‘Mike,’ Nia said. ‘Mike, can you hear me?’ She slapped his cheek again.
Mike opened his eyes and tried to focus on her.
‘Thank God. It’s all right, you’re alive, but you’re bleeding.’
‘Paulsen?’ He looked around him.
Nia glanced towards the body and Mike winced in pain as he turned his head to follow the direction of her eyes. Nia swallowed back the bile that was rising again in her throat. ‘I shot him.’
‘I thought …’
‘I know, I know, you told me to go with the kids for my safety, but I also told you I don’t like following orders. It’s just as well I stayed behind. I’ve seen that man in action, remember.’
‘Thanks.’ He grimaced again as he felt the back of his head.
‘You’re bleeding there as well as on your palm, but head wounds always bleed a lot. I don’t think it’s too bad, unless you’ve got concussion.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘I know where I am. Where are the others?’
‘Themba said he knew the way to the Nsumo. He’s heading there now, with Lerato and the baby. They’re safe, Mike.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’
‘I know the baby’s mother and the others are still out there, but surely we can make it to safety before they find us here.’
‘Paulsen might have got a message to them about where we were, here in Mkhuze,’ Mike said, ‘but I’m also worried about the Americans, what they’ll do if they get to the kids first.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mike told her about the conversation he’d had with Paulsen. It seemed incredible, that whatever was on the microchip was sensitive enough that the Americans might kill three children – and possibly them as well – to cover up its existence.
‘I know it sounds far-fetched. And Paulsen had every reason to lie to me, to try and get me to drop my guard,’ Mike said.
Nia nodded. ‘True, but the lengths that everyone – the Americans and the terrorists – are going to in order to get hold of this baby are crazy. I’m worried about them now. Are you going to contact the Americans to tell them where we all are?’
Mike fingered the back of his head again. ‘I’m not sure. You know what I’m thinking?’
She looked into his eyes. ‘I do. You want to find out what’s on that microchip before we hand the baby over.’
‘It’s crazy.’
‘It sure is. Let’s do it.’
‘But we have to get out of here first, take the kids somewhere safe. The only problem is how.’ Mike got to his feet.
‘I’ve sorted out our transport,’ Nia said. ‘I didn’t know how bad you were hurt or how we could get out of here quickly in case the woman and the others come, so I’ve organised an evacuation chopper. My friend John’s on the way.’ She looked down at the man she had just killed. ‘What about him?’
‘Who cares?’
*
Themba carried the baby on his back and the AK-47 at the ready. Lerato was close behind him, one hiking pack on her back, the other across the front of her body.
Themba was pleased that Lerato had found a new sense of purpose. They were moving fast, so perhaps she was conserving her breath. The infant, amazingly, was sleeping. He thought of the foreign object that had been inserted into his little neck; Themba was no stranger to the concept of cruelty to children, but this seemed particularly sickening to him. He thought of Nandi again, and his vow to her. If he ever had children he would protect them with his life.
Mike had told him to swing around to the south, towards the big Nsumo Pan.
‘If I don’t get Paulsen, the white-haired man, he will assume you are heading to Mantuma Camp,’ Mike had said before setting his ambush. ‘Go to Nsumo instead; you remember we went there? You can hide in the ablutions block, get yourselves and the baby cleaned up. I’ll come for you.’
It was a long walk to Nsumo Pan, about thirteen kilometres, but Themba had followed the orders and was making good time, using the road. They would melt into the bush at the first sound of a vehicle engine. Mike had also ordered Nia to come with them, but she had ignored his command as soon as Mike had left them.
In the distance he heard a gunshot, then another one soon after.
‘Wait,’ said Lerato. ‘Should we go back and check on them?’
Themba looked over his shoulder at her and shook his head. ‘Keep going. He was clear in his instructions.’
‘All right. I’m trusting you, Themba.’
More than an hour later they were still trudging towards Nsumo. Themba didn’t know if he would be able to keep Lerato’s trust and though she was trying to be stoic, he knew that she, like him, was thinking the worst. After the gunshots Themba had expected Mike and Nia to come find them at any time. He heard a noise, stopped, raised his hand, and cocked his head.
‘What is it?’ Lerato asked.
‘An aircraft, another helicopter, I think. Move into the bushes.’
They heard the rotors, away in the distance, but when Themba looked up through the trees he could see no search light, no winking navigation lights. That’s fine, he thought, if I can’t see them, then they can’t see me.
*
‘Two individuals, wait, three. One has a baby on its back. They’re moving south,’ said the pilot through the Sea Hawk’s intercom system. ‘About four hundred metres to the west of us.’
The helicopter had been overflying Mkuze Game Reserve searching the bush with its FLIR – forward-looking infrared camera. They’d caught an unexpected break.
‘Roger that,’ Jed said into the boom microphone. This was the second Navy chopper he’d been on and they were all of them in a heightened state of alert after the disaster of the first flight in pursuit of the targets. There were only two Sea Hawks on board the warship berthed at Durban, and now one of them was gone, but Jed knew that a mini invasion force of more choppers, US Navy SEALs and CIA officers were on their way to South Africa by air at this very moment. For now it was just Jed, Franklin and Chris Mitchell on board.
Jed knew that Chris, despite his age, was ambitious. Chris wanted to catch these fugitives and find out what, if anything, they were carrying in addition to the baby before the South Africans or any other US Government agency could beat him to it. For now the reality was that Jed, Franklin and Chris were the tip of America’s spear.
‘They’ve gone to ground,’ said Chris. He was watching the glowing images of the runaway kids on the screen of the FLIR. ‘Let’s not spook them. We’ll deploy a klick to the south.’
‘Understood,’ said Franklin.
The pilot circled around to the south. ‘Five minutes,’ he said.
Jed and Franklin checked and cocked their MP5s. They were each carrying half a dozen spare magazines. It might have just been three kids, but they weren’t taking any chances. Fessey, Paulsen and the other terrorists were unaccounted for.
‘One minute,’ Chris said over the intercom.
Jed took off his headset. The crewmen on either side of the Sea Hawk slid open the cargo doors and Jed and Franklin waited in the open hatches. Jed flashed back to his time in Afghanistan. He’d nearly been killed a couple of times and never thought he’d be going into action like this again in his lifetime. But the war he’d left for after September 11, 2001, had never really ended.
The pilot flared the nose of the big bird, and as it settled on its wheels Jed and Franklin jumped out. In an instant the Sea Hawk was gone and around him was the quiet of the African bush, the silence broken only by the chirp of a tiny Scops owl.
Jed and Franklin took up positions close to the verge on either side of the road. When the kids came towards them – the FLIR had shown them using the road so he assumed they would continue to do so – Jed would show himself to them first. He didn’t want them being harmed. They would get whatever it was the bad guys were after, and they would do it without spilling more blood.
Jed watched the road. Visibility was good, thanks to the moonlight.
‘Jed,’ Chris’s voice said into the earpiece of the tactical radio Jed carried.
‘Go, Chris.’
‘We’ve got a problem. Pilot says one of his engines is red-lining. We’ve got to put down so the crew can check it out. You and Franklin are on your own for now.’
‘Roger that,’ Jed said into the radio. He snapped his fingers and Franklin looked over at him. In a low voice he relayed the message.
‘At this rate the US Navy’s going to run out of helicopters,’ Franklin said.
*
Themba strode ahead, the baby still on his back, and Lerato half jogged to keep pace with his long steps.
‘Slow down,’ she hissed.
He couldn’t blame her for getting annoyed. He, too, was feeling the effects of fatigue, but he couldn’t let them slow down. As he walked his foot crunched on a twig. He looked down.
Strewn on the road were several more small branches in a line across his path. From the positioning it almost looked like the dead leaves and twigs had been blown across the road, but that, too, was unusual, because there wasn’t a breath of wind, and hadn’t been all day. He bent and took a closer look at the branches and leaves – they did not look like they had been chewed and discarded by elephant or other game.
He slowed his pace and raised the AK-47.
‘At last,’ Lerato huffed.
‘Shush.’
‘Themba!’ a voice called from ahead. A tall man with a beard and fair hair, though not white like the one who had been chasing them, walked out onto the road. He had his hands raised, though in one of them was a short-barrelled machine gun. ‘My name is Jed Banks, I’m with the American Government. Please don’t shoot.’
‘Into the bush,’ Themba said to Lerato.
She hesitated, unwilling to leave his side as Themba brought his rifle up to his shoulder.
‘He’s going to shoot!’ another voice called from the opposite side of the road to where the first American was standing.
Themba started to lower his weapon. He heard one shot, then two, and felt something punch him in the shoulder. He staggered backwards, then darted to the side, towards the trees. Lerato screamed. Themba’s only thought was that he should try to stay upright; if he fell backwards he would crush the baby. He heard the clatter of an engine above and behind him and the next instant he was bathed in light.
This, he thought, was the moment in which he would die. He wondered if the light above him was from heaven, a beam to transport his soul upwards. He suddenly felt light-headed. ‘I love you, Lerato.’
‘What? Don’t be stupid. Are you all right?’ She had her arm around him and the baby, supporting them.
He could see two men on the road now in the distance. One was a black man, wearing khaki cargo pants and a safari shirt. He was raising a submachine gun. The man fired again, but the fair-haired man who had first appeared on the road put his hand on the man’s weapon and forced it down.
The light flooded them and Themba looked up. It wasn’t the afterlife calling him, it was a helicopter, and through the open door of the rear compartment he could see Mike Dunn waving to them, motioning them to come closer. Themba took one step, then another, then crumpled to his knees.
*
Mike jumped down out of the Bell Jet Ranger. He ran to Themba.
‘He’s been shot,’ Lerato said.
Nia came to them – Mike had known it would have been pointless to tell her to stay in the chopper. With Lerato’s help she unwrapped the baby from Themba’s back; it was a miracle the child hadn’t been hit as well. As it was, he was screaming his little head off.
Mike got an arm around Themba and led him to the helicopter. ‘Who was shooting at you?’
‘Americans,’ Themba mumbled.
Past the helicopter Mike could see Jed Banks and his partner, Franklin, heading their way. Franklin had an MP5 in one hand and was running his left hand across his neck, motioning for the pilot to cut his engine.
It had been a tense wait for John in the helicopter but, from what Nia had told Mike, John had pushed the Jet Ranger to its limits to cover the more than 300 kilometres to Mkhuze as fast as possible.
‘They tried to kill Themba,’ Lerato said to Mike.
Mike looked to Nia, who nodded. ‘We’re South African citizens, Mike, all of us. There’s no reason for us to surrender ourselves to the CIA.’
They helped Themba up into the chopper. ‘We need to get a dressing on that wound.’
Nia climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and put on a headset. Mike could see she was talking to John, perhaps trying to explain why two men in khaki were walking up the road side by side, pointing their MP5 carbines at them.
Mike pressed a dressing onto the wound on Themba’s shoulder and had Themba hold it there while he wrapped a bandage around him. Glancing through the front window, Mike could see that Franklin was taking deliberate aim at them. The American fired a burst of rounds.
‘Holy shit, what do we do?’ John yelled through the intercom.
Nia jabbed a finger skywards. ‘Go!’
Lerato kept a close watch on Themba as they flew. Mike put on a headset.
‘Where to?’ John asked them.
‘I have a good friend who’s a veterinarian,’ Mike said. ‘He’s got a small farm inland from Umhlanga Ridge. Can you take us there?’
‘Sure,’ John replied on the intercom. ‘I’m not supposed to be flying the company’s chopper in any case, so it doesn’t matter where I land it.’
‘The Americans will alert the South African police; they’ll put pressure on them to find you, to ask you questions,’ Mike said. ‘We need some time.’
‘I’m sure I won’t be able to remember where I dropped you. At least not for a few days.’
‘That should do it,’ Mike said.
‘Themba needs a doctor,’ Nia said.
‘My friend, Dr Boyd Qualtrough, used to work in Botswana as a vet. He had a side line treating humans, illegally. The local hospital near where he had his practice was understaffed and poorly equipped. He stitched me up one time after a buffalo gored me.’
‘OK,’ Nia replied. ‘Is he discreet?’
‘Judging by the number of affairs he’s had with married women, he’s very discreet.’
John flew low and fast through the night, hugging the Indian Ocean coastline. Just north of Umhlanga Rocks he turned west, inland, and Mike guided him over the hills, to Dr Boyd Qualtrough’s farm.
They circled the main building, a whitewashed single-storey house with a green corrugated iron roof. In a fenced yard below Mike could see a zebra. Boyd, he could see, was still collecting orphaned or unwanted wildlife, probably without permits if he was still up to his old tricks.
‘There’s an empty field up ahead,’ John said. ‘I’ll put down there.’
When they landed John kept the engines turning as Nia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and Mike walked around to the pilot’s side and shook his hand and thanked him. When they were sure Boyd was around – a light came on inside the house and a bare-chested man walked out – Mike and Nia helped Themba and Lerato down and John took off.
Nia carried the wriggling child in her arms.
‘What the hell?’ Boyd began, walking across the grass to them on bare feet. He carried a shotgun in his hands. ‘Mike Dunn. Quite an entry, boy, almost as dramatic as the last time I saved your life.’
Mike and Boyd hugged. ‘Boyd, it’s good to see you, but we’re in the kak, big time. This is Themba. He’s taken a nine-mill bullet to the shoulder. I need you to work on him.’
‘Okey dokey.’ Boyd nodded to Nia. ‘Ma’am.’
‘Howzit, I’m Nia and this is Lerato. We’d really appreciate your help, Dr Qualtrough,’ Nia said.
‘Never been able to refuse a pretty face, ma’am. Lerato. Come on in and let’s have a look at young Themba here.’
Boyd led the way through his house, picking up a T-shirt from the sofa and shrugging it on as he walked. ‘Excuse the mess. The maid only comes once a week, and that’s tomorrow. I’m in between domestic goddesses at the moment.’
Mike noted the open bottle of bourbon on the coffee table, the overflowing ashtray and the American football game on the television. Beside the whisky was a half-eaten Debonairs pizza.
Boyd opened the door on an adjoining two-car garage that had been converted into his clinic. There was an operating table, lights, a digital x-ray machine, racks of drugs and cabinets with other medical supplies. A cat miaowed from a cage on the wall and a grey-headed parrot called, ‘Hello.’
Boyd’s hair had thinned a little since Mike had last seen him, just before Boyd had been kicked out of Botswana for mouthing off about crime and poaching. Mike wasn’t sure what else the vet may have done to get the government offside, but it had been enough.
Mike and Nia helped Themba up onto the table.
‘There’s a bathroom out back, if you need it,’ Boyd said to Lerato. ‘I think from a certain odour I’m detecting that your baby might need changing.’
‘He’s not my baby,’ Lerato said, ‘but if I could get a hand towel or something that would be great.’
‘I’ll help, Lerato,’ Nia said.
‘It’s OK,’ Lerato said to Nia, ‘you stay and watch over Themba.’
Boyd washed his hands, put on rubber gloves and laid out an array of surgical instruments, gauzes and dressings. He cut away the bandage and lifted the dressing from Themba’s gunshot wound.
‘Can you wiggle your fingers, then make a fist for me, Themba?’
Themba winced, but was able to do as the vet had asked. ‘It hurts.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Boyd drew up a syringe. ‘You were lucky, Themba, the bullet missed your vital organs and there doesn’t seem to be too much damage. I’m going to give you an anaesthetic for the pain and we’ll get that slug out of you.’
‘You’re a real doctor?’
‘Well, none of my patients ever complained, at least not the four-legged ones.’ He looked to Nia. ‘Want to scrub in? Old Bird Man here nearly passed out last time I stitched him up.’
Mike grimaced. ‘It’s true. I don’t like watching this kind of stuff.’
‘I’m happy to,’ Nia said. She went to the sink and washed her hands and put on a pair of gloves.
Relieved, Mike stepped back to the wall of the home surgery and looked away as Boyd injected Themba.
‘How long have you been in Africa?’ Nia asked.
Mike had heard Boyd’s story, which he related to Nia. At fifty-five he’d had a midlife crisis and left his wife, not for another woman but for a new continent. Boyd had, somewhat ironically given his profession, been a big game hunter. He’d travelled to Africa a dozen or more times to shoot antelope and buffalo and like many foreigners had become addicted to the place. When his marriage had gone sour he’d sold his lucrative practice in Florida, cashed in his share of the business and his home and moved to Botswana.
‘I worked as a voluntary wildlife vet there,’ Boyd told Nia as he waited for the anaesthetic to take effect on Themba and had her apply a compress to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. ‘The Botswana Government even made me an honorary ranger for a time, but I’m an opinionated, loud-mouthed, arrogant SOB and the locals didn’t take kindly to me telling it like it was, and how I thought it should be.’
‘You seem quite meek and mild to me,’ Nia said as she swapped the pads on Themba’s wound, ‘not at all like most Americans I’ve met.’
Boyd laughed. ‘You got yourself a pistol here, Mikey boy.’
‘She’s not mine,’ Mike said, at the precise moment that Nia confirmed, ‘I’m not his.’
‘Snap. Well, you two would make a hell of a power couple, except Nia here’s a better nurse. Just saying. Time to operate.’ Boyd held out a hand. ‘Nurse, scalpel.’
Nia frowned, but found the knife.
What Boyd hadn’t mentioned to Nia, not that he would, was that his health had been deteriorating. Mike knew Boyd had been suffering from pancreatitis but his condition seemed to have worsened since the last time he had seen him. He had lost a good deal of weight.
‘Just a minute, Boyd,’ Mike said.
‘What is it?’
‘Do you microchip dogs and cats?’
Boyd looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘I do. I’m going out backwards here, people don’t have enough money to look after their pets, but some of them spring for a microchip with their phone numbers on it. Why?’
‘I need a reader.’
‘Should I ask what for?’
‘No.’
‘OK, well, you help yourself – the reader’s in the steel cabinet over there in the corner, and if you don’t mind I’ll take the bullet out of our young friend here. Sit tight, Themba. Won’t take a minute.’
Mike went to the cupboard, pleased to be away from the sight of Boyd cutting Themba’s skin and delving into the gunshot wound. He found the reading device, turned it over in his hands a couple of times, and located the on–off switch.
He left the makeshift operating room and went back into the house. He found Lerato in the bathroom, where she was patting the baby dry and dressing him.
Lerato looked up at him. ‘He’s all better now. It’s amazing how strong he is, for someone so little.’
‘Kids are tough. You and Themba are tough.’
‘How is he?’
‘He’s in good hands with Boyd.’
‘That man looks like an old drunk.’
‘His heart’s in the right place. I need to check the baby.’
She pointed to the reading device. ‘With that?’
Mike nodded.
‘He’s not something in a supermarket with a barcode, you know.’
‘I know, Lerato. He’s a tiny human being who doesn’t deserve to be mixed up in this kak any more than you and Themba do, or Nia and me for that matter, but we’ve got him and we need to know why people are prepared to kill for whatever has been put inside him.’
‘OK. But let me hold him.’
Lerato picked up the baby, cradling him, and slid down his T-shirt so that the soft skin on the back of his neck was visible. Mike pointed the reading device at it and pulled the trigger. The reader bleeped.
Mike looked at the screen.
‘What is it?’ Lerato asked, rocking the child gently.
‘Numbers. A long one, starting with the letters “CH”, and a shorter one, six digits.’ Mike wondered if he should write them down, but then had a better idea. He took out his phone, selected contacts and added two new names, old girlfriends he hadn’t seen for years. He split the numbers on the reader into two, each the length of cell phone numbers, and added ‘+27’, the international dialling code for South Africa, in front of them.
‘What do they mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mike said, honestly. ‘Let’s go through and check on Themba.’
They went to the garage operating theatre where Boyd was finishing off, with Nia snipping the last suture.
‘Good work,’ Boyd said to Nia.
‘Thank you, Doctor. That was fascinating.’
Themba was conscious, but his eyelids were heavy.
‘How’s he doing?’ Mike asked.
‘He’ll live, but he’s lost a lot of blood. I’m going to rig up a saline drip for him. He needs to rest for a few hours.’
‘Boyd, thank you, but we need to get moving again,’ Mike said.
‘Well I say this young man needs to rest a few hours.’
‘I’m beat as well, Mike, and so is Lerato,’ Nia said.
‘I’ve got three guest bedrooms,’ Boyd said. ‘Won’t take but a minute to make them up.’
Mike looked to Nia, who nodded. ‘OK, thanks, but we’ve got to find a way to get moving first thing tomorrow.’
Nia said, ‘I’ve got my car at Umhlanga.’
‘You can take my bakkie,’ Boyd offered. ‘It’s only a single cab in any case. The kids’ll be safe here with me until you get back.’
Mike looked to Lerato.
‘I’m sick of moving,’ she said. ‘I just want to sleep indoors. I’ll take care of the baby.’
‘All right,’ Mike said.
Boyd reheated some leftover lasagne for them and Mike, Nia and Lerato ate, too numbed to converse over dinner.
Mike and Nia helped Boyd make up the beds. The spare rooms and the linen smelled musty, as if they were rarely used. While they were making Lerato’s bed Boyd winced and stood, placing his hand on his belly.
‘You OK?’ Mike asked.
Boyd gave a small shake of his head. ‘It’s the pancreas. Nothing’s worked. I’m on the way out, it’s cancer, buddy.’
‘Boyd, I’m so sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘Hell, I’ve had a pretty good time of it, the last shitty year notwithstanding. I always figured I’d die in Africa, but I hoped it would be in different circumstances.’
‘Is there anything you can do?’
‘My doctor told me to give up the booze and cigars, but what’s the point in that? Moderation’s for monks.’
‘Thanks for this. You haven’t even asked what it’s all about,’ Mike said.
‘Well, you’re a friend in need and I won’t ever forget how you came and visited me in prison in Botswana before I was deported, how you brought me food and stuff to read.’
‘That was the least I could do for you. I’m just sorry things didn’t work out for you there.’
‘TIA, buddy.’
Their situation couldn’t just be written off as ‘this is Africa’, Mike thought. It was far worse than that.
Lerato wanted to keep the baby with her, so Boyd put her in a room with two single beds and pushed the baby’s close to her. Lerato rolled some towels to prop around the baby and keep him from falling out of the bed. Mike and Nia said goodnight to the girl and went out into the corridor.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Boyd said, and while Nia was looking away Boyd gave Mike a wink.
Mike would have laughed if he hadn’t been so exhausted. Still, he lingered in the hallway when he and Nia reached their rooms, which were opposite each other.
‘Well, goodnight,’ he said.
She stood there, with her hand on the door knob, also waiting. ‘Yes, goodnight. It’s been quite a couple of days.’
‘Yes, it has.’ He couldn’t think of anything else to say. However, he had an overwhelming desire to be with her, not sexually, but just close to her. He wondered if he was just feeling protective.
‘I’ll be OK, you know,’ she said.
She was prickly and forthright, but her words didn’t sound like a recrimination. ‘I know that. But sometimes it’s good to know we’ve got somebody else looking out for us.’
Nia smiled. ‘I’ll look out for you. Are you OK?’
Boyd had cleaned and bandaged the cut on Mike’s hand after he had finished operating on Themba, and the pain from the lump on the back of Mike’s head had been downgraded to a dull throb. Mike sensed, however, that Nia was asking him about more than his physical injuries. ‘I should have shot Egil Paulsen on sight. That way we could have all got away quicker, before the Americans arrived.’
She reached out and put a hand on his forearm. ‘You couldn’t kill a man in cold blood, not after what happened to you when you were younger. You weren’t to know Paulsen was going to try something.’
‘No, but I should have guessed he would. Thank you for saving my life,’ he said.
‘It was a pleasure. I’m glad I killed him, he was evil, but I wouldn’t have executed him if he hadn’t tried anything. Don’t beat yourself up for being a good guy, Mike Dunn. There are damn few of you around. Trust me, I know.’
Mike looked into Nia’s eyes. She moved, slightly, leaning closer to him. Mike’s phone rang. ‘Sorry.’ He took it out of his pocket and showed Nia the screen. It was Jed Banks.
‘Jed.’
‘Mike.’
‘You got a trace on me, Jed? If so I’m hanging up.’
‘You need to work on your tradecraft, buddy. This is the digital age. If I had a trace on you I’d have you already. No, I’m stuck in Mkhuze goddamned national park waiting for these Navy squids to fix their helicopter. Where are you?’
‘Um, pass, Jed. Your pal shot at us.’
‘Well, he gets trigger-happy around AK-47s. I know how he feels. Tell us where you are and we’ll bring you in, to safety,’ Jed said.
‘This isn’t the Wild West, Jed, it’s South Africa. We’ll look after ourselves for a while, thanks. In the meantime, why don’t you mobilise America’s military might to catch the people who are trying to kill these kids?’
There was a pause on the end of the line. ‘You’ve hit a nerve there, Mike. This investigation’s been a clusterfuck from the beginning. For Pete’s sake, a US ambassador’s been killed and we can’t get our shit together. Work with us, not against us.’
Mike rubbed his eyes. He was tired. ‘We’re safe for now, but if the bad guys find us you’ll be the first person I call, Jed.’
‘We’re still looking for you all, Mike.’
‘Good luck with that.’