Special Forces Rendezvous
He finished the words she couldn’t seem to get out.
“And this time we won’t come out of it alive.”
* * *
“I need coffee.” With a weary exhalation, Julia buckled her seat belt and glanced over at Sebastian, whose discontented demeanor most certainly matched her own.
She hadn’t gleaned an ounce of comfort from Frank’s findings. This virus was even more dangerous than she could’ve ever dreamed. Cell degeneration within twenty-four hours of infection? Death after twenty-eight hours? It was downright petrifying, especially if human subjects were to be affected in the same way as the mice, which Frank believed was more than likely.
“Should we hit that coffee shop on the other side of campus?” Sebastian suggested in response to her declaration.
“Please,” she said gratefully.
A few minutes later, he parked in front of the bustling café, illegally and without apology.
“I’ll risk the ticket as long as I get a caffeine fix,” he explained when he saw Julia’s amused look. “And food. I could definitely go for some food.”
They strode into the café, and Julia inhaled the intoxicating aroma of ground coffee beans, baked goods and fresh fruit. The loud whirring of a blender cut through the chatter in the room as the barista prepared a fruit smoothie for a waiting customer.
“What can I get you?” the harried-looking young woman asked as she slapped a lid on the smoothie and handed it to the shaggy-haired student at the counter.
They ordered two turkey clubs, a tray of banana muffins and two large coffees, then drifted to the end of the counter so Julia could dump a couple of sugars and a splash of milk into her tall foam cup.
As they waited for their food, she absentmindedly glanced at the television mounted on the wall in front of her. It was turned on to CNN, and a news report on the rising global oil prices blared out of the speakers. Indifferent, she was about to turn away when a very familiar image suddenly appeared on the screen.
“Sebastian,” she hissed, but she didn’t need to alert him—his gaze was focused on the same thing.
A photograph of the Doctors International clinic in Valero filled the screen, before it split off to show a reporter standing live in front of the burned ruins of the building.
“...believed to be the actions of a South American revolutionary group,” the woman was reporting. “The United Liberty Fighters have been responsible for countless fires, robberies and terrorist attacks over the past decade. Recently, the group lost its leader in a military ambush that devastated one of the ULF’s base camps. A new leader has since taken the helm, Javier Luego, who has denied the ULF’s involvement in this latest attack.”
Julia clenched her teeth. Of course Luego denied it—he wasn’t responsible for the fire and murders of her coworkers. Sebastian had been right, though. The military was blaming everything on the rebels.
“...among the victims, two American doctors. Dr. Marcus Freeman—” a photo of the African-American surgeon flashed on the screen “—and Dr. Julia Davenport.”
She sucked in a breath as her own face gazed back at her.
“Freeman and Davenport were identified using dental records, due to the state of the remains—”
“Your sandwiches are ready!” the guy at the counter called.
Before she could blink, Sebastian had grabbed the bag containing their food and was practically dragging her to the door. “Get in the car,” he said briskly.
Julia slid into the passenger seat without question, gripping her coffee cup with both hands because she desperately needed something to hold on to. Shock continued to course through her veins, making it difficult to formulate any coherent thoughts.
“They’re saying they found my remains,” she blurted out, shaking her head in astonishment. “They’re saying I’m dead.”
Sebastian’s profile revealed his calm, unfazed features. “It’s to their advantage, Doc. That way, when they track you down and kill you, they won’t need to conjure up some BS story because everyone already thinks you died in a fire.”
She swallowed her rising anger. “This is insane. How can these people just—” A thought struck her. “My mother! Oh, God, they probably contacted my mother and told her about the fire. I have to call her and—”
“You can’t,” he interrupted. “That’s what they’re hoping you’ll do. Mark my words, Julia, your mother is being watched. Her phones are tapped, her internet and financial activities are being monitored. They’re waiting for you to make contact.”
“Do you think they know I’m in the States?”
“I’m thinking no, but we can’t rule anything out. That’s why we need to lay low. Now that your picture is all over the news, you can’t risk being out in the open.” His strong jaw went rigid. “Christ. We really need to figure out our next move, Doc.”
She wholeheartedly agreed, but each time she tried to think of what the next logical step ought to be, her mind drew a blank. They couldn’t involve anyone in the government, not until they determined who could be trusted. They couldn’t involve the military for the same reason.
“What about the media?” she suggested. “We can tell them everything, and if the people after us try to make us look like a bunch of nut jobs, we give every last member of the press a sample of the virus.”
“That’s a possibility, except I don’t know how I feel about letting this water sample out of our hands. If the wrong person gets a hold of it...”
“You’re right.” She pursed her lips. “But I still say we blow this conspiracy right open. If we make enough noise, our pursuers will have a hell of a time trying to shut us up. And if we wind up dead, they’ll only be proving us right.”
“If we raise a fuss about this, they won’t kill us,” Sebastian agreed. He laughed dryly. “But they’ll lock us up, either in prison or at some sanitarium, claiming we’re criminals or psychotic. And remember, these people have the clout to do that.”
Strands of frustration tangled in her insides, congealing into hard knots that made her stomach hurt. By the time they got back to the hotel and strode into their room, her appetite was nonexistent and the smell of food wafting from their takeout bag made her nauseous.
She joined Sebastian at the small table under the window and flopped down on one of the cushioned chairs, but when he handed her the turkey sandwich, she simply shook her head. “I can’t eat right now.” When he frowned, she had to smile. “I’ll eat it later, I promise.”
Sebastian, on the other hand, seemed to have no problems with his appetite. He polished off his sandwich in a matter of minutes, then devoured three muffins before calling it quits and reaching for his coffee. She tracked the movements of his strong, callused hands as he wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, as he brought his cup to his sensual lips, as his corded throat worked to swallow his coffee.
He was so unbelievably attractive. So masculine. So magnetic. Everything about this man intrigued her—his messy dark blond hair, his seductive gray eyes, his perpetual five o’clock. She could look at that sexy, rugged face for hours.
Catching her staring, Sebastian’s lips quirked in a grin. “Everything all right?”
“Just thinking about how sexy you are,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks go hot. “And I’m also wondering why nothing seems to faze you.”
“I’m very easygoing,” he said with a shrug.
Something about his tone brought a tug of suspicion. “Are you? Are you really easygoing, Sebastian, or...or are you just really good at pretending nothing bothers you?”
For one brief second he looked startled, but then he offered another shrug accompanied by a careless chuckle. “I’m not that good of an actor, Doc.”
Yes, you are.
For the first time since they’d met, Julia glimpsed a chink in his laidback armor. It was a facade. A pretense. Sebastian Stone was hiding a whole lot of pain inside that big, powerful body of his.
“Why did you enlist in the
army?” she heard herself ask.
He looked surprised by the swift change of subject. “For the same reason you became a doctor—to follow in my dad’s footsteps and make him proud.”
“That’s not the only reason I went into medicine. I also wanted to save lives, to make a difference.”
“So did I.” A faraway note entered his deep voice. “And I wanted to be a hero. Just once, I wanted to feel like I had something worthwhile to offer people.”
An internal alarm dinged in her head. “What made you think you didn’t?”
His expression instantly grew shuttered. “I just never felt very heroic growing up. My dad, he died a hero. Died serving his country. He was a hero in the military community, well-liked, respected. You should have seen the people who showed up for his funeral—he had friends in high places, that’s for sure.”
“Aside from being a hero, what was he like?”
“Strict. Cold at times. Demanded excellence. No tolerance for error. If you didn’t do something right the first time, he got pissed, which was ironic because one of his favorite phrases was ‘practice makes perfect’ yet requiring practice implies that you won’t knock a task out of the park the very first try. So then why get mad when he takes me shooting for the first time and I can’t hit the damn target right away?” Sebastian shook his head, mystified. “The man was hard to understand sometimes.”
“Parents usually are.” Julia sighed. “I still don’t get my mother, and I’ve had thirty years to try and figure her out.”
Much to her disappointment, the conversation came to an end when Sebastian’s phone rang. That he put the call on speakerphone spoke volumes about his trust in her, and warmth suffused Julia’s body.
“What’s up, Tate?” Sebastian asked without delay.
“Are you near a TV?”
“Yeah, and I think I know what you’re going to say. We already saw it on CNN. They’re blaming the fire on the rebels, just like we—”
“This isn’t about the fire,” Tate interrupted. “Turn on the television. Any frickin’ channel. Call me back after.”
Julia and Sebastian exchanged baffled looks. An eddy of uneasiness swirled in her belly as Sebastian grabbed the remote and pointed it at the TV. The screen came to life a moment later, and like Tate had said, it didn’t matter which channel they chose—seemed like every regularly scheduled program had been preempted for this late-breaking live coverage.
The aerial shot showed unfamiliar streets littered with dozens of ambulances, police cruisers and fire trucks, but it wasn’t until Julia glimpsed a van bearing the logo of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that she truly understood what had happened. People in full hazmat suits swarmed the area, while the journalist reporting from a helicopter hypothesized about what was occurring down below.
At the bottom of the screen, a stream of text moved in a horizontal scroll. With wide eyes, Julia read the words as they flashed by, unable to believe what she was reading.
More than seven hundred dead. Outbreak in Dixie, New York. Small town’s entire population discovered dead mere hours ago.
Gaping, she turned to Sebastian. “Oh, my God. Are you seeing this?”
He looked as nauseous as she felt. “I’m seeing it.” Then he changed the channel, seeking out more details.
Dixie was a tiny town in upstate New York with a population of eleven hundred citizens. Seven hundred or so of those citizens were now dead—some had been discovered in their homes, some had suffered seizures and collapses outside or in public, some had managed to get to a hospital before succumbing to their illness. The whole town had been quarantined, and it seemed like every agency known to man had sent agents to Dixie.
“At the moment, we have no idea whether this disease is contagious or if it is airborne,” a male reporter said urgently. “As you can see, protective gear is being utilized, which indicates that whatever killed the citizens of Dixie can potentially spread through the air.” The Asian man suddenly touched his earpiece. “Wait a minute, folks, we’re receiving an update. Thirty-eight more deaths have been reported. And at current count, there are one hundred and sixty-four people presently unaffected by the illness.”
The shot cut back to the studio, where a pair of concerned-looking anchors sat behind a bright blue desk. “Bill, can you tell us anything more about this disease?”
“We don’t know much else, Marie. Attempts have been made to contact the CDC, as well as the World Health Organization, but they haven’t released any more details.”
Julia’s entire body felt numb. Cold. Winded. More than seven hundred people dead. Just like those lab mice.
“We have to turn ourselves in,” she blurted out.
Sebastian’s head jerked over in shock. “What are you talking about, Doc?”
“They don’t know anything about this virus, Sebastian. But we do. We know exactly what it does, exactly how it’s transmitted. We have to contact the CDC, just like Frank said.”
Indecision flickered in his gray eyes. “We need to think about this. We can’t just—”
The blond news anchor on the screen interrupted Sebastian. “There has been a new development!” she announced. “A terrorist group has just taken responsibility for the death toll in Dixie, New York! This is a terrorist attack! I repeat, the unprecedented events we have been reporting on for the last hour is a result of a terrorist attack.”
Chapter 11
Julia’s mouth fell open. After one speechless moment, she grabbed the remote from Sebastian’s hand and turned up the volume.
“The network just received a video from the United Liberty Fighters, a revolutionary group based in the South American island nation of San Marquez,” the blond reporter continued. “Just minutes ago, this network as well as several others received a video from what is believed to be a militant faction of the ULF. They claim to have splintered from their counterparts and are taking full responsibility for the deaths in Dixie, New York.”
“What the hell is going on?” Sebastian burst out, raking a hand through his hair. “How did any member of the freaking ULF get their hands on this virus?”
Julia had no answer for that. She was glued to the screen, growing more and more alarmed by the second.
“The tape is currently being edited by our producers, as it contains content that may not be suitable for all audiences,” the anchor was saying.
Sebastian quickly changed the channel, flipping until he found a network that was speedier with the airing of that tape. A man’s fuming, red face filled the screen, his swarthy skin tone hinting at South American descent. He was ranting and raving, spittle flying into the lens as he spoke so fast that it was hard to keep up. A minute in, the anchors identified him as Raoul Escobar, the unofficial leader of the splinter group. His anti-American spiel lasted for several minutes before he finally got to the heart of the matter.
“We know what you’ve been doing in our country and we do not approve of your unspeakable treatment of our people.” Escobar’s accented voice trembled with fury. “You enjoy killing our people with your disease? We will take that disease and kill your people with it.”
Horror smashed into Julia’s chest like a baseball bat.
“Christ,” Sebastian muttered. “They know the virus was engineered in the States.”
“And now they’re using it against us,” she breathed.
Shock, fear and terror vied for her attention, each one coursing through her bloodstream until her entire body felt weak and her head grew foggy. The television continued to blare out bits and pieces of the terrorist tape, while updates buzzed along the bottom of the screen.
“We do not ask for much,” Escobar was saying, bitterness oozing from his tone. “Our fellow soldiers have been attempting to achieve this for many years, but we are not pleased with Luego’s slow-moving efforts. We have decided to speed up the process.”
Julia grew sick to her stomach as she waited for Escobar to go on, but the terrorist leader had d
ecided to pause for dramatic effect. His bushy black mustache twitched as a frown pinched his lips, and those dark furious eyes continued to blaze.
“Your little town of Dixie was a warning shot,” he announced. A despicable smirk lifted his mouth. “Your government wiped out two of our villages. We were generous—we wiped out only one of yours. Now it is time to show your gratitude.”
He went quiet again, making Julia want to hit something. “Come on, you psycho, tell us what you want,” she snapped.
Escobar cleared his throat. The quality of the digital tape was surprisingly excellent, showing every hard line in his angular face as he revealed his intentions.
“We have one demand: remove all American influence from our country—social, economic, military, all influences. Remove your troops from our capital city of Merido and its surrounding areas, as well as the doctors and aid workers who take it upon themselves to poison our people. Our nation does not want your interference. We do not welcome any foreign interference. All foreign-born citizens will be expelled from San Marquez when we come to power. Our nation will be purified, once and for all.”
Julia’s jaw dropped. The whole purification speech sounded a lot like the mentality of Nazi Germany, bringing another rush of horror to her body.
“Holy hell, these people are nuts,” she said.
Sebastian’s features hardened. “Not nuts. Just extreme nationalists with unrealistic expectations.”
Unrealistic proved to be prophetic when Escobar fixed a deadly look at the lens and said, “You have one week to remove your presence from our country.”
“One week?” Julia exclaimed. “That’s impossible. They can’t possibly hope to remove all traces of America from the economy. Our countries are heavily involved in trade.”
“As a sign of acceptance to this agreement, you have seventy-two hours to remove your military forces from San Marquez,” Escobar finished. “If you do not, we will release the Meridian virus into the water supply of a major U.S. city.”