Page 17 of The Echelon (Spy Girl 7)
And a quick look at Daniel confirms he’s not the only one who feels that way. He’s sure Huntley would have told Daniel not to take the vaccine. She was so sure of herself. So strongly opposed to it.
He surveys the room. Most lying in the beds have already developed the rash, and he’s worried, either way, it might be too late for them. That their disease has progressed past the point of no return.
More than likely though, what has him most upset has to do with a conversation earlier this morning.
His late father’s personal physician had run blood work on him just after he took the vaccine and again late last night.
“Lorenzo, although you are feeling well, your white blood count is up quite a bit. I would expect to see that after taking a vaccine. It just means your body is learning to fight the disease. What is unusual, however, is your lowered red blood count. Have you noticed any unusual bleeding?”
“Not at all.”
The doctor sighed. “I know, with everything going on in our country, it isn’t a good time to bring this up, but you might have something else going on—health-wise.”
“Like what?”
“To be completely blunt, you have the same illness your father had. The one we couldn’t cure. Your blood work is so similar to his before his passing that I had to double-check I hadn’t pulled up his record by mistake. You need to get your affairs in order. I’m guessing you only have a few days left on this earth.”
Lorenzo looks at the clock on the wall.
At the woman carrying the next king of Montrovia.
And at the walkie-talkie sitting on the bedside table next to her.
In thirty minutes’ time, he will use it to order the administration of the vaccines to the people of his country—a move that will either save his people or doom them.
But he will probably never know because, soon after that, he will, without a doubt, die.
T-MINUS:00:27:31
“She’s not going to make it back,” Ares says to Intrepid and Blake Cassleberry, who are huddled in the basement of the villa, waiting to hear anything from Huntley while simultaneously trying to get any kind of line of communications open.
“And we wouldn’t know it if she did.” Intrepid punches another number into his phone and then slams it onto the desk in frustration. “Nothing is working.”
“We need to go to the hospital,” Ares says.
“We have no proof to support our cause,” Blake replies, feeling defeated.
“No, but if Huntley does succeed, that is the first place she will go.”
“That’s true,” Intrepid agrees. “Get in your disguise, and we’ll leave immediately.”
Ares shakes his head. “I’m not wearing it.”
“Mike Burnes is there. As is the president,” Blake argues.
“I don’t care anymore. My son and his new wife are going to die either way, and I’m going to be there with them as myself when it happens.”
“And what about the rest of the world?” Intrepid asks.
“I’ll state my case to Lorenzo and plead with him not to give the vaccines. Or at least talk him into giving Huntley more time. And, if he doesn’t listen, at least I will know that I tried my best.”
“You’ve been trying to stop this for over six years,” Blake says.
“And, now, it’s over,” Ares replies.
T-MINUS:00:22:12
My nostrils flare at a smell.
I breathe in a strong, pungent scent.
My body does a shiver.
And I open my eyes.
I see shapes. I hear a soft purring. I feel movement next to me.
I react quickly, crossing my arms over my head to protect myself from the beating that I instinctively know is coming.
It’s then that I discover that I’m restrained.
Not good.
At all.
Was I captured?
“It’s okay,” I hear a female voice say. “Huntley, you’re okay. We’re safe.”
At first, I think it’s my mother’s voice.
I shake my head and try to focus on the tone. “Sophie?”
It’s then that I become more aware.
My vision clears.
I’m in a helicopter. Military. UH-60 Black Hawk, I think.
I’m strapped into one of the rear seats.
I remember firing at the man I was fighting.
Killing him.
And getting shot with what I assumed was a poisoned dart.
“Tranquilizer dart?” I ask.
“Yes,” a soldier to my left says. He’s of a stocky build with gorgeous green eyes and wearing military fatigues with a small American flag patch. He hands me a headset, so we can communicate without yelling.
I’m quickly introduced to the six men onboard.
“We did it,” Sophie says happily over the comms. “We’ve got the proof, and we’re about halfway to Montrovia.”
I immediately check the countdown on my watch and feel an immense sense of relief when I see there are still twenty minutes before the shots will be given—provided they didn’t decide to start early.
“How did you guys get to Ronda so fast?” I ask.
“We were out on routine maneuvers when we got the call from the commander of Morón Air Base,” the pilot says. “He told us to hightail it over and then get you to the Montrovian border.”
“The border? What? No, that won’t work!” I exclaim.
“Where do you need to go, ma’am?” the crew chief sitting next to me asks.
“We have to go into the country, to the hospital specifically.”
“The country is under quarantine,” the pilot says. “No one is allowed in or out.”
“Did your commander tell you why you needed to get us there?”
“No, we were just told to provide VIP transport.”
“You know the disease that started in Montrovia? The one they say will kill everyone in the world if they don’t take the vaccine?”
“Yep. We’re set to get the vaccines this evening back at the base.”
“It’s not the disease that is going to kill people. It’s the vaccine.” I point to Sophie. “Her father discovered it, and we have proof of what the vaccine will do. You have to drop me and the box off at the main hospital in the capital. Then, you need to get Sophie somewhere she can announce the truth to the rest of the world. She won’t be able to do that from Montrovia because their communications systems are all down.”
“Roger,” the pilot responds. “We’ll come up with something.”
My comms are switched off, so I can’t hear what they are discussing, but it appears to be tense.
A few minutes later, the crew chief next to me says, “Since the country is under quarantine, we won’t be able to announce our presence. We’ll fly in low. Our plan is to drop you off at the hospital and then hightail it out of there.”
“I’m not as worried about getting in as I am about you getting out,” I say. “Rumors before I left suggested that any aircraft that tried t
o leave might be shot down.”
“Well, you’re lucky we happen to be fully loaded and can handle the threat.”
“And where will you take Sophie?”
“I would assume back to the base.”
“And how long will that take?”
“At least an hour.”
“That’s too much time. Wait!” I say, suddenly remembering something Daniel told me regarding the security of the president while he attended the Olympics. “Can you land a helicopter on an aircraft carrier?”
“Of course,” the pilot says. “We can land anywhere. As long as the seas are calm and I have enough room.”
“A Navy flotilla was moved into position just off the coast of Montrovia to protect President Spear while he was attending the Olympics. And more ships were added when people started getting sick. Could you get to them faster than the base?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” the copilot replies. “Let me get on the horn and see what we can arrange.”
After a heated conversation with someone only the pilots can hear, he says, “We’ll drop you off at the hospital and take Miss Sophie out to the carrier. But we won’t be able to land.”
He then tells me the rest of the plan.
I’m given some ibuprofen to help with my injuries and the headache I have from the tranquilizer. I get unbuckled and move around a little, stretching my arms and legs and inventorying what hurts.
Which … is pretty much everything.
My knuckles are bruised. I have numerous scratches from the broken mirror glass. My ribs ache. The corner of my lip and above my eyebrow are cut, and my cheekbone is swollen.
But it feels a whole heck of a lot better than being dead.
