygen mask.”