Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (16 page)

Chapter Nineteen

It took Grace a couple of seconds to process what Sharp was saying.
Burning up?
One hand sought out her sore leg. Pain radiated from the wound.

“Shit. I need to see.” Hands jerking on her belt and the fastening on her pants, she jerked them down and bent to examine her leg. “Damn it.” The wound was puffy, red and hot to the touch.

“How long has this been going on?” Sharp leaned down to look, then speared her with a furious glance. “Could you try to
not
die in front of me?”

A kernel of anger flared inside her tired mind. “Could you try to
not
be an asshole? This—” she pointed at her infected wound “—is not my fault. You want to blame someone? Blame Marshall.”

Footsteps approached, but Grace didn’t bother looking up. There weren’t enough of them for the men to be Max and his team. That left her guys and she wasn’t worried about them witnessing an argument.

“Whoa,” Hernandez said. “What’s with the lack of pants?” He stopped several feet away, March next to him.

“It looks like the doc’s leg is infected,” Sharp told them, his voice still tight with fury. “She’s got a fever.”

“That’s a problem we didn’t need,” March said.

“I don’t have any antibiotics with me,” she said, her own anger already burned out. All she felt now was tired and light-headed.

“Will Max?” Sharp asked.

“Probably Cipro, but I’m not sure what else.”

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Sharp told her in a tone allowing no questions or disagreement. “You’re going to grab that nap, stay hydrated and eat more often so you don’t fall over once the work starts.”

Did he think she was going to protest? She tried to dredge up some energy to tell him he was acting like a jerk, but there wasn’t anything left. “Yes, Dad.”

“There’s one other important thing the doc needs to do,” Hernandez said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

His face looked pained. “Pull up your pants.”

March’s expression matched Hernandez’s and she couldn’t help laughing. She tried to pull up her pants, as requested, but wobbled on her feet. That made her laugh harder.

“You look fucking drunk, Doc,” Sharp said, pushing her hands out of the way, putting his on her waistband and getting her fatigues all the way up.

She sat down and fastened her pants. “I wish I were drunk. That would be kinda nice about now.”

Sharp helped her back to her feet and guided her with a hand on her lower back toward the alcove they were going to use as a crash pad. She loved his hands. His big, warm, wonderful hands. If only he trusted her a little more. She lay down on the cool ground. “Night,” she said, closing her eyes.

* * *

Sharp stared down at Grace, who looked too pale in the washed-out light of the cave. He stepped away from the sleeping area and waved at his team to follow.

“She looks like shit,” Hernandez said without fanfare. “You sure she’s going to be okay?”

“I’m not sure about much right now,” Sharp said. “Other than the fact that we’ll be up shit creek if things don’t go like clockwork from now on.”

“Right.” March snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.”

“Exactly, so we need to be on top of our game.” He looked at each man for a moment. “Be ready to help however you can, don’t wait to be asked. We also need to be ready in case this place gets stormed by any unfriendlies.”

“I’ll work on a run-and-gun strategy if we have to get out of here fast,” March said.

“We could booby-trap the tunnel and the other exit,” Hernandez said.

“A firefight here would be...” Smoke let his voice trail off.

“Suicide?” Sharp asked.

“Likely,” Smoke replied.

“Let’s get it done, gentlemen,” Sharp ordered. “Stay frosty.”

His team dispersed while he went to have a chat with their CIA friend. Hopefully, Grace would get enough sleep to help her think with a clear head despite the infection in her leg.

He took his time with the trip through the tunnel, taking note of the condition of the stone all around, the items sitting on the ground lining the walls. They could certainly put more stuff in the way, make the tunnel look unused and impassable.

First line of defense.

He arrived at the ladder leading up to the wooden hatch, then slowly lifted it up so he could see if anyone was around.

No feet in evidence.

Sharp slipped through the hatch and lowered it silently. He stood and listened for voices, but didn’t hear anything, so he moved forward through the building to the next room. Again, it was empty.

The sound of men talking finally reached him just outside the main room with the seating area around the fire. CIA was speaking in Dari to someone, maybe the two teens he had working for him. He gave instructions for the arrival of the truck. Some of the men would be interested in buying a couple of the rusting hulks of vehicles for parts. They were to show them around and make sure they were given every courtesy, but they weren’t to be allowed to go into any other buildings.

Some of the men were coming to trade and negotiate for more costly items. They might stay a couple of days.

The boys affirmed their understanding of their instructions and went outside to watch for the truck.

CIA came around the corner and stopped dead when he saw Sharp waiting for him.

“One of my men asked about some plastic sheeting,” he said in an even tone to give no hint he’d overheard a thing. “Did you find any?”

“Yes, I put it over here.” CIA didn’t hesitate to lead the way.

He was a cool one, Sharp had to give him that.

Sharp grabbed the roll of plastic and gave CIA a nod. “Anything else I should know?”

“I believe your friends will be here in less than an hour. Some of them are pretending to be buyers while the others will join you in the cave.”

“Have you been made aware of what we’ll be doing down there?”

“Testing a cure for the anthrax?”

“Hopefully we’ll get to that point. First they have to do analysis, then they start looking for an antibiotic that will kill it. It’s precise, dangerous work that could kill us all. I just wonder if you should send your two young helpers home until we know what we’ve got.”

“If I send them away, the people who come through here might ask questions, become suspicious.”

Sharp thought about it for a minute, then the perfect reason occurred to him.

“Tell everyone the truth, sort of. Tell them you found out the strangers who arrived in the helicopter all died and you’re scared the boys were going to be next. Tell everyone to stay away for a couple of days until you know if you’re sick or not.”

“And the men arriving today?”

“If you wait to send the boys home until tomorrow morning, you can say one of your good customers got sick too.”

CIA thought about that for a few seconds before, finally, nodding. “Yes, that might work. The threat of illness is one thing most won’t ignore.”

“Good.” Sharp gave him a respectful nod and made his way to the hatch over the tunnel. His last view of the room above was of CIA staring after him with a thoughtful look on his face.

The team had already changed the topography of the tunnel. They’d moved in several long lengths of wood and other debris. It wasn’t finished, but it was looking promising. He entered the main cave and rested the plastic sheeting against the wall. The team had finished moving everything out of the way and the place looked ready to be occupied by whatever equipment Max brought.

He moved toward the hillside exit and liked what Smoke and March were doing with it. They’d added a few things to the inside side of the debris cover without changing anything else. One of the things they’d added was a long beam of wood they could use to bulldoze a quick route out.

Now all they needed was Max and his escort of a dozen Special Forces soldiers.

* * *

Grace woke to the sound of men.

Some were quietly talking, others were moving around. The sound of plastic wrinkling, a lot of plastic, stirred her interest. There was a reason why that was important.

Max was here.

Grace tried to sit up, but found it more difficult than it should have been. Cramped muscles shook, but she forced her way vertical, then slowly, with all the grace of a drunk elephant, got to her feet.

The room spun, so she braced her hand on the nearest wall and used it to keep herself upright. Though she’d just woken up, she felt exhausted, her brain running on half speed while her whole body ached. Even her breathing was labored.

Why was this so hard?

Her first step was mostly stumble, the second and third not much better. She stopped, gathered her strength and wits and carefully set her feet, one in front of the other.

When she emerged from the sleeping alcove, she glanced left, the tunnel looked dark, then right. Sharp stood about six feet from her position, his back to her, with Max facing him. The two men were talking, and Max looked way too serious.

Nothing new there, he always looked serious, even when most people were laughing. Always a little out of step in social situations was Max.

He saw her over Sharp’s shoulder and moved to go around the bigger soldier, but Sharp was faster, and blocked his path.

“Grace,” Max said, frowning and glancing at Sharp like he wasn’t sure why the other man would get in his way.

Sharp shifted slightly so he could look over his shoulder, yet still keep Max in his peripheral vision. “Doc, you okay?”

Grace tried to smile, but it took up energy she didn’t have and she gave up on it almost immediately. “Not really.” She looked at Max. “I think I need some antibiotics.”

Max’s nostrils flared, as if he could scent any sickness she might emote from where he stood. “Anthrax?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “I think this is your everyday average wound infection.”

“Let me see it,” he demanded in his normal bossy tone of voice, and took a step toward her.

Sharp did not get out of his way. “Just so we’re clear, Doctor,” he said low and slow. “Grace’s well-being is my number-one priority.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about,” Max said nodding. “I assure you, I will never do anything to jeopardize her health.” He paused as if carefully considering his next words. “Or happiness.”

She couldn’t see Sharp’s face, but some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Awesome.”

She frowned. She was missing something here, she just couldn’t figure out what. She did know she was going to have to have a talk with Sharp about his attitude.

“Grace,” Max said to her. “Where’s that wound?”

“On my leg.”

He shifted his attention to below her waist. “Take off your pants.”

* * *

Sharp wanted to wrap his hands around Max’s neck and choke the living shit out of him.
Did the guy have any common sense?
You didn’t order a woman in an enclosed space this small to take off her pants and expect to get no attention. Not when there were eighteen other guys in there with her.

It didn’t help that after about two incredulous seconds, Grace started to laugh, and kept on laughing until she fell on her ass.

“What’s so funny?” Max asked, tilting his head to look at her sideways, like she was some kind of problem he wanted to fix.

“Pants,” she said, continuing to laugh.

Max crouched next to her and stuck an electronic thermometer into her ear. It beeped and he didn’t look happy with the result.

“How high is it?” Sharp asked.

“One hundred and four.” Max put the thermometer into a pocket, grabbed Grace under her elbow and tried to haul her to her feet. “I need to look at that wound.”

Sharp strode over and scooped Grace off the ground, her laughter dissolving into giggling and hiccups. He went into the alcove and laid her on the makeshift bed she’d just been sleeping on and began working on her belt and the fastening on her pants. He managed to pull them down and reveal the bandaged wound.

Max cut it off with a pair of scissors he fished out of another pocket.

Red, puffy skin, even worse than before, with each stitch now weeping a yellowish discharge, made Sharp glad the doctor was here for the first time since he arrived.

Grace hadn’t warned him that Max had no bedside manner to speak of.

“
Fuck
,” the doctor said. “Who put these stitches in?” he demanded of no one in particular. “A baboon? A crackhead? A drunk?” Max stood and walked to the pile of equipment bags not far away in the main cave muttering, “Incompetent morons think they can just throw something together out of dental floss and duct tape and expect it to heal fine.”

He returned with an IV set, a bag of saline and another smaller bag of fluid. “I need something to hang these bags from,” Max told Sharp. “Preferably a couple of feet above her.”

Sharp had seen something that might work lying on the ground in the tunnel. A metal pole, one end twisted and bent. He grabbed it, and by the time he got back to the alcove, Max had the IV needle in the back of Grace’s hand and saline dripping through the line.

Sharp worked the unbent end into the ground and hung the saline from it. He gave it a shake. It seemed sturdy enough.

Max attached the smaller bag to Grace’s IV line and began feeding her the antibiotic.

“Do you have enough for her?” he asked her boss.

“Yes, this isn’t Cipro. What she’s got is a staph infection, not anthrax.” Max stood. “She’s going to need a few hours of sleep before the fever breaks. She looks like shit.”

“It’s been a shitty couple of days.”

Max snorted, but he seemed content enough.

“What do you need?” Sharp asked.

“I need to do my work uninterrupted. Can you ensure that?”

“I’ll coordinate with A-Team Commander Faulkner.”

“You’d be doing me a favor if you kept him on the other side of the room...cave from me.”

“Is there a problem?” The last thing this mission needed was people arguing with each other.

“Several. We’ve disagreed on nearly every decision since we left Bahrain. I can’t work with people who won’t listen to reason.”

“Whose reason?”