Patient Zero

Chapter Thirty-Five

HMS HECLA / Royal Navy Hospital Ship / Four days ago

THE MEDIVAC CHOPPER airlifted the wounded British soldiers from the field hospital at Bastion, across Pakistani airspace into the Gulf of Oman where it touched down on the helipad at the stern of the HMS Hecla, a hospital ship, and an hour later the ship headed out of the Gulf into the Arabian Sea and steered west toward the Gulf of Aden and then turned northwest into the Red Sea.

Within forty minutes of the transfer of wounded from the helicopter to the Hecla, Lieutenant Nigel Griffith was in surgery. Griffith survived the operation but coded in recovery. The ICU team brought him back once, then again, and finally Griffith’s heart simply failed.

Corporal Ian Potts was treated and made comfortable, but the doctors were already planning the amputations of his hand and leg.

Of the third man from the ambush, Sergeant Gareth Henderson, it was later reported that he died as a result of head trauma. His death was observed and recorded by Nurse Rachel Anders and Dr. Michael O’Malley, both of whom were temporary medical staff from the Red Cross, coming off a six-month volunteer stint aboard and expecting to transfer off the Hecla to join an international infectious disease medical research team stationed in the Great Bitter Lake region of Egypt. His body was wrapped in a body bag and transferred to the cold room in the ship’s hold, along with forty-one other corpses from the meat grinders in Iraq and Afghanistan.

At 2:55 that morning a second helicopter landed on the stern of the Hecla, and Nurse Anders and Dr. O’Malley boarded the chopper along with four very large wheeled metal equipment cases. Drugs and medical supplies for the research team. The helo lifted off and flew east toward the lake. When it landed, Anders, O’Malley, and the two others were greeted warmly by the research team, all of whom were strangers but each of whom were happy to have their team strengthened.

O’Malley oversaw the unloading of the metal cases personally while Anders loitered outside the tent, smoking a cigarette, ostensibly relaxing after a harrowing tour. Two men approached: a tall sandy-haired man in a lightweight white suit and a slightly shorter dark-haired man in dun-colored trousers and a Polo shirt. The tall man bent and kissed her on both cheeks. “It’s good to see you, Rachel. I trust the flight was without incident.”

“Everything went well,” she said, exhaling as she spoke.

“Jolly good.” The man gave her a wink and then slipped in through the tent flaps. The shorter man lingered for a moment to survey the surroundings before following his companion inside. In the tent the doctor looked up suddenly from behind one of the cases, but his face changed from alarm to pleasure instantly.

“You gentlemen are up and about early,” O’Malley said, rising and extending his hand.

“Early bird and all that,” the tall man said. He nodded to the case behind which the doctor stood. “Still snug in there?”

“I was just about to open it.”

“Oooh, I just can’t wait,” murmured the shorter man with asperity.

The doctor undid the locks and lifted the lid, then swung open the side doors so that the contents were revealed. Inside the case a large man lay in a fetal curl, his head swathed in white bandages. He turned his face toward the newcomer and opened his eyes, which were red-rimmed with fatigue and pain.

“Sebastian,” he whispered.

Gault smiled down at him and then extended his hands; together he and Dr. O’Malley helped El Mujahid to his feet while Toys hung back by the tent entrance and watched; he wore a smile but it did not reach as far as his cold cat-green eyes. The Fighter was a little unsteady and his bandages were stained with blood seepage, but for all that he still exuded an aura of great animal strength. They helped him into a chair and O’Malley set to work removing the soiled wrappings. The gash was ugly and it disfigured the Fighter’s face. Gault privately thought that El Mujahid might have done too thorough a job because his lip had a sneering curl, proof that nerves and muscles had been damaged. All that had really been required was a disfiguring wound; but, he reflected, never tell a tradesman how to do his own job, and El Mujahid’s job was mayhem and slaughter. He flicked a glance at Toys, who appeared to be mildly disgusted, but whether it was from the ugly wound or the man whose features it distorted was not clear. Gault figured it was both.

O’Malley gave him a shot for the pain, though El Mujahid appeared not to need it; and he gave him vitamins, antibiotics, and a stimulant. When he had applied a fresh dressing Gault thanked him and suggested the doctor join Nurse Anders outside for a smoke. Toys went with him.

When they were alone, Gault pulled over a folding chair and sat down, bending close to the Fighter. “You did yourself quite a nasty, my friend. Are you sure you can complete the mission? It will be a lot of travel. Another helicopter, a ship, trucks, and all of it in a few quick days. That’s enough to tire the average bloke, but with that injury ”

The Fighter grunted. “Pain is a tool; it is a whetstone to sharpen resolve.”

Gault wasn’t sure if that was a quote from scripture, but it sounded good.

“The trigger device is already in the States,” Gault said, “in a safe in the hotel room we’ve booked for you. The combination is Amirah’s birthday.”

Gault looked for the flash of anger in El Mujahid’s eyes, saw it, and mentally nodded to himself. Yes, he thought, he knows about us. It was something Gault had begun to suspect, but he didn’t yet understand why El Mujahid was leaving the matter off the table.

Aloud he said, “I suggest you leave it in the safe until the very last minute. We wouldn’t want an accident, would we?”

“No,” said the Fighter in a soft voice, “we wouldn’t want that.”

TOYS STOOD JUST beyond the campfire light, lost in the deep black shadows cast by a stand of date palms. He was staring at the entrance to the tent where Gault and El Mujahid were deep in conversation. As soon as he had left the tent his smile had vanished as surely as if some hand had reached into his mind and flicked off a switch. His features changed in the absence of observation. He became a different kind of creature.

“Amirah,” he murmured aloud, his lips curling into a feral sneer at the taste of the name. Before Gault had met her, before he’d allowed himself to fall in love with that woman, his friend and employer had been perfect. Brilliant, wonderfully ruthless, efficient and inflexible. In short-beautiful. Now Gault was getting sloppy and he was getting far too confident. Overconfident. Against Toys’s frequent cautions Gault was taking unnecessary risks, spinning plans within plans, and all of it because of that mad witch.

“Amirah,” he said again.

God, how he would love to see her bleed.