A bullet whizzed past Desmond’s head. He tried to follow the sound but failed. It was chaos around him. Through breaks in the smoke, he saw throngs of people screaming, running to the tender and lifeboats, most wearing life vests.
The wind swept the smoke aside for a moment, like a curtain being drawn, and Desmond saw the helicopter dead ahead. Avery had pulled away from Hannah and Peyton, who were moving as fast as they could. The last two guards beside the chopper fell as Avery fired. She climbed into the cockpit, and a few seconds later Peyton hopped in and helped Hannah up.
Desmond spun around, his back to the helicopter, covering them while the engines started. After what felt like an eternity, the rotors spun to life, their wind whipping at his back, dispersing the smoke, revealing carnage: wounded and dead soldiers.
Desmond swallowed, knowing what might come next. The rifle’s stock rested against his shoulder, his finger around the trigger.
He desperately wanted Avery to yell for him to get on.
A figure burst through the hatchway from the stairwell. Desmond had a half second to scan him. Black body armor. Rifle held at the ready. The man was blinded momentarily by the sunlight.
Desmond squeezed the trigger.
His first shot went wide. His second caught the man in the shoulder. His third killed him.
Desmond waited, wondering, expecting a feeling that never came. He felt only cold focus as he held the weapon.
Over the roar of the rotors, he heard Avery’s call for him.
The moment his foot hit the helicopter’s rail, it lifted off.
Peyton extended a hand, pulled him in. From the open door, he watched the sinking, smoking cargo ship as they flew away.
Quickly, he took stock of Peyton. She was okay. He couldn’t say the same for the younger woman. The exertion and increase in blood pressure had been disastrous for Hannah. Her wound oozed dark blood. Sweat drenched her. She was pale. Too pale.
Peyton leaned close to him. Her lips brushed his ear as she spoke, just loud enough for him to hear over the rotors.
“Help me find a med kit. Hurry. She’s bleeding out.”
Chapter 62
From a tender floating in the Indian Ocean, Conner watched the Kentaro Maru sink. With each second, the sea swallowed more of the smoking heap. Unlike the Beagle, it would never be found. He was sure of that.
“Hughes had help,” the captain said.
“Brilliant deduction,” Conner muttered.
“Should we—”
“I’ll handle it. I have this well in hand.”
Desmond had helped as best he could while Peyton sewed Hannah’s shoulder wound closed. She had operated with focus and poise, not a single second wasted.
Desmond had no doubt that she had just saved the young woman’s life. Hannah was extremely pale now, her face gaunt. Blood covered the floor of the helicopter. Gauze and boxes of medical supplies lay strewn about like volcanic islands rising from a blood-red sea.
Peyton sank back to her haunches. She exhaled deeply, and every bit of energy seemed to flow out of her. Desmond half-expected her to pass out herself. It must have been incredibly stressful, holding a friend and colleague’s life in her hands, knowing every move she made could end the woman’s life.
She looked at Desmond with what he thought was skeptism. Then she leaned close to him, her lips inches from his ear, her words impossible for Avery to hear in the pilot’s seat. “What’s going on here, Des?”
The tone was different from her words on the ship. It was somehow more… tender, familiar.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”
His eyes went wide. It was true. They did know each other. Quickly, he told her about waking up in Berlin with no memory of how he’d gotten there.
“We need to talk,” she said. “There’s something you need to know. But first…” She glanced around, found the headset hanging from the ceiling, and pulled it on.
Desmond grabbed another headset.
“Avery.” Peyton’s voice was once again firm, commanding almost. “Hannah needs a hospital. She’s lost too much blood.”
Avery glanced back at her.
Desmond sensed another Peyton-Avery argument coming on. Hoping to avoid it, he asked Avery where they were.
“Off the coast of Kenya, near the border with Tanzania.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Call for help,” she said simply. Desmond sensed that she didn’t want to elaborate—perhaps because her most recent plans had been so thoroughly questioned and amended by her passengers.
“Where’re we headed?” Peyton asked.
“Mombasa.”
Peyton squinted. “There’s no American embassy in Mombasa. Or even a consulate. It was in my CDC briefing. In fact, no Western nations have embassies or consulates in the city. It’s too dangerous; they all pulled out years ago.”
A pause, then Avery said, “At the bus depot, there’s a locker with a field kit in it.”
“How does that help us?” Desmond asked.
“There’s a satphone inside. I’ll call my handler. He’ll arrange exfil.”
Her handler? Desmond thought.
On Peyton’s face, he saw scrutiny. She didn’t trust the other woman.
“You didn’t bring a satphone with you?” Peyton asked.
“I couldn’t get my hands on one,” Avery said. “We were under a comm blackout on the ship.” She motioned to Desmond. “You saw the high security around even using a cell phone—they were under lock and key. Plus, they could have tracked any satphone I took off the ship.”
“So assuming we get to the locker and make contact, how do we get out of Mombasa?” Desmond asked.
“There’s a Kenyan naval base and a large airport.”
“There are also several good hospitals,” Peyton said. “The Aga Khan Hospital would be my first choice.”
Avery shook her head. “Look, I disabled the Kentaro Maru’s other helo, but Conner McClain is very smart, and he knows we have an injured person on board. By now, he’ll have hired every crooked cop, mercenary, and bounty hunter in Mombasa, and every other coastal town, to try to find us. And the first places they’ll stake out will be the hospitals and airports.”
Peyton was about to launch her rebuttal when smoke on the horizon caught their attention.
Mombasa was burning.