He’d remained quiet, and she’d abruptly stood, turned, and walked away. She’d left the machete near his damaged Hilux and figured that it would take him a decent amount of time to hop or crawl to it, cut himself free, and escape back under whatever rock from which he’d emerged.
As Trevor would’ve said, “A job well done. Mission accomplished, and you walked out alive. That’s all you can ask for in this business.” And she knew he was right. She’d done what her country had asked of her, what they’d trained her to do, but more importantly, what she’d volunteered for. The path she walked was the one she’d chosen, and she had no regrets about her choices, including executing the wounded rebel. He hadn’t been an innocent. They all had blood on their hands.
She crossed to the other side of the runway when a male figure emerged from the main tent. As she neared him, she recognized Dr. David Granger, the US Embassy doctor, a six-foot, handsome man who wore his hair in a care-free, adult version of Justin Bieber.
“Amira, what brings you out this early?” he asked, holding a cup of coffee in a white, plastic embassy mug.
“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a hike. Been gone about forty-five minutes or so, just around the airport. Kind of refreshing, to be honest.”
David nodded. “See anything exciting?”
“Exciting? No. Just the sun starting to wake up. Oh. And a hyena. Off in the distance. Why do you ask?”
“One of the security guards came and roused me from my slumber. You know the pumping station that was attacked yesterday a few miles from here?”
“Of course,” Amira replied, her pulse racing at the question. The entire team had been briefed on the assault the evening before, hours before she’d been activated to resolve it.
“Well, apparently, there was some kind of attack or rescue operation. I didn’t get all the details. They’re not clear, but he told me that the hostages are all safe, and all the rebels are dead. Sounds like a battle of some sort.”
Amira sounded surprised. “God. That sounds intense. I’m glad the workers are okay, though.”
“Exactly. I offered to help if they had any serious injuries, but apparently, the only injuries sustained were fatal ones to the rebels.”
“Well, that’s something, for sure. And if nothing else, it leaves you to focus on the people in the village today.”
“Now that is the truth. Okay. I’m going to grab a bite to eat. I suggest you do the same. It’s going to be a long day.”
Amira smiled, a gesture that made men blush due to her beautiful, exotic features. “Every day in Africa is a long day. Let’s get to work.”
Part III – Full Circle
Chapter 17
Gaylord National Hotel
The Present
1550 EST
Amira stared at Omar Bol, the leader of the rebel group whose two fingers she’d taken as a message to others in southern Sudan. I knew I should’ve killed him. Her instincts had been to finish the job, but the powers-that-be at Langley had wanted him alive. And now he was in the United States, involved in a plot to assassinate the director of the CIA. Hindsight is worse than twenty-twenty. It’s sometimes a fatal shot right between the running lights.
“The look on your face is priceless. It’s almost what I anticipated. Almost. I’ve found that the thing anticipated never really lives up to the anticipation itself. I told you you’d burn for what you did to me, and while I won’t be setting you on fire – not because I don’t want to, mind you – your death will be good enough for me.” The hatred she’d seen in those eyes back in Sudan still burned brightly.
She considered a response, but instead, turned her attention to Nafisa, who stood behind Omar. “I know who this one is,” Amira said, nodding her head at Omar while avoiding eye contact, “but what does that make you? How do you fit into this madness?”
Omar spoke in reply. “Nafisa, you haven’t told her, have you? I thought that would’ve been the first thing you did.”
“I didn’t want her to know until it was time, until just before I pulled the trigger,” the bitter Nafisa said.
“I understand,” Omar said, and dropped it.
But the exchange between the two had triggered an epiphany, and Amira spoke. “Your husband or your brother?”
Nafisa stared at her, spitting words in reply. “What did you say to me?”
“I said, ‘Your husband or your brother?’ That’s the only reason you’d have that much hatred for me. The wounded man I killed, Omar’s partner, he must’ve been your husband or your brother, to have that much anger – trust me; I would know.” She considered the choice, and said, “I’m guessing husband.”
Nafisa’s demeanor intensified so sharply that Amira thought the woman might spontaneously combust. For a brief moment, Amira expected an attack, vicious and fast like the first strike, but none came, and the woman turned and left the room.
Omar studied Amira, shaking his head as if chiding an insolent child. “Husband. Asim, the man you executed – not just killed; don’t diminish your true crime – was her husband. It’s why she gets the pleasure of you killing you once we give her the green light. She deserves her vengeance.”
“And what’s this green light? Sounds complicated,”
