Full Story: Hearts of Darkness (w. ShadowOfDesire)

[greybishop]

Preface: If you’re looking for a complete story here on BMR, you’ve just found one; this tale does come to a conclusion four hundred posts from now. And for what it’s worth, both creators have worked hard to make sure that conclusion is a satisfying one, though your mileage may vary. So before you invest your time into this work, here’s a synopsis of what it’s all about:

The setting is present-day northern Nigeria. Miranda Blake is a surgeon working for Doctors Without Borders and Jack Grainger is a private military contractor employed by the Nigerian military; the two develop a relationship against the backdrop of a brutal insurgency being waged against the Nigerian government and people by an indigenous terrorist organization called Boko Haram. The story has action and intrigue, plenty of taboo erotica and maybe even some romance too! But how does it all turn out? For that answer, you’ll have to start reading; enjoy!

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Jack tried to keep his eyes on the rooftops and alleyways as the Cobra weaved down the busy main road; he would have preferred to focus on navigating, but he knew the guys in the back were just about worthless. Thinking of that reminded Jack to check the rear of the MRAP and he saw three of “his” guys asleep, while their Sergeant played with his cellphone. “Just wonderful,” thought the American as he shifted in his seat to give them a shout; that was when Mikhail hit the air horn and the Cobra tilted so hard Jack though they were going to roll. Spinning back around to get eyes front, Jack saw they were swerving around an overloaded bus that had suddenly pulled out in front of them; Jack almost laughed as he saw a couple of guys hanging off the bus’s side scramble up onto the roof to narrowly avoid being turned into road paste. As the Cobra rocketed past the bus it also forced a motorcycle with two guys on it towards the curb, where it almost hit a kid leading a donkey. The so called “soldiers” in the back of the Cobra started yelling after being tossed out of their seats (“Christ,” thought Jack “what’d they think the harnesses were for?”) and after Jack picked his map up off the floorboard, and his blood pressure started to stabilize, he looked at Mikhail and keyed him on the intercom. “Here’s a thought … getting stopped by a wreck would be even worse than sitting in this fucking traffic.” The short, wiry Russian behind the steering wheel – who Jack knew could understand English – just grunted as he continued guiding the armored truck through the insane traffic of downtown Maiduguri.

A few minutes later the GPS said they were getting close to their objective and the map seemed to agree. A few seconds after that Mikhail bumped the MRAP over the curb and into the big vacant lot that Google Earth said would be here; Jack was amazed that the Internet, the GPS and his outdated paper map all agreed for once. “My lucky day” he thought, as Mikhail smoothly spun the Cobra around in the dirt and gravel in the middle of the lot to sit facing the street. “Nice driving” Jack commented sincerely as he pulled his headset off and popped his door. The Cobra’s AC sucked but it was still better than the outside air; as his door swung open Jack felt like he was getting hit in the face with a hot, wet blanket. Correction: a shitty smelling hot, wet blanket; the heat and humidity were already in the 80s, even though it was only mid-morning, and the air carried all the truck exhaust, wood smoke and excrement smell you could ever want to suck into your lungs. “No fucking wonder,” thought Jack as he dismounted – there was some guy standing a few meters away from him, pissing on the side of his objective. The dude’s eyes got big when he saw Jack, and got even bigger when four Nigerian soldiers piled out of the back of the Cobra – one of Jack’s team immediately rushed over to the pisser and shoved him onto the ground with his rifle. Jack almost laughed again as the poor dude struggled back onto to his feet and ran off, his dick still flapping around out of the front of his trousers. “Christ almighty,” Jack sighed “what a shithole.” Then a familiar voice popped into the back of Jack’s head. “Easy there Jackie boy, that’s kak and you know it. Places like this are what provide job security for guys like you and me.”

Jack watched his team spread out; they didn’t so much “deploy” to provide local security as start swaggering around, trying to look tough for the passing guys and impress (or maybe harass) the local gals. “I have got to get a new Sergeant” Jack thought to himself as he turned back towards the Cobra. Jack left his Krinkov tucked in next to his seat and, after a second’s hesitation, also pulled his body armor off too, just as he’d planned – “God, why do some of these NGO types have to be so frigging pissy sometimes,” he thought. But Jack kept his pistol on his hip as he turned to Mikhail. “Could you please try to keep these idiots from starting a riot while we’re here?” he said, gesturing over his shoulder towards the Nigerian troops. The Russian just grunted and shrugged in reply, as he popped a fresh cigarette into his mouth and slouched back lazily into his seat. But as Jack shoved his armored door closed he could see the Russian vet’s eyes starting to flick from the rooftops, to the street, to the truck’s mirrors and back again.

Not feeling particularly comfortable, Jack quickly walked across the wide open lot towards the entrance to his objective, so he could introduce himself to the new Doctor he’d heard about …

---------------------------------- Pictures -----------------------------

The streets of Maiduguri.

The "Cobra" armored truck. MRAP is generally pronounced EM-rap, and stands for Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle.

Part of Jack's team. This pic was taken on a different mission.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The medical clinic was housed in an unremarkable building of concrete block construction in a row of other unremarkable concrete block buildings. There were no markings on the exterior to indicate that it was a clinic, for it had only recently been established as part of the MSF outreach in Maiduguri. Several native Nigerians loitered outside, either ill or wounded, or family to those that had come for medical attention. A few skittered off at the sight of the security team's arrival.

If the surrounding neighborhood was an assault on the senses, the interior of the clinic was doubly so. The waiting area was crammed full of Nigerians, most of them mothers with squirming, squalling children, and every centimeter of floor space was taken save for a narrow path down the center of the long room. The heavy odor of so many sweaty, unwashed bodies was almost overwhelming. The only saving grace was the rattling hum of the wall-mounted air conditioning units that brought the interior temperature down to something less than boiling.

The reception desk was a low counter at the back wall where a plump Nigerian woman was passing out registration cards to the newest arrivals. The space behind the counter was meticulously clean and organized. Two other staff members, a fair-skinned blonde male and a dark-skinned female, both wearing MSF smocks, were using the limited counter space to make notes in their patient files. The man tucked his file away and pulled from the stack of registration cards, calling out the name provided. A young Nigerian male approached the side door that led to the examination rooms. One of his hands held a bloody shirt to a nasty gash at his forehead. The blonde man helped him into the next room as the dark-skinned woman finished with her file and turned to select a card. Another name was called and another patient disappeared into the next room.

In the cramped room that functioned as Miranda's office, she finished yet another round of requisition forms and settled them into a neat stack before tucking them in the envelope that she'd send off via courier when she returned to her hotel. Reaching for her stethoscope, she draped it around her neck and rose, striding through the exam room to the reception desk. Her eyes scanned the waiting room on the other side of the counter and a slight crease appeared between her dark brows.

"Isioma, how many for vaccinations today?"

"At least a dozen," the plump Nigerian replied in heavily accented English. "More than yesterday."

"Good. Word is spreading. I've requested another batch, which we'll hopefully get by the end of the week. They've got a supply dump coming. With luck, we'll also get that P-100 that I was promised."

Isioma laughed at her optimism. "God willing, but doubtful. They've been promising to deliver for over a month."

"We'll see," Miranda replied curtly, less than amused. Supplies and equipment were always had to come by in remote areas, but she expected better results while they were stationed within the city. Maiduguri had a reliable airport, after all. "I'm going to get set up. Give me fifteen before you start calling names."

"Of course, Madame."


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MSF - Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières

P-100 - The Amadeo P-100, a type of portable, battery-operated X-ray unit

 

[greybishop]

Jack pulled off his shades after he entered the clinic; at least it wasn’t as bright as it was on the street, though it wasn’t much cooler and no bed of roses either. In addition to all the body odor, Jack thought he could almost smell the fear and desperation that permeated the waiting area. “What a mess,” he thought.

The majority of the people near him had suddenly become very interested in their feet or the walls. But a few older women looked at Jack with open hostility, while some of the kids stared at him with wide eyed curiosity; he knew his uniform was the reason for the former, and the white skin under it the reason for the latter. A young boy who seemed to be on his own even pointed two fingers at Jack and wiggled his thumb in the universal “Bang bang” gesture. Jack started to return the favor when he thought better of it; more than a few of the folks around him had probably had guys in uniform go “Bang bang” at them for real. A split second later a woman appeared out of nowhere and cuffed the boy in the side of his head, before dragging him off to a corner by his ear. As the kid was hauled away he looked back at Jack, as if seeking help; all Jack could do was shrug, as if to say “Sorry man, she’s your Mom not mine.”

Jack navigated through the masses towards a reception desk he saw at the back of the room; people were quick to get out of Jack’s way and it ended up being a lot easier than he thought it would be. As Jack neared the counter he saw two women behind it. One was a heavy set local gal, who to Jack seemed to be looking out over the waiting area as if it was her throne room; “That has got to be the receptionist,” he said to himself. The other woman looked like she might have been South Asian and Jack assumed she was a Nurse or maybe a lab tech or something; he also thought she would have looked quite pretty if it wasn’t for her furrowed brows, which made Jack wonder if she was having stomach cramps, or maybe had just eaten something rotten.

Jack nodded as he approached the two women and politely addressed the one he thought was the receptionist. “Good morning auntie. I need to speak with your new Doctor.” Jack glanced back over his shoulder at the waiting area before he continued. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to wait in the queue.”

------------------Note--------------

In South Africa and other places on the continent “auntie” is an honorific that’s essentially intended to show a woman the same respect you would show your Mother’s sister in a traditional society. It’s typically used with women who are older than the speaker, but can also be used when addressing any woman in a position of authority.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Isioma snorted, eyeing the man in uniform. "What makes you so special, Oyinbo? Are you sick? Injured? Don't your lot have your own medics?"

Miranda gave Jack a long, hard stare. Her dark gaze flitted briefly to the packed waiting room, noting the mixture of fear and hostility that he'd left in his wake. Her slight frown deepened. While her first instinct was to rebuff the man and send him on his way, she wasn't willing to discount the fact that he might be bearing good news. She'd applied for formal escort almost the day she arrived and it had not yet been granted.

"I can give you five minutes," she finally said, gesturing for him to come through. Leaving reception, she led the way, crossing through the curtained exam room to her office.

Calling it an office was being generous. It was the size of a large closet. A desk had been crammed into one corner, leaving just enough space for her chair and a guest chair to the side. The surface of her desk was neat and uncluttered, and her files were well organized. There were no decorative elements in the room or anything to reveal the woman's personal style. Even the paint color was a drab shade of grey.

She took a seat and gestured for him to do the same. Again, her brown gaze roved over him with intense scrutiny, lingering for a moment on the pistol he wore. Her lips thinned in disapproval. "I'm Doctor Miranda Blake. And you are?" Her accent sounded faintly Midwestern American.

While the dusky-skinned woman was pretty enough with her large, expressive eyes and exotic features, the frown tugging at her full lips made her look far more severe than she intended. Everything about her seemed strict, confined, and controlled -- from her spotless labcoat and tailored clothing, to the dark hair that had been braided and pinned into a tight bun. Even her posture was rigid and uptight.

----------------------------------

Oyinbo - Nigerian word for 'white man', one of European descent, or sometimes those not culturally African

 

[greybishop]

Jack wasn’t surprised when the receptionist gave him shit. But he was surprised when the gal with the stomach cramps turned out to be the new Doctor he’d heard about and spoke to him with an American accent. Not that Jack was surprised at the idea of a female Doc mind, it was just that he didn’t think they let crazy people become Doctors – and as far as Jack was concerned, an American gal would have to be out of her fucking mind to come to Maiduguri to do relief work.

Shaking his head just once, Jack refrained from saying anything snarky to the receptionist as he followed the Doc to the back; “Why make a bad situation worse; just focus on your mission” he told himself. Then Jack’s outlook brightened a bit as he saw the Doctor’s “office” – it was small as hell, and also really squared away. “I guess she takes her job pretty seriously,” Jack thought. “Can’t say I blame her. Must be why she looks like she ate something bad for breakfast; given how her waiting room looks, she’ll be here ‘til midnight.”

Jack took the chair he’d been offered and sat up straight, hands on his thighs as he introduced himself in what he hoped was a cordially professional tone. “Jack Grainger, Doc. I can see you’re busy, so I’ll cut to the chase. I’m currently considered a Major in the Nigerian army.” At this point Jack normally did his little joke about how the ID for his new rank had been “lost in the mail;” in his experience a little humor usually went a long way towards breaking the ice. But in this case, given Doctor Blake’s exceptionally chilly demeanor (“Christ, forget the stick, she looks like she’s got an icicle rammed up her ass” Jack thought) he decided to just press on.

“I’m part of a new unit the Government has set up. To try and cope with the insurgents. Foreign military contractors combined with Nigerian troops.” Jack figured he should get the worst part of his pitch out up front; if the Doc had a problem talking to a “mercenary” in a place like this, there was no point in going on. Jack waited for a heartbeat before he continued. “One of the programs I’m in charge of is what the U.S. Army would call ‘civil affairs;’ I expect you know as well as I do they could use a little help with that concept around here.” Dieter hadn’t actually used the term “civil affairs” when he told Jack what he wanted his new Major to do, but Doctor Blake didn’t need to know that little technicality.

Jack paused again for a sec, as he shifted around to pull his radio off his belt; the thing had been digging into his hip and he set it on the floor, before crossing his legs, settling back a bit and putting both hands in his lap. “So I imagine a lot of your patients are here because they’re victims of Boko Haram. Either directly or indirectly. And victims tend to talk about the people who hurt them. So I thought that if you or your staff were ever to hear anything specific enough to be … actionable … a way to maybe stop some of these lunatics … that it’d be a good idea for you to have someone you could call.” At this Jack pulled a little case out of the velcroed pocket on his upper arm and placed a flimsy, computer printed business card on Doctor Blake’s desk; all it had on it was a mobile number.

“You can reach me there 24/7. And if whatever you might care to share is too long or … complicated for the phone, then I’d be happy to meet you anywhere you like away from the clinic. I’ll even buy you a cup of coffee if you want.” Jack tried tossing out a smile at this point, before he added the real sweetener that he hoped would seal the deal. “I also have a small budget, so besides coffee I’d be happy to make a donation to your clinic as a … token of appreciation for any solid info that might help us stop these guys. Stop them from filling your waiting room every day, with innocent victims.” In truth Jack really couldn’t have cared less what his sources used his money for, or why they took it – they could use the dough for hookers and blow for all he cared, as long as it helped him get his job done. Though in Doctor Blake’s case, Jack was pretty sure any money he gave her would go towards medical supplies or whatever else her clinic needed.

Jack glanced down at the bulky G-Shock he wore on his wrist, then back up at the Doc. “Just under two minutes” he said with a smile. Which actually wasn’t much of an accomplishment, given the number of times he’d given this spiel or one like it. “Which I think still leaves me three to go. I don’t need an answer right now Doc, or ever really; this is an open ended offer. But while my meter is still running, let me ask you. What do you think?”

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda considered the offer a she took his business card, examined it, and then slipped it into her coat pocket. One of her perfectly plucked brows rose. "You'd like me to spy for you?" If only he knew the irony of what he was asking.

Though she couldn't deny that he was a handsome man, there was something in his flippant manner that irked her. She'd known his type before in other places where she'd been stationed -- bullying brutes with a chip on their shoulder and a devil-may-care attitude, willing to run over anyone in their path to take out the 'enemy'. Whether he was cut of the same cloth was the current mystery.

She studied him for another moment before sighing in disappointment. "I'd thought you'd come to tell me that my application for escort had been approved. I applied two months ago and have gotten no response to further inquiries. We have many people in need here, but there are even more outside of Maiduguri that have no access to even basic medical care. There have been reports of outbreaks along the eastern border near Cameroon and Chad. MSF is staging relief efforts for those areas, but they will not be ready for at least another month or two. Unfortunately, we aren't allowed outside of the city without a formal escort, and I don't have the funds to spare to hire mercenaries."

"So, as much as we need your money, I'd suggest we find some other arrangement that would be even more beneficial. You need information. I need protection and transportation to take vaccinations to these outlying villages. It will be at least a two week journey between the travel and medical care. If you can arrange it, or speak to your superiors to arrange something for us, then I'll get you what you need. There have already been talks of the next Boko Haram target. Rumors, mostly, but the same ones have come from various sources. Many of those that come here for medical treatment have been victimized for very specific reasons. Boko Haram is collecting information, and they've been torturing and killing people to get it."

While she disliked guns, especially in her clinic, she knew that both firearms and men like Jack served a very specific purpose. If she could direct them both to work in her favor, she could save lives that would otherwise be lost. Despite her icy demeanor and efficient manner, she truly did care about her patients. Bettering their lives was her primary goal. It was her only goal, really. She'd joined the MSF to fill a void and had thrown herself fully into the cause.

"If you want what I have, then get me what I need to get out of the city," she finished. "That's my price, and the only way I can help you."

 

[greybishop]

Jack automatically began processing what Doctor Blake said, and how she said it, as she was talking. And so by the end of the Doc’s reply he was actually pretty pleased he’d decided to try and meet with her that day. First and foremost it seemed as if his gut instinct had been right; this clinic’s prime location and MSF’s reputation were bringing folks in and they were talking. And of course, for the past two months everyone wanted to tell the new Doctor their tales of woe.

Even better though was how the Doc replied; she’d processed his offer quickly and her answer had been concise and decisive. Despite all their smarts and education Jack had seen more than a few Doctors flail around when pushed outside their comfort zone and Doc Blake definitely wasn’t one of them; “This gal’s a cool one, and has some street smarts too” he thought, impressed. And that was despite (“Or maybe because of?” Jack mused) how the Doc’s “Ice Queen” façade had cracked just a bit when she answered; he’d noted how she’d sighed and her voice changed a bit when she started talking about the whole military escort thing. Sure she still didn’t seem happy, but at least a little of the tension seemed to go out of her face; “She must really care about this place” popped into Jack’s mind, along with the rather firm notion that he wanted to work with the Doc. “Of course, that does leave the little problem of her actual request” Jack went on to himself. “But hey, I’ve worked around worse.”

“So Doc, here’s the thing,” Jack began. “What you’re asking for is doable. But it’s a big, big do, especially for an unknown quantity. Two weeks near the border is going to attract a lot of attention. Which means a lot of guys, and vehicles, and logistics, so that I don’t end up dead and you don’t end up … married to some guy from BH. No way that’s going to get approved at this point. Of course we could fly back and forth instead, which’d make things a whole lot easier in a way. But there aren’t a lot of air assets available, and prying some loose for an untested CA contact is going to be so far down on the priority list, you might as well just wait for your regular request to go through instead.” Jack thought he could see the Doc’s face start tightening up again, so he didn’t waste any time dropping the other shoe.

“On the other hand, if you wanted to take a day trip to some village outside of Maiduguri that also needs your help, say with an assistant or two, well I could make that happen in two or three days; I’d just need a little time to plan my end of the op.” Jack tried slipping another smile in before he ended with “Of course, after I get you back safe and sound, I’d have to show my boss something for it. Not everything you’ve heard of course, but at least something solid, or even better, actionable.” On impulse Jack added “And if the info’s sexy enough, a donation to your clinic on top of the trip might also still be in the cards.”

Jack realized he’d tightened up a bit himself as he’d been talking, so he forced himself to relax and lean back in his creaky little chair. Smiling again, he asked “So I know that’s not everything you want Doc, but is it close enough to start with?”

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

He's a shrewd one, Miranda thought. Everything was negotiable. She'd learned that some time before, on her very first assignment with MSF. Ideally, he would have caved to her demands immediately. Realistically, however, she knew that he was being purposefully cautious. He wished to dip his toe to test the piranha-infested waters before jumping in fully, and she really couldn't blame him. He had a job to do, just as she did. However, that didn't mean she had to like it.

She rolled her eyes. "No, it isn't close in the slightest. A day trip to a nearby village is like dropping a tiny pebble into a pond. You'll get ripples, but they'll all be pitifully small."

Pulling a pad of paper and pen from her coat pocket, she quickly wrote something down, ripped the sheet free, and passed it to him. "There's your first taste. Take that to your superior. Investigate. Do what you have to do to verify it is a solid lead. Then get back to me when you learn that I'm not a bullshitter." Written on the paper in (surprisingly) neat block letters was a single name and a neighborhood in Maiduguri. The name was familiar -- it belonged to someone they'd already suspected had ties to the Boko Haram. The address was new intel. If the doctor could be believed, she was giving him the location of someone that could very well get them closer to learning the terrorists' plans -- if the lead panned out.

"We can start small, if that's all you can manage, but I get to pick the village. I already have one in mind a few hours north of here, well away from the Sambisa and the other areas that BH is said to frequent. It should be minimal risk, but I'll leave that assessment up to you. I have as little interest in being anyone's sex slave as you do at having your head lopped off by an extremist."

She cast a glance at the slender watch that encircled her wrist. "Time's almost up, Mr. Grainger. Anything else you'd like to add before I run you off?"

 

[greybishop]

As Jack leaned forward to accept the paper from Doctor Blake he thought “Well that was unexpected.” And after he glanced at the note's contents, all he sincerely said was "Thank you Doc, this should help.”

Jack would have preferred to pick his first target from a list of say three or four candidates offered up by the Doc, but he could tell that wasn’t going to fly so let it pass; if it wasn't crazy dangerous, they could start with whatever village she wanted. But then the Doc threw him another curveball, when she talked about ‘running him off.’ The way she phrased it was so old school and improbable sounding that he didn’t know whether to laugh, smile or challenge her to try. “Now that last option might be fun” suddenly popped into Jack’s head, and while he was able to bite his tongue and keep a straight face he couldn’t help but let his eyes – just for a sec – flick over the Doc’s slender figure.

Though his time was up Jack felt obliged to add one last thing. “I’m sure you’ve already figured this out Doc, but it’d probably be best not to talk about all this with your staff when they come asking. You know better than me what to say to your charming receptionist, but I’d suggest something that’ll make her roll her eyes, laugh at the big, dumb Oyinbo and stop asking questions. Saying that I was here looking for penicillin for the clap, or asking about HIV testing should do the trick. That way …”

Before Jack could finish a soft but clearly audible “whump” was heard throughout the building. A second or so later every window in the clinic rattled in its frame and Jack’s radio broke squelch right after that; he heard Mikhail's heavy accent asking “Jek, you hear?” Jack’s reply to the Russian was equally terse as he stood; “Yeah, on my way.”

Turning towards the door Jack looked back at the Doctor. “Give me a call in a few days, with the name of your village.” Jack started to walk out but then turned back and looked Miranda in her eyes as he added “Stay safe Doc;” anyone listening would have been hard pressed to decide whether Jack sounded worried, sad or a little of both.

Jack ignored the receptionist as he left the clinic, but even still as he stepped back onto the street the sirens were already wailing in the distance. And as he turned in that direction, Jack could see a plume of oily, dark smoke still rising into the clear blue African sky …

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda didn't quite jerk at the muffled explosion, but it did cause her frown to return and deepen. In the clinic outside, the waiting patients began to speak in raised, alarmed voices. Many of them left the clinic in a rush to see what was going on outside, or left the area entirely, fleeing to their homes for safety. The bombing (as they all assumed) might not have been in their area, but it could be the first of many. It was not uncommon for more than one building to be targeted in order to cause mass casualties and sow chaos.

She barely registered Jack's parting words, for her mind was already racing. As he walked back through the clinic, she was issuing orders to her staff. "Send them home. Emergencies only. Vaccinations are cancelled for today. Prepare for triage. They might route the less critical here if the explosion was close." She slapped the registration desk to catch Isioma's attention. "I'm going to help. Keep an eye on the stores. There are always those looking to take advantage of the chaos."

"I've got my eagle eye on them, Doctor," Isioma assured her. The reason for Jack's visit wasn't mentioned and would likely be forgotten until much, much later.

Miranda rushed past the patients that remained and hurried into the street, catching Jack before he could get more than a few steps. She shouted to get his attention, running to catch up, clutching a medical bag over her shoulder. "Wait! Are you taking your team over there?" Her arm thrust in the direction of the smoke as she continued. "If you are, then I'm going with you. There will be casualties and you can get me there the fastest."

In truth, she'd be going with or without his help, wading fearlessly into the fray to help those being dragged from the rubble. There were always more that needed help than those that could provide it, and she never balked at being one of the first to respond -- continuing dangers or no.

 

[greybishop]

When Jack heard the Doc’s voice he stopped and looked back at her with a classic “What the hell?” expression on his face. Then, as she simply announced she was coming with him, his head tilted and his jaw clenched; he was sorely tempted to “run her off” at that moment, if for no other reason than the fact she wasn’t wearing any armor. “But then she’l just run out there on her own” Jack figured. Sighing, he just said “C’mon” and started back towards his truck.

The Nigerian soldiers were piling into the Cobra when Jack and the Doc arrived and he called out to them. "Hang on buttoning up, we’ve got another pack coming with us;” the soldiers looked at Jack with quizzical expressions on their faces, but did as told. Jack then turned to the Doc and simply said “Find a seat and buckle up;” his tone was exactly the same as the one he’d used with his Sergeant. There wasn’t much he could do about the Doc’s lack of body armor, but he sure as shit could keep her from breaking her neck if they rolled.

As Jack climbed into the MRAP he just told Mikhail to “Head for the smoke” and started pulling on his own kit. Then he checked in with his TOC over the vehicle radio and got the usual, confused initial sitep; no one knew exactly what had happened, but most reports were talking about an explosion near a bus terminal south of the airport in Gomari. Jack let the TOC know they were responding and his HQ advised there was a team on the way from Jack’s unit as well.

Once Jack got all that straightened out he started trying to navigate while also helping Mikhail weave through the traffic. It was even worse than before, as various shops and businesses started closing and other first responders started clogging the road; like a lot of the people heading home early, Jack wondered if the Nigerians were going to lock down the city with another curfew tonight. Still, by making liberal use of the Cobra’s airhorn and size, and also jumping some curbs and going counter-flow a few times, Mikhail was able to make decent progress; the Russian even found the time to key Jack on the intercom; “Who is she? What are we doing?” he asked in his heavy accent. “I’ll explain later, just drive” was Jack's only reply.

By mostly following the smoke and ambulances the MRAP zeroed in on the attack site, which turned out to really be just outside a usually busy bus terminal. Smoke still billowed from a few burning vehicles as their gas, oil, plastic and occupants went up in flames. But some of the car fires had already gone out and Jack saw the charred remains of someone – there was no way to tell if it had been a man or woman at that point – still sitting in the front of an old pickup; it seemed like a horrible way to go, but Jack knew the blast had probably killed the person before their corpse was roasted. At the center of it all was a still smoking crater and from the size of it, and the two axles sitting at the bottom it looked to Jack as if it’d been a pretty standard car bomb that had done all the damage.

Mikhail found a decent spot for the Cobra just beyond most of the chaos of victims, bystanders, cops and first responders and Jack turned towards the back as he pulled off his headset. Speaking to his Sergeant, Jack’s orders were simple “Two men stay here, one in the roof hatch the other watching the truck’s six. Another man is with you; you watch my back, while I watch hers.” Jack didn’t have to tell the Sergeant that BH just loved staging secondary attacks against first responders. As the soldiers began moving Jack pulled on his gloves and pointed at the Doc; “Okay Doc, you’re up. Go work your magic.”

Jack grabbed his Krinkov and dismounted; as he shoved his door closed the last thing he saw inside the MRAP was Mikhail, looking at him and shaking his head …

-------------------------------Pictures-----------------------

Approaching the bus terminal.

Near the blast site.

Just outside the Cobra.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda climbed inside the MRAP without another word and strapped herself in tightly, fixing the shoulder straps and tightening them with little trouble, as though she'd done it many times before. She said nothing as they bounced through the streets, though she did study the others in the armored vehicle. She gripped her bag tightly, both arms wrapped about her supplies to keep them from flying free if the vehicle jolted. It proved to be a wild and bumpy ride, but she took it without complaint, lost in her own thoughts as they hung in that timeless place of anxious calm before the storm crashed down upon them.

As soon as they reached their destination, she shrugged out of the harness and pulled off her lab coat, folding it neatly and leaving it in her seat. While she knew she could very well be a target by responding to the emergency, she wasn't going to make herself an obvious one if she could help it. The clothing she wore beneath was finely made and fit her well, but were plain -- a simple cotton blouse and fitted pants, both in dark navy. She wore comfortable flats rather than heels. The latter might have elongated her legs to make them more attractive, but they were a stupid choice in footwear for one on her feet all day long. As she stepped out of the armored vehicle, she rolled up her sleeves and slapped on a pair of gloves.

The carnage didn't shock her. Accustomed to grotesque and often life threatening emergencies, she waded through the rubble in search of any victims that could be saved. Those within the blast radius had either been blown to bits or hit by the resulting concussion and died with their organs scrambled. She found her first patient screaming for help, shaking with pain and fear as he clutched his stomach. Shrapnel had perforated his gut, leaving him punctured by several large metal fabrics. Leaving the extraction for the surgeons in the hospital (if the man even made it there), she began to pack his wounds with Celox and gauze. Emergency medical arrived shortly after with a stretcher. She left the man in their capable hands and moved on to the next.

There were others, so many others. Miranda did what she could for them, but her primary function was to stop the bleeding with hemostatic agents, bandages, and pressure. Blood loss was always the enemy, whether it be internal or external. If it could be stopped, the patient could likely be saved.

The chaos only increased as the security team branched out. An influx of help arrived and spread out to provide aid and remove the injured.

Nearby, on one of the roofs overlooking the bus terminal, something glinted in the light.

 

[greybishop]

Jack shadowed the Doc as she went to work, keeping one eye on her and the other on their surroundings. He was impressed when he saw that she was unfazed by the chaos around her and just started treating the wounded quickly and professionally; “Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all” he thought. The only thing that surprised Jack for a second was that the Doc didn’t use any tourniquets on the casualties she treated, but then he realized that anyone bleeding out that badly either died or was saved long before they got there. Still, he wondered if she had any in her bag; if worse came to worst he knew he could use his on her, but if he started spraying blood like a fountain, he wondered if she’d see the two tourniquets he had rubber banded to the front of his vest.

Besides watching the Doc, Jack also did his best to spot any trouble sooner rather than later; he knew that was always a crap shoot, but there were a few signs he could look for that might nudge the odds in their favor. But the only weird things he saw were a street dog running off with something in its jaws, which he really hoped was part of another mongrel blown apart by the car bomb, and some guy on a rooftop taking pictures. The guy’s camera was far too nice for him to be from this neighborhood and he was also way too obvious to be someone taking propaganda shots for BH, so Jack pegged him as a stringer for some news service. Since Jack didn’t have any men to spare, he radioed over to the other team from his unit in the area and asked them to check out the cameraman.

At some point a young kid came along with a pail full of dirty water, melting ice and some glass bottles of Coke; rather tentatively he looked up at Jack and asked if the American wanted to buy a bottle at the white-face price. Jack scowled down at the boy, hefted his gun, then held out four fingers and said “OK. Four bottles.” The young entrepreneur grinned broadly when he realized he was being fucked with and started opening Cokes. As Jack pulled out his wallet he told the kid to leave one bottle capped and to take two of them over to his Sergeant and the soldier with him. Jack shoved the unopened Coke into his vest, chugged the other one down and then left the empty bottle where the kid could find it to get his deposit back.

A bit later the leader of the other team, a tall Afrikaner named Danny who worked in the intel shop, found Jack and his guys in all the confusion. As he walked up Danny looked over at Doctor Blake then back at Jack, tilted his head and raised his eyebrows; Jack returned the query with a little shake of his own head and Danny let the matter drop as he greeted Jack.

“Ag man, another bad one.”

“Yeah, well, Dieter would just call this job security,” which made the South African laugh.

“Good eye on the cameraman boet. We grabbed the fokker as he was coming down. Says he’s a stringer for AP.”

“You believe him?”

“He has a press card, but we’re checking it before we let him go. Taking awhile though, since mobiles are shut down again.” Jack hadn’t realized that, but it made him feel better. While almost everybody hated when the government did that, at least it kept BH from using cellphones to set off IEDs for a little while.

“Alright, thanks for the heads up. I’ll swing by the shop when we’re done here; I got something today that’s worth a look.” Danny took a quick glance over at the Doc but didn’t ask any questions before he headed back towards where his team’s truck was parked.

A short while later Jack noticed that the Doc seemed to be between patients and was rummaging around in her bag; it had seemed pretty full when they got out of the Cobra, but looked a lot less full now. Jack pulled out his spare Coke, popped the cap with his multitool and then walked over to squat down beside Doctor Blake.

“Hey Doc, here you go. It’s not very cold, but probably better than nothing at this point. How’s it going?”

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The work seemed endless, but as the minutes passed, more help arrived and the need to rush to the next patient diminished. Her last hadn't shown any physical trauma besides bruising caused by being knocked back by the blast, but his heart had stopped at some point. Miranda administered CPR, doing chest compressions to keep his heart pumping until one of the other emergency teams were free. Her supplies were limited, but she still had a few face guards left, which she used when providing breaths. The guards weren't strictly necessary, but they were (in her eyes) a very valuable commodity. The one-way valve prevented any contamination from the patient, which was a true blessing as many patients vomited while undergoing the life-saving procedure.

In places like Nigeria, blood-borne diseases were also a great danger. Sterile gloves were another luxury, but they were cheap, and so she always made certain to put some of her funds toward bulk purchases of them. HIV was controllable with medication, but still highly contagious when exposed to blood and spit, as was hepatitis and viral infections like Ebola. There were numerous others, caused by filthy living conditions, poor hygiene, and rampant blood-sucking insects, so it was always wise to be as safe whenever possible. Her inoculations couldn't protect her from everything.

As her last patient was loaded onto a stretcher and taken away, Miranda watched after the emergency crew for a moment. They'd continued CPR, but had yet to get a response from the man. She shook her head, fearing that he likely wouldn't recover. Still, they'd tried, and that's all anyone could do in such situations. She pulled off her soiled gloves, using one to take off the other and tucking them into a small, compact bundle that she threw into a biohazard bag inside her kit.

She was looking a bit more disheveled than before. Several dark strands had daringly escaped her pinned style, and her cheeks and forehead were dotted with sweat and grime. Any blood on her skin had been quickly wiped away, but her navy top, pants, and shoes were all spattered with dark stains. Straightening as Jack made his way over, she stretched with a slight groan. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hard ground and her back from crouching over, so the rest was most welcome. She glanced to the offered soda in his hand and took it, nodding her thanks, but didn't drink it immediately.

"Did you pop the cap or was open when you bought it?" There was a careful distinction as one carried far greater risk. There were tales, of course, of drugged kidnappings (and just kidnappings) of foreigners. While she doubted this moment was one of those, it was still a valid question that needed asking.

"Help me up, would you? I'm going to be a bit wobbly and need to get the circulation going." She extended her hand for him to take. Without her long-sleeved lab coat, her arm was bare to the elbow, and her tanned skin was lightly dusted with freckles, though many had disappeared beneath the thin coating of dust and dirt. A thin, white scar ran perpendicular to her wrist, stretching a few inches along her inner arm. Instinct would tell him that the scar was likely one of a matching set.

 

[greybishop]

Jack smiled at the Doc’s caution over the Coke. He remembered Dieter telling him about a buddy who’d had two Land Rovers jacked down in Jo’burg. The third time it happened there was a cheap bottle of whisky spiked with rat poison rolling around in the back. The buddy had gotten his Landy back and the cops just assumed the guys found dead inside had all OD’ed; not surprising, since the SAPS in Jo’burg had better things to do besides paying for forensics testing on carjackers with long criminal records. Africa could be a weird place.

“You’re good Doc, I opened it myself a sec ago” Jack replied. “And me and the guys each had a bottle, so I don’t think that kid was working for BH” he added with a grin.

Jack stood and offered Doctor Blake a hand up. As he helped the American Doctor to her feet Jack couldn’t help but notice the fine, white scar inside her slim wrist. “Huh, that’s weird” he thought. “She’s pretty young to have had wrist surgery already. Maybe she’s a big tennis player or something.” But the main thing Jack noticed was how different the Doc seemed. For one thing she was kind of disheveled, but in a good way; it looked like she had put in a good, solid day’s work out in the sun, which of course was exactly what she had done. But there was also something about her eyes and face that somehow looked different to Jack, and after a second it dawned on him – the Doc looked like her “internal pressure” had gone from 105% and ready to blow at any second, down to maybe 98 or so. So while she didn’t look relaxed (“I wonder if she ever looks that way?” Jack wondered) she did somehow look … better. Just as Jack was going to say something witty about that his radio crackled; “Jek, motor is very hot” Mikhail advised. “We leave now, we maybe make it bek to base. You copy?”

Jack wasn’t surprised to hear the Cobra was overheating; the vehicles his unit had inherited from the Nigerians had been poorly maintained and their Maintenance Chief had been going nuts for weeks trying to keep them running. “Yeah, copy” he replied without fanfare. “We’re on our way.” Jack called over to his Sergeant and told him and the man with him to head back to the MRAP, then turned to the Doc. “Engine trouble with the truck Doc, sorry” he said with an apologetic shrug. “If you want to come back with us, I’ll get another vehicle to take you back; we’re just up at the airport, so that shouldn’t take too long. Otherwise I guess you can maybe call someone to pick you up, if the cell network is back up that is.” Jack looked around the parking area in front of the bus terminal, which was slowly returning to its more normal state of chaos, then looked back at the Doc to dubiously add “Or maybe you could hire a car around here? It’s up to you Doc, but we gotta go now.”

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda felt a bit lightheaded when he helped her to her feet as the blood rushed back to her legs. She lifted one leg and then the other, giving them both a bit of a stretch and shaking the sensation back into her feet. With his assurance, she took a long pull from the soda. He was right in that it wasn't that cold, but it was better than nothing. She'd completely forgotten to grab water with her when she left and had felt that thirst several times while working. Wiping sweat from her forehead with her forearm, she considered his problem and possible solutions. Glancing about, all of the emergency vehicles had taken their various patients to the closest hospitals or clinics. If he'd spoken sooner, she might have been able to catch one. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she shook her head. The towers were still down and probably would be until they cleared the area to ensure there were no other explosives.

"Better if I go back with you," she finally decided. "Easier to call someone from your base than wait for someone to get through traffic to find me here. It's going to be snarled for a while. I'll check in with the clinic and have someone send a car for me as soon as we've got service. Or maybe borrow a SAT phone service is down at your base, too." She lifted her bag, hefting it tiredly over her shoulder, though it weighed far less than it had when she'd arrived. "Let's go."

Making her way back to the MRAP, she climbed inside and found the seat where she'd left her lab coat. She stuffed it into her bag and leaned back, strapping in. Her head rocked back against the headrest once she was secure and she closed her eyes. She felt drained as the adrenaline that had kept her going slowly faded, reducing her body to normal limitations. Both her shirt and pants were soaked with sweat, but it kept her cooler than she would be otherwise. She could tell that she was dehydrated, as well -- too much time out in the burning hot African sun without water.

Jack was right in that she was far more relaxed than she had been. She was simply too weary to keep up the icy front she'd first presented. It left her open and somewhat unguarded, but only for as long as it would take her to regain a bit of energy. The soda helped replenish some of the salt and sugar she'd burned, but she really needed electrolytes.

 

[greybishop]

The Cobra coughed, sputtered and lurched a couple of times as Mikhail nursed it up to the main highway and then down Airport Road, but the Russian managed to get them back to base without stopping; that was because the Red Army had, among other things, taught Mikhail to drive pretty much anything, anywhere. But that didn’t stop him from muttering curses under his breath the whole way.

Jack’s unit had commandeered an abandoned warehouse complex next to the airport and the motorpool was around back, near the old loading docks. As they drove that way the MRAP passed by rows of old tents that had also been pitched inside the perimeter, but only a handful of personnel; it was just too hot for anyone to be outside for no good reason. Just after they passed a new gate that had been put in to connect the base directly to the airport’s tarmac, Mikhail turned into the motorpool and shut the Cobra down. The Nigerians in the back immediately piled out, in hopes of getting to the DFAC before lunch was over; Jack just let them go, knowing that trying to do any sort of AAR while they were hungry would be pointless.

As Mikhail dismounted he was immediately confronted by the Maintenance Chief and the two began yelling at each other in Russian, undoubtedly arguing about whose fault it was the MRAP had overheated. Jack just shook his head as the pair wandered off to continue their argument someplace shadier, probably over a couple of glasses of cheap vodka. “Don’t mind those two,” he said to the Doc with a grin, “it’s just them doing their Russian mafia thing. You can wait here, under those trees, while I go drop my stuff and get some keys. If you can reach someone I’ll just drive you back to the main gate to get picked up and if not, I’ll take you all the way back.”

Jack didn’t bother stopping by the radio shack to check on a satphone; given how expensive they were to use he strongly doubted the Comms Chief would let him have one to basically call a cab. Of course Jack could’ve pulled rank on the guy, but that didn’t seem worth it so he just went to the motorpool office and signed out a set of keys for one of the nondescript Toyota Hilux pickups they had for utility use and the occasional special mission. Then Jack went by his hooch, which was one of the moldy old offices in the warehouse, to drop most of his gear. While there Jack grabbed a khaki, short sleeved, button down shirt which he threw on over his Under Armour; he knew the oversized shirt would make him look more like an NGO type behind the wheel of the Hilux and also cover up his gunbelt in case he had to get out of the truck. (“And also keep the Doc from wrinkling her nose every time she notices it,” Jack thought with a laugh.) On the way back out to the motorpool Jack also detoured past one of the fridges sitting out in a hallway and snagged a couple of big bottles of cold water.

“Alright Doc,” he called as he walked over to where he’d left Doctor Blake “is someone coming to get you, or am I taking you back to your clinic?”

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda had seen many operations centers, so this one didn't impress her all that much. One tent looked much the same as the other. Even the medical tents would hold most of the same equipment in much the same layout. She'd had the opportunity to work inside of an emergency medical suite more than once, and that had impressed her given the rugged conditions, but a normal military medical unit would be a bit boring. Had there been the need, she would have offered to help, but the bombing was isolated and the base itself seemed relatively calm at the moment. Of course, everyone knew that was subject to change at a moment's notice.

She sat hunched down in the shade where Jack had left her, head rocked back against the tree with her eyes closed. One cracked open as Jack approached, and then she turned to give him her full attention. With a light shake of her head, he had his answer. "No one can get out here for at least an hour. I can wait if you have other things to do. Just point me in the direction of some place I can get cleaned up, and I'll stay out of your hair. On the other hand, if you don't mind going out again, I could use the lift."

It clearly pained her to be beholden to anyone, least of all him, as he was a near stranger. However, it would give her an opportunity to spend more time with him and get to know him a bit better. In the long run, that could prove to be quite beneficial to her and her clinic.

"It's your call," she added. She might have basically forced him to take her to the bombing site, but she knew she couldn't really give him orders. He probably would have told her to stuff it if he hadn't been trying to get on her good side.

Her dark eyes traveled to the water bottle in his hand. "One of those for me?" The soda was long gone and seemed a lifetime ago.

 

[greybishop]

“It sure is” Jack said as he handed the Doc a bottle. “Cap intact and everything” he added with a grin.

As Jack chugged some water he briefly glanced through his shades at the woman sitting across from him. The Doc looked like she might be sitting at a picnic, not waiting for a ride at a mercenary camp in the middle of an African warzone. She’d obviously seen some shit but Jack wondered where, since he was pretty sure there wasn’t a military bone in her body. “Maybe she worked in an ER someplace crappy before this, like downtown Detroit?” he thought.

After they had hydrated Jack led the way over to their Hilux, which turned out to be fairly new; he could still see bits of green around the edges of the fresh white paint job. “Good enough for this trip” ran through his mind as he tossed his go-bag behind the driver’s seat “but I’ll still have to get them to fix it.” Then he cranked up the AC and drove back towards the main gate.

As they passed through the sandbagged emplacements at the gate Jack waved two fingers at the sentries; he actually felt pretty relaxed about heading back into town this way. Sure, Jack liked armor and firepower as much as the next guy, but he’d been around long enough to know that blending in was sometimes the smart way to go. Not that Jack’s “camouflage job” was much better than the pickup’s really. His oversized shirt did a decent job of minimizing his broad shoulders, but didn’t do much to hide the tats on his arms or the muscle under them. And if he got out of the truck his camo trousers might raise a few eyebrows too, though at least they weren’t tucked into polished combats; Jack wore a pair of buff ankle boots that were a lot more comfortable. And if he did have to un-ass the truck, he also had a few things in his go-bag besides hand sanitizer and powerbars, and if it came right down to it, he could also run pretty fast too. Then it occurred to Jack that he also had the Doc to worry about, so he glanced over at her in the seat beside him; “Nah, she looks like she’s in good shape and is wearing shoes she can run in; we should be okay” he thought.

They made their way down Airport Road in silence and then, when they were about halfway to the main highway, the quiet of the truck’s cab was broken when Jack heard a soft rumble. He immediately realized it had been his stomach and quickly wondered if it had been loud enough for the Doc to hear; Jack had also been around long enough to know chicks could get weird about stuff like that. Thinking about his empty stomach reminded Jack there was a good restaurant right down the road and he quickly spoke up. “Hey Doc, you hungry? There’s a pretty nice Lebanese joint just up there.” Jack pointed to the side of the road a few hundred meters away. “The owner runs a clean place, so I’ve never had any trouble. And if the Ladies is as clean as the Gents, you should be able to wash up no problem.” Jack also recalled that the owner was Christian and always had cold beer on hand; maybe he’d even have some Castle or Guinness today. Not that he thought that would interest the Doc. On the other hand … “And the owner’s Christian, so he usually has some wine he gets from Cape Town. My treat for dragging you out of your way when the truck broke down. What do you say?”

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

"No," she said curtly without even considering his offer. Her eyes slid to him briefly, studying his rugged profile, and then flicked back to the road as her fingers tightened on the half-empty bottle of water in her hand. The muscles in her jaw flexed as she turned to consider the city rolling by outside the window. "I need to get back to the clinic," she finally said. "I don't have time for socializing. If we have to meet again to exchange information, perhaps we can meet there at some point, but not today."

It didn't matter that her stomach was also growling, that she'd not eaten since early that morning, or that she actually enjoyed Lebanese food. None of those factored into her decision making. He was the problem, and she wanted to make it perfectly clear that their arrangement was a business contract. His type always thought they were so smooth with the ladies, charming and gallant, honeyed words dripping from their lips until the moment they won their prize, used her up, and then moved on to another conquest.

Miranda had fallen for that once and had learned from her mistakes. She tried not to mix business with pleasure whenever possible. Jack certainly fell into that category. He was attractive and fit, charming and humorous, but all of those together could be dangerous. Were dangerous. Keep him interested to get what you want, but don't give up everything at all once.

She spoke very little as they drove the rest of the way to the clinic, letting the silence fill the space between them whenever he didn't feel the need to break it. He'd helped her out, both in getting her to the bomb site and getting her home, so her demeanor had thawed a fraction, but there was still a thick wall surrounding her that had yet to erode. Her armor was of a different sort than his, and she wore it like a battle-scarred warrior.

As soon as they reached the empty lot beside her clinic, Miranda shouldered her bag and slid from the truck. She paused just before closing the door, staring across the seat at the man behind the wheel. "Thank you for the lift. I'll call you tomorrow with the name of that village. How soon can we leave? Two days? Three?" She was willing to wait long enough for him to verify that her information was accurate, but no more than that. Already, she was anxious to be gone -- out of the city and into the bush.

 

[greybishop]

Jack looked over at the Doc as she rebuffed his offer out of hand; it seemed that he’d turned up the truck’s AC a bit too high and the Ice Queen was back. “Good thing she didn’t drink all her water,” he thought “or that icicle’d be coming out of her mouth by now.” Jack glanced wistfully at the Lebanese place as they drove past it; lunch would have to wait.

Once they hit the main highway Jack focused on driving, but when they got stuck behind a couple of busses his mind drifted back to the Doc’s reply. “And who said anything about socializing?” he fumed. “All I suggested was we get something to eat. She does eat, doesn’t she? I wonder if she’s one of those anorexic types? Or is it bulimic?” Jack could never remember which one was which, even though his sis used to make herself puke back in high school.

And then later on, after they almost got t-boned by a lorry coming out of a side street. “And what the hell’s wrong with socializing anyway?” he said to himself. “Christ, how many Americans can there be in this stinking town? I wonder if she’s one of the ones who left the States because she just hates it there? Feels all guilty about being able to drink the water and making a ton of money as a Doctor? What a bunch of weirdos …”

But by the time they got near the clinic Jack had settled back down. Somehow he’d managed to convince himself that the Lebanese place would still be open when he returned and that, since he’d be headed back towards base, he’d be able to have a shot of whiskey before finally eating too; George usually had some Johnnie Walker on hand. “Hell, maybe I’ll have two, in honor of Doc Frosty’s absence.” That made Jack laugh out loud; if they ever needed one, Doc Blake now had her call sign, like it or not. And so Jack was able to politely respond to Miranda after she got out of the truck.

“Sure, you can send me the name whenever. And like I said, it’ll probably take me two or three days to set this up, depending on where your village is. I’ll let you know.” Before he reached over and pulled the passenger door closed Jack added “Stay frosty Doc.”

As Jack drove away to get his lunch/dinner, he tried to remember what dopey movie had made that line so popular …

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda would have rolled her eyes at the pop culture reference, but she was far too tired to care. He seemed to have gotten the point as he hadn't pressed her further, which suited her completely. The last thing she thought she could tolerate just then was a macho military man that mistakenly assumed he was the funniest man in the room. She watched his truck turn the corner and then stepped inside the clinic.

The waiting room was empty. All of the locals that had come for planned vaccinations had been sent away or fled of their own accord. If they received any victims from the bombing, their injuries would have been minor enough to patch them up and send them on their way -- otherwise, they would have been taken to one of the larger hospitals. While Miranda did have the space and setup to perform emergency surgery if needed, she did most of her surgical work in the hospital where she consulted with the doctors there. They often needed an additional pair of hands, and so she sometimes made herself available during the evening hours. Not tonight, though. Tonight she'd be scarfing whatever her hotel was serving for dinner and would likely crash into bed after she'd washed away the stink.

---

When Miranda entered the clinic and locked the door behind her, she turned to see Isioma still behind the counter. The Nigerian woman studied her as she approached. "Bad time?"

"Not as bad as it could have been," Miranda replied. It was a sad thought, but very true. She'd seen far worse. "How were things here?"

"Got a few minors, cleared the others that stayed to wait, not all that bad of a time. Rescheduled your vaccinations for tomorrow."

"Not early, I hope?" Miranda didn't relish the thought of dragging herself out of bed at the crack of dawn. She'd need her rest tonight.

Isioma snorted. "I ain't no fool, Doc. Set 'em for the afternoon. Got the other Docs coming in earlier to cover for you. You're looking thin, almost transparent. Left you a snack in your office. Figured you'd need it."

"You're the true life saver, Isioma," Miranda said sincerely. She honestly didn't know what she'd do without the woman helping her to run the clinic.

"How'd things go with the Oyinbo? He ever tell you what he really came here for?"

"They haven't yet approved my request for the border mission, but he and his team are going to be escorting us to one of the outlying villages. Testing the waters, so to speak."

"Ooof, better you than me. I'm not going out there."

"You're needed here, anyhow, Isioma. I'll be taking Lee with me. The others should be able to tend the clinic for a few days while I'm gone, but I'm too tired to work that out just yet. We'll talk about it again tomorrow. For now, I'm grabbing my stuff and calling for a car. The others ready to go?"

"Just waiting for you. Already called a car. Should be here in five."

"Perfect. I'll be in my office."

---

Later that evening, after Miranda had returned to her hotel, showered, and eaten, she lay in bed thinking about the day. Though his quips were mildly irritating, Jack had actually been helpful. She'd expected him to argue against her diving headfirst into danger, but it seemed that he either didn't care if she got herself blown up, or he thought her capable enough to make her own decisions. Either way, she had to respect him for it. While she intended to call him the next day, she found she simply couldn't wait. Reaching for her phone, she swiped the screen to life and found his contact information. She wouldn't call him, not with it being so late, but she did send him a text message with two possible destinations for their outing. She'd let him decide which one he thought the safest. Either one was in need, so she decided it didn't matter much which one they helped first.

 

[greybishop]

Jack woke up the next morning with a mild hangover. George had been quite interested in what had happened at the bus terminal, so the drinks were on the house while the two had talked; nothing about the bombing itself was particularly sensitive, and Jack also knew the well connected restaurant owner would owe him one for this latest information.

As he sat up Jack saw the message light blinking on his burner phone and checked it; it was a short text from the Doc that contained the names of two villages. “Well isn’t she all hot to trot” he thought when he noticed when the text had been sent. With a chuckle Jack added her number to his Contacts as “Frosty.”

After chow and with coffee in hand, Jack headed over to the intel shop where he found Danny and the Afrikaner’s boss, an equally tall but much trimmer Russian named Valeriy. The Russian was about Jack’s age but he was clean shaven, blond and never wore a uniform; Mikhail had once told Jack that Valeriy was former GRU, and that the two of them had worked together in Chechnya. After a quick update from Danny, Jack pulled out the slip of paper he’d gotten from the Doc and showed it to the two intel officers while he explained where he’d gotten it from; at this Danny raised his eyebrows, but the Russian’s face betrayed no emotion. Then Jack explained the rest of his plan and named the two potential destinations the Doc had nominated overnight; at the mention of the second one, the village of Akanni, Valeriy’s lips turned up just a bit at the corners.

“I must say Jack, you are rather clever” Valeriy said in perfect, unaccented English. “For an American.” Danny sat back and grinned.

“Well we did somehow do better than you in Afghanistan.”

“Only slightly. And only because you have more money than we do. To waste."

“And why do we have all that extra money?”

“Because you’re filthy, capitalist pigs.” The Russian paused, then added “And now, so are we.”

Valeriy told Danny to put a team on the address they’d gotten from the Doc. At that Jack mentioned the crappy repaint job he’d noticed on one of the pickups yesterday, which prompted the South African to reply “Good eye again boet. Just like with the camera guy at the bombing. And your lekker new Doctor friend too, eh?” That reminded Jack to ask about the supposed AP stringer they’d detained at the bus terminal; when Danny advised that the guy had turned out to be legit, that gave Jack an idea and he asked for the stringer’s contact info. “Let’s go see Dieter about the rest, shall we?” prompted Valeriy.

As the Russian and American entered his office, Jack’s OC grinned broadly. “So the Cold War is finally over; it’s a miracle!” the stocky South African quipped in a heavy, heavy Afrikaans accent. Dieter waved the two into seats and puffed on a cigarette as he listened to Jack’s concept and Valeriy’s endorsement of it; it took Dieter all of two seconds to come to his decision and he authorized Jack the purposely modest resources that he’d requested. “Done. I knew there was a reason I recruited you Jackie. Now get out of here, I have to call the skelm at Division about all our spare parts that have gone missing.”

---

That evening Jack called the Doc after he figured she was done for the day at the clinic; it still took him a few tries to get through, but she finally picked up. When she did, Jack decided to dispense with any “socializing.”

“Hey, it’s Jack. You’re good to go in two days time, for the second place on your list. Here’s the deal, you ready to copy?

One, you can take one other person.

Two, we leave at dawn. You know how to get here now, so that shouldn’t be an issue. More importantly, we also need to be back inside the city limits by dusk; no excuses, no exceptions, we turn around and come back when I say so.”

Three, you and your assistant are wearing armor when you’re in the trucks; that’s non-negotiable. If you don’t have any I’ll get you some, let me know. You can wear whatever you want when you’re doing your thing.

Four, try not to tell the whole world we’re coming. Just the people who really need to know and even then, only when they really need to know it.

Five, is there anything special about that second place as far as you’re concerned? Anything I might need to know about why it was on your list?"

Jack played with his little fidget spinner as he waited for the Doc’s reply and to see if she had any questions …

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Miranda's day was much like any other since she'd come to Nigeria. After breakfast, she traveled to the nearby hospital to check on some of the victims she'd helped the day before. The man she'd performed CPR on hadn't made it. It was disappointing, but not terribly surprising. Some were still in critical condition, hovering on the edge between life and death. Those a bit further from the blast had survived with minimal injuries, though two had amputations of the arm and the foot, respectively. None of them needed her services, so she left the hospital mid-morning.

The day at the clinic was another long day of controlled chaos. With no incoming emergencies, they were able to focus on the vaccinations that had been cancelled the previous day and help the locals with their various ailments. It had occurred to Miranda when she first arrived in Nigeria that the majority of their problems were very small -- rashes caused by poor living conditions, diseases brought on by malnutrition, ailments that occurred because smaller ones hadn't been treated. Most could be solved with modern creams, antibiotics, and repetitive treatments. The people in the surrounding neighborhood just couldn't afford any of those things. Luckily, Miranda had backers with deep pockets, though funding always came at a price.

That evening, she arrived back at the hotel after dinner, ready for a long hot shower and a good book. The power was out when she arrived, which wasn't all that uncommon. Nigeria didn't have the most reliable electrical grid as many of the funds that should have gone to repairs were lining the pockets of corrupt politicians. The power went out frequently, and one never knew how long it would be until it came back on. They had a generator at the clinic to keep the refrigeration units running. The owner of her hotel had a generator, as well, but it was old and didn't always work.

Lighting her way with a small LED flashlight that she kept on her person, Miranda let herself into her room, locking the door behind her. The beam swept across the floor as she dropped her bag, illuminating a figure seated in her arm chair. She jumped and then swore.

"Carson! What in the hell are you doing here? You just scared the piss out of me."

He chuckled and rose from his chair, shrugging. "Sorry, had to let myself in. Couldn't be seen skulking about the hallway."

She scowled at him. "We didn't have a meeting scheduled today. I haven't heard from you in days, in fact. What's up?"

"What's up is there was a bombing yesterday. The BH is claiming responsibility and says there will be another before the week is out. I understand you were one of the first on scene, and yet you didn't call me to let me know?"

"Call you for what purpose, exactly? I thought you were out of the country."

"I was, but you should still keep me informed."

"There was nothing to inform you about. As you said, it was a bombing, and I went to help. I'm not an expert in explosives. Go dig up one of your UN cronies for that. I was dealing with severed limbs and shattered bodies."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about," he said, his tone taking on a hard edge. "You met with one of the free-lancers, and he drove you to the bombing site."

Miranda set the light down on the dresser so she could shrug out of her coat. "And?"

"And... this outfit is of particular interest to us. We want to know what they're up to."

She sighed. "Up to? Seriously, do you hear yourself? They're protecting the city, Carson. End of story. What nefarious plots are you imagining?"

"We've heard rumors."

"About what?"

"Nothing I can talk about. Still, they abound. I understand that you've asked him to escort you to one of the villages. His name is Grainger, right?"

Miranda frowned, extremely bothered by the level of information Carson always seemed to have on her. He was a spook from British Intelligence, but that was all she knew about him. He'd approached shortly after she arrived and all but demanded she supply him with the information she gleaned from the clinic. It was all second hand information, so she didn't seem the harm in passing it on. In exchange, he helped to fund her clinic. It was an almost identical arrangement to the one that Jack was interested in cementing. The only trouble was, she didn't really have a choice where Carson was concerned. He simply knew too much.

"Yes, and he agreed, though I don't know when or where we'll be going. I'm still waiting on him to get back to me." She was a bit annoyed that Jack hadn't texted or called. She'd expected a response from him that morning, but she was obviously a low priority.

"In addition to feeding me information from the clinic, you're going to start reporting on Grainger's activities. Get to know him and his crew. Get him involved in your work to keep him close. I want to know everything. When you return from your trip, I'll expect answers."

She shook her head. "I'm not doing that. I have no idea what they're about, and I don't really care. They're escorting us and providing protection. End of story. There is no way I can push my way into their other activities, Carson. I don't even really like the man."

He moved so quickly, she barely had time to register the hand at her throat. Her back hit the wall hard, and he held her there, fingers tightening uncomfortably. The anger in his voice was undeniable. "You'll do as you're told, Miranda. Otherwise, you'll know what will happen. Get me whatever you can, whatever it takes. Understood?"

Clutching at his hand, she nodded slightly. He released her and she took a deep breath, sagging against the wall as she glared at him. "You don't have to be a dick about it."

"Sometimes, that's what it takes. I'm glad we understand one another. Remember how much you owe me."

"Like I could ever forget."

"Too right," he said, smiling charmingly, all traces of anger gone.

-----

She'd just climbed out of the shower when Jack phoned. Wrapped in her towel, she answered as she took a seat on the bed. Though still annoyed it had taken him all day, she wasn't going to argue about it and give him reason to back out of their arrangement. Carson's warning was still fresh in her mind. Listening as Jack spoke, she found that she wasn't at all surprised by the list of demands. It really wasn't that complicated. He was in charge, and she had no doubt that he'd physically haul her back if she strayed from his rules.

After he finished, she answered each of his points in turn. "One, I've already selected my companion. His name is Dr. Lee Jensen. Two, both villages are within traveling distance, there and back, within a day's time, so I have no qualms about being back before nightfall. Three, we have our own body armor, provided by the MSF. Four, I won't be informing Dr. Lee until the night before. My staff will know when I leave, but only that I'll be gone for the day, not where I'll be going. And five, we've gotten reports from both villages that they've seen Yellow Fever outbreaks. Either are acceptable destinations. We have supplies and vaccinations that will help out either village, so no, there's nothing 'special' about it save for people are sick and likely dying."

She paused. "Why do you ask?"

 

[greybishop]

Jack twirled his spinner around as he answered the Doc. “Just part of the brief. We have our info sure, but for all I know there could be an Ebola outbreak where you want to go, which’d be kind of … problematic. But all this sounds fine. We’ll have plenty of bottled water so you don’t need to worry about that, but you might want to bring your own lunch, unless you want to try some of our, uh, rations. So I’ll see you day after tomorrow, bright and early at my place. G’night.”

---

The next day was a busy one for Jack. First thing after breakfast he reached out to the stringer they’d detained at the bus terminal, in order to apologize to him for the inconvenience over coffee at the Pinnacle Hotel. The stringer was a young Italian guy named Aldo, who looked more Middle Eastern than Italian; he had swarthy skin and a big mop of jet black hair on his head. It turned out Aldo’s Mom was from Addis, which explained his features and also why he was running around warzones in Africa taking pictures. The kid immediately accepted Jack’s offer to take him along to Akanni tomorrow as an “embedded journalist,” as sort of an apology for the detention. When Jack told the powers that be about this later on, Dieter laughed until he was red in the face and Valeriy asked the American if he had any Slavic blood in him.

Planning the mission to Akanni in the afternoon wasn’t particularly difficult. The village was about 50 klicks west of Maiduguri and most of the way there would be along the highway to Kano; the Nigerian 7th ID spent a lot of time trying to keep the highway open, so it was currently a Green route. The only small concern was the tertiary road that led south of the highway to Akanni and then to Damboa, after it crossed the rail line to the coast; a 7th ID patrol had been hit there about four months ago, so that road was still Amber. The village was of course Muslim but its people were, for the most part, reportedly just farmers and herders caught in the middle of a war they didn’t want any part of. “Easy peasy” thought Jack.

And so, as often happens, life threw Jack a curveball at the end of the day; Dieter called him into his office and asked the American if he wanted a drink. That caused alarm bells to start ringing in Jack’s head but he said sure anyway; his boss was drinking his trademark Klippies and Coke, and Jack actually didn’t mind the weird drink, which sort of reminded him of a rum and Coke. They chatted about the “good old days” back in Iraq for a bit before Dieter swung around to why they were really talking.

“Oh and by the by, I’ve organized a new 2IC for you. A Nigerian Captain. He reports tonight and you’ll be able to break him in on the trek out to Akanni tomorrow.

Jack almost choked on his drink. “What the hell Dieter?”

“Now Jackie, you asked for a new Sergeant. I got you an extra Captain instead. I’m told he’s trained with the Brits and speaks perfect English. Plus his father’s a Brigadier, and they want him to be part of us.” Dieter’s eyes hardened as he added “So putting him next to you makes a lot of sense. You take care of him, verstaan?”

“Yeah boss, understood” Jack glumly replied as he finished his drink.

That night Jack hit the rack early, after double checking everything was on track for the following morning. And as he tried to go to sleep, Jack found himself alternating between fretting over his new second in command and, for some reason, actually looking forward to seeing Doc Frosty again tomorrow …