“No,” I whispered, grasping her fingers and allowing her to help me from my hiding place, my felt-lined rubber soles soundless as they connected with the floor. “When do we leave?”
I heard the smile in her voice as she responded, “Elizabeth said you would be all business.” And then with a more serious tone, she added, “We leave within the hour. I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Thanks,” I nodded, even though she likely couldn’t see the small movement. The room we were in was pitch black? and the smell of disinfectant and bleach permeated the air.
I had to trust this woman, Elizabeth’s friend, to keep me safe and hidden for the next six hours on a medical transport until she dropped me off one hour south of Enugu. She would continue on with her team to conduct clinic visits in Enugu. I would hike three miles south through mostly jungle to the camp where Greg was being kept.
The official story: I’d decided to accompany Ashley and Drew on their drive south. I was helping Ashley get settled in Tennessee.
Professor Matt Simmons agreed to keep an eye on the apartment.
Elizabeth and Nico took Grace and Jack. I promised I would return—from Tennessee—within two weeks. Jack liked the idea of staying in their penthouse, especially since Nico always owned the latest and greatest gadgets. Plus, Elizabeth was Grace’s favorite person ever since she’d given Grace a Build-A-Bear kit two years ago.
Saying goodbye to the kids had been difficult. I knew it would be. I’d prepared for tears—theirs and mine—but they were fine. They waved goodbye with smiling faces. I cried in the car afterward.
I called work and explained I had a family emergency. I told my contract supervisor I’d be off the grid for a while and couldn’t accept any new work until mid-April.
Unofficially, I drove to Tennessee with Ashley and Drew. From there, I used Ashley’s mother’s passport—same height, same weight, same eye color, just ten years older—and flew to Puerto Rico. Luckily, US passports aren’t cross-referenced with the social security death database. Therefore, Ashley’s mother’s passport was still valid.
In Puerto Rico, we used one of Quinn’s contacts to get me on board a FedEx carrier bound for Paris. In Paris, I hopped on a Red Star mail carrier flight bound for Lagos, Nigeria, as an employee of Grinsham Banking and Credit Systems —one of Quinn’s corporate clients based out of London.
I didn’t enter the country of Nigeria as a person. I entered as a parcel, a wooden crate delivered to the north Lagos triage center of Doctors Without Borders.
“I’m Dr. Evans.” The woman’s grip on my hand turned into a handshake.
“It’s nice to meet you. Call me Fe.”
Our fingers entwined again as she led me out of the room where my crate had been delivered. I assumed it was a storage room, or an internal delivery dock. She paused just as we approached a door-shaped strip of light.
“Put these scrubs on. I’ve included a headscarf.” She handed me a bundle, which I accepted. But I hesitated.
Within my tool belt had been several vials of Ketamine, courtesy of Dr. Drew Runous, federal game warden of the Smoky Mountains National Park in Green Valley, Tennessee. Also in my possession were a satellite phone, a Ketamine-loaded dart gun and a hundred rounds of Ketamine darts, a SIG DAK—Greg’s preferred weapon of choice, a SIG X-Five—my preferred weapon of choice, a switchblade, and a survival kit. The goal was to get in and out with no bloodshed. Nothing that would make the news, draw any attention to my presence in the country, or inspire retaliation.
I didn’t need a body count. I just needed Greg.
However, that meant the tool belt and harnesses strapped to my bodysuit would look bulky and suspicious beneath fitted clothes.
“What size are these?”
“Small. Elizabeth gave me your size.”
“I need a large. And a lab coat.”
Dr. Evans vacillated for a moment, dithering like she wanted to ask why I would need a bigger size, but then released my hand, reclaimed the bundle, and shifted away. I listened to her as she blindly searched for the larger scrubs and requested lab coat. Even though the room smelled like a hospital, I gathered a large breath and held it in my lungs, thankful for any air beyond the confines of the crate.
I’d received word from Alex while I was in transport on the Red Star mail carrier that he’d located Greg and the other hostages. Apparently, his captors hadn’t tried to hide their whereabouts or cover their tracks, adding fuel to the theory Greg had been abducted by a corrupt government faction.