11

Zach stared out of the windscreen of the Black Hawk helicopter, wondering about the safety of his only child.

“Hey, sir,” Mike Rogers said through the MH-60 intercom system.

“What’s up, Mike?” Zach replied.

“We’re getting word from Kilimanjaro air traffic control that we are to turn around and go to Dar es Salaam.”

“Gotta be about Amanda,” Matt said.

“Or this Cheetah guy. Keep going to Shinyanga to refuel, and then we’ll bounce to rally point two,” Zach ordered. In so doing, he had just taken them off the grid. Their presence in Tanzania was now officially in violation of the African Union charter. Big effing deal , Zach thought.

He looked at his map studying their trajectory from Kilimanjaro Airport, past Arusha to Shinyanga, where Matt had two assets pre-positioned with a fuel tanker full of JP8 jet fuel as part of the evacuation plan for Nightingale .

“Roger, sir. Just wanted you to know,” Rogers said. Zach thought he could see a hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth.

“We’ve got the fuel on standby,” Zach said. “Just got word they are expecting us. Amanda’s about to be public enemy number one in the world. This is bad shit. Kristyana, we’ve got to get with State and have them keep the Tanzanian military off our backs for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said, retrieving her satellite phone.

Kristyana punched in a series of numbers, waited briefly, and then began speaking loudly in order to be heard above the din of the prop wash.

“Andy, this is Kristyana Cixi,” she said to Andy Romero, the operations watch officer in Foggy Bottom’s Foreign Service office in Washington, D.C.

Zach knew that Romero was a seasoned veteran and would help as much as possible. Romero had just completed a seven-year run serving in provincial reconstruction teams in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kosovo. His rank was the equivalent of a brigadier general in the Army, and his superb performance had landed him the job of managing the operations center.

“I’m connecting you to our internal communications system so Matt and Zach Garrett can hear you,” Kristyana said.

“The Hardy Boys. This is indeed a privilege.”

“Have you seen the Islamic State release on Amanda Garrett?”

“You mean Al Rhazziq Media’s release?” Romero asked.

“Yeah, same thing,” Kristyana corrected. “It’s all bullshit.”

“Looks pretty bad from here. All the major networks have picked it up, and they keep showing that picture of Amanda chunking a burning log into the laboratory. President Kiwimi has already called and wants her arrested and tried in Tanzania. And I have to tell you there are several African nations that are checking in with the Secretary of State for two reasons. First, they want to know why they weren’t in the know about this program. Second, they are livid that a rogue med school student allegedly destroyed the program. Domestically, all the usual suspects are going apeshit. I’m not so much worried about that. I think the real issue now is the Islamic State. They were probably banking on getting that vaccine for a cash cow and to win friends and influence people around the world. Provide some legitimacy to their transnational existence.”

“Okay, slow down,” Kristyana interrupted. As Zach listened, the helicopter banked hard to the left and dove to twenty meters above the savannah. Beneath them he saw zebras, elephants, and impalas picking their way through the plain. “You’ve got to tell President Kiwimi that there’s no way in hell we’re giving up Amanda to Tanzanian authorities. She was destroying that lab to protect its information from terrorists Tanzania doesn’t want to fight. She kept whoever was attacking the village from recovering remnants of a specially compartmented program and possibly using the formula for the wrong reasons. Tanzania should be lauding her as a hero.”

“That’s not what it looks like on television. Also, there are some constabularies who are saying she was the last person to see Dr. King alive. Tanzanian authorities are all over this thing,” Romero said.

“So, they think she killed King, torched the village, and destroyed the program?”

“Or, she took the vaccine recipe to market it herself and claim the patent for financial purposes. Gotta be worth billions, don’t you think?”

“No question,” Kristyana said. “But Amanda didn’t want a dime for that project. She was working for the orphanage for peanuts and in medical school, for crying out loud.”

“I’m just saying. Young girl, she realizes the potential financial rewards here, and she snaps. It’s a scenario some are considering, to include President Barkum.”

Zach looked at Kristyana in disbelief. He shook his head and muttered, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

The Black Hawk yanked upward, and Zach noticed that they were moving across a dense forest of trees nurtured by the delta that fed the Serengeti Plain.

“Okay, we can consider it, but it’s a waste of time. Amanda’s clean, and worse, she’s in danger. I need you to keep Tanzania off this thing for the next couple of days,” Kristyana said with force.

“Couple of days? I’ll be lucky to get a couple of hours. We’ll have to get the secretary involved, and you know how she hates that.”

“She’ll hate dealing with me even worse if she fails to act on this. Amanda’s a brave young woman who has been putting it all on the line to find this cure and vaccine. We owe her this, at least,” Zach interrupted.

“I’ll see what I can do. Be back in touch shortly. We’ve got the Nightingale team coming in,” Romero said.

Coming in? Now? Zach was incensed. Romero was better than this. This thing was at least six hours old. The entire team should be in and providing reach-back analysis, preparing to move forward if necessary and set up an intermediate staging base in Dar es Salaam or somewhere even closer. Bullshit, he thought. He watched Kristyana hang up the phone and put its sound selector switch on vibrate. The pilots maneuvered the helicopter onto an asphalt runway overrun with weeds and foreign objects and debris, which the rotor shot in all directions like a small explosion. Nonetheless, Matt’s refueling team topped off the Black Hawk and Little Bird aircraft in record time. They took off again, the MH-6 attack helicopter in their wake, struggling to maintain the same velocity.

After about forty-five minutes of flying, Zach said into his headset microphone, “Okay, the village is up on our one o’clock.”

Mike Rogers said, “Roger. I’ll put it out your right side and do a circle. There are still some places burning, but mostly charred buildings there.”

“Kristyana, take some pictures with the digital,” Zach said. He leaned over and opened the door of the aircraft so that she could get an unobstructed view. The pilot put the aircraft into a slow turn that gave Kristyana the ability to unhook her shoulder straps and loosen her lap belt, allowing her to lean outside of the helicopter for the best pictures. Matt hooked a monkey harness into her cargo vest by connecting the snap link into a small D ring on the back. Her cargo vest was triple-stitched and had wire mesh running in a thin band just below her breasts inside a Velcro sleeve. The D ring was woven into this mesh and could hold two thousand pounds of tensile strength.

Kristyana surveyed the damage, and Zach saw her shake her head. He shook his in agreement. So much promise wasted.

“Okay, now work your way toward the airfield about thirty miles southeast of here,” Zach commanded the pilot. “And stay on this road. We might intercept Amanda or The Cheetah.” He pointed at the dirt route of egress that led to the southeast and rally point number two.

As they roared to 150 knots, Zach looked at Matt and said, “What do you think?”

“Not sure what’s going on. We need to put a few pieces of the puzzle together quickly or we’re going to be shooting behind the flock the entire way.”

“We’ve never hit anything that way,” Zach said absently with a shake of his head.

They watched Kristyana remove her headset and put the satellite phone up to her ear, cupping it to decrease the sound of the rotors near the earpiece. She plugged the phone into the internal system so that all could hear.

“Roger,” she said.

“Kristyana, Romero here. Okay, SecState is going to call Kiwimi, but she said no guarantees. She’s going to try to get you forty-eight hours but thinks you’ll be lucky to get twelve before the Tanzanian Army is crawling all over that place. Islamic State communications channels are going apeshit also. Lots of Moroccan chatter in the same area where that doctor, Quizmahel, was killed by a Marine sniper rifle,” Romero said.

“Starting to smell like a frame job to me, Romes,” Kristyana said.

“Remember, guilty until proven innocent, and maybe even after that,” Romero countered.

“Okay, work it and get back with me ASAP,” she said. “Get that entire team stood up, and let’s start moving. This is huge.”

She disconnected. “You guys heard,” she told them. “SecState is going to call Kiwimi and tell him forty-eight hours is what we need.”

“Hopefully all we’ll need is the next few hours, but it’s always good to have that buffer,” Matt said through the intercom system.

Zach’s stony gaze out of the window said everything he was feeling. His daughter was suspect number one in the crosshairs of the Islamic State, several African governments, and perhaps even a few other countries and non-state actors. The true issue, as Zach saw it, was, where was the tipping point? While Matt’s loyalty to Amanda was never in doubt, his agency’s track record for commitment to field operatives was suspect. If CNN, Fox News, Al Rhazziq, Al Jazeera, and BBC were already carrying this as a lead story, would the lie ossify and become the unvarnished truth? And could they rescue Amanda, secure the remnants of the program, and then extract her and themselves from the country without destroying relations or, worse, getting into major combat?

“Okay, here we go,” Zach said. “Right there. There’s the airfield. Fifty or so people are milling around the shack on the west side of the strip.”

“Don’t see any white females,” Matt said, his voice flat as a worn stone.

Zach remained silent.

Mike Rogers hovered over the dirt runway, the MH-60 rotors spitting dirt and small rocks in a 360-degree pattern. The refugees from the Mwanza orphanage huddled against the small wooden shack for protection against the sand blasting. Rogers took the helicopter farther down the airfield to diminish the menacing dust storm he was creating.

With a slight jolt and jiggle, he put all three wheels on the ground.

“Don’t shut her down, Mike,” Zach said as he, Matt, and Kristyana jumped onto the dirt runway and stayed low until they were outside the range of the whipping helicopter blades.

They ran toward the huddled black children and one older woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties.

“Speak English?” Zach asked the woman. He saw about ten children with frightened eyes holding on to her legs. She had a broad face with a soft nose and high forehead. Her black hair was cut short, almost military style. Her lips were plump, and when she spoke, Zach could see that her teeth were only half there. Though she did speak English.

“You scared my children with that machine,” she admonished.

“We’re sorry. We’re looking for Amanda Garrett,” Zach said. “I’m her father.”

The expression on the woman’s face changed immediately from suspicious to familiar.

“God bless you, sir. You raised a wonderful girl. Miss Amanda left after we did. She should still be on the road,” she said.

“What’s your name?” Kristyana interjected.

“Sharifa,” she said, turning toward the Asian woman.

“Hello, Sharifa, how long ago did you get here?” Kristyana continued, easing in front of Zach, who knew her subtle message was, “I’m a woman, she’s a woman. Let me deal with her.”

“We got here about two hours ago,” Sharifa said. “We left as soon as the bad man started burning the village.”

Good, Zach thought. Here’s a live witness who can go on television and talk about what really happened. He made a mental checklist to make sure that happened quickly.

“Get some iPhone video of her saying that,” Zach directed. It wasn’t much, but it could help.

He watched Matt step away from the crowd of children. The runway was an unmaintained dirt strip surrounded by a barbed wire fence that was partially intact. Zach’s guess was that the farmers had stolen most of the wire to fence off their own fields. Low scrub brush intermittently grew in clumps of brown, tinged green at the tips for as far as his eyes could see. Shimmering heat waves radiated off the sandy soil, and he was sure the temperature would reach one hundred degrees.

“Matt, why don’t we get some water and chow to these folks,” Zach said.

“Sure thing.” Matt pushed the talk button on a Motorola personal mobile radio and issued orders to the crew chief to bring three cases of water and four cases of MREs, meals ready to eat, to the shack. Zach also heard him tell Mike Rogers to be prepared to call the Tanzanian government to send humanitarian aid to the airfield after they left.

“Two hours,” Kristyana was saying to Sharifa. “How far behind you was Amanda? Who was she traveling with?”

“She shouldn’t have been more than thirty to forty-five minutes behind us, but obviously I’m wrong. She was with Kiram and Mumbato. They’re strong boys, but Amanda”—Sharifa smiled for the first time—”can take care of herself.”

As they stood there talking to Sharifa, two boys came running up from the west edge of the airfield.

“Are they yours?” Matt said, placing his hand on his Berretta.

“Yes, mine, so put your guns away,” Sharifa demanded.

Two boys, looking about twelve to fourteen years old, stopped in front of Sharifa.

“Miss Sharifa,” the boy with no shirt said between rapid breaths. “Jurumu thinks he saw a plane crash.”

“What? We didn’t see no plane,” Sharifa challenged.

“No. But we did,” Jurumu said. “We were behind you.”

The boy who’d spoken first elbowed Jurumu in the ribs as if to indicate that he was not supposed to share certain information. Sharifa’s sternly raised eyebrow confirmed that Jurumu’s confession just might result in recriminations.

“We saw a white airplane with open doors fall into the swamp. It was a long way away, but we saw it,” Jurumu said.

Zach listened to the conversation. He believed the kid. Airplanes sometimes crashed in the African plains, their occupants never to be heard from again. Whether the information was relevant was another question altogether.

“Yeah,” the other boy continued, deciding that now that they had made Sharifa aware of their separation from the group, he might as well offer up the real explanation. “We jumped into the ditch at the crossroads. We were going to wait for Miss Amanda to help.”

“Okay, but you should have asked me for permission. It is dangerous out here,” Sharifa chastised.

Both boys looked downward.

“There’s more to the story,” Kristyana said. “Why did you come back and not link up with them?”

Jurumu looked up, his eyes as wide as Okami tea saucers.

“We watched this airplane land, and we think we saw Miss Amanda get on it with Kiram and Mumbato.”

Zach felt his stomach drop. He looked at Matt and gave him the rally up signal, twirling his hand in the air.

“We’re going to need these two boys,” he said to Sharifa. “They’ll need to show us where this happened.”

“No. I can’t let the children fly in your machine,” Sharifa said, pulling the boys close to her, their heads beneath her large chest.

“We can do it without them,” Kristyana said. Then, turning to the boys, she said, “Where is this intersection?”

“Easy, the only trees between here and the village are at the intersection. Just follow the road.”

Zach led the way to the helicopter. Before they could buckle their seat belts, Mike Rogers had the helicopter airborne.

“Heard most of it through your open microphones, sir,” he said to the team.

“Get there,” Zach said. “Find the wreck. We’re losing daylight fast.”