Jack lowered the rifle. It was going to be a long night for the soldiers. In the meantime, he had to plan his way to freedom. He was west of Kinshasa. Once in the city, he could find Jebediah and hide until they found a way to call for extraction. It sounded simple enough, but he had to work his way through the rebel encampments between Kinshasa and his present position. He wasn't going to kid himself; he was in bad shape. With so many open wounds, infection was a certainty rather than a possibility.
Weariness stole over him. Loneliness. He had chosen this life many years ago, the only choice he had at the time. Most of the time he never regretted it. But sometimes, when he sat thirty feet up in a tree with a rifle in his hands and death surrounding him, he wondered what it would be like to have a home and family. A woman. Laughter. He couldn't remember laughter, not even with Ken, and Ken could be amusing at the most inopportune times.
It was too late for him. He was rough and cold and any gentleness he might have been born with had been beat out of him long before he was a teenager. He looked at the people and the world around him stripped of beauty, seeing only the ugliness. It was kill or be killed in his world, and he was a survivor. He settled back and closed his eyes, needing to sleep for a few minutes.
He woke to the sounds of screams. The sound often haunted him in his nightmares, screams and gunfire, and the sight of blood running in dark pools. His hands curled around the rifle, finger stroking the trigger even before his eyes snapped open. Jack took a long, deep breath and looked around him. Flash fires came from the direction of the camp. Several of his traps had been sprung, and once again chaos reigned in the rebel encampment. Bullets spat into the jungle, zipped through leaves and tore bark from trees. The ghost in the rain forest had struck again and again, and fear had the rebels by the throats.
On and off over the next few hours, some hapless soldier tripped a trap, probably trying to get rid of it, and the camp would erupt into pandemonium, confusion, and panic nearly leading to rebellion. The soldiers wanted to head for the base camp and Biyoya refused, adamant that they would recover the prisoner. It was a tribute to his leadership--or cruelty--that he was able to rally them after each attack. There was no sleep for anyone, and the fog crept into the forest, blanketing the trees and mixing with the smoke from the continual fires.
Through the haze, Jack saw the camp on the move, abandoning their position. Biyoya screamed at his men and shook his fist at the camp, the first real indication that the long night had taken its toll on him. He'd lost more than half of his soldiers, and they were forced to group in a tight knot around him to protect him. They didn't look very happy, but they marched stoically through the forest on the muddy, torn road.
The rain began again, a steady drizzle that added to the stirring life of the jungle. Chimpanzees resumed their eating and birds flitted from tree to tree. Jack caught a glimpse of a boar moving through the brush. An hour went by, soaking his clothes and his skin. He never moved, waiting with the patience born of a lifetime of survival. Biyoya would have his best trackers and sharpshooters concealed, and they would wait for him to make a move. Major Biyoya didn't want to go back to General Ekabela and admit he'd lost skilled soldiers to his prisoner. His escaped prisoner. That kind of thing would lose the major his hard-earned reputation as a ruthless interrogator.
Jack's eyes were different, had always been different, and after Whitney had genetically enhanced him, his sight had become amazing. He didn't understand the workings, but he had the vision of an eagle. He didn't care how it was done, but he could see distances few others could conceive of. Out of the corner of his eye, movement to the left of his position caught his attention, the colors in bands of yellow and red. The sniper moved cautiously, keeping to the heavier foliage, so that Jack only caught glimpses of him. His spotter kept to the left, covering every step the sniper took as he examined the ground and surrounding trees.
Jack began a slow move into a better position, but halted when he heard a feminine scream in the distance followed closely by a child's frightened cry. Jack jerked his head up, his body stiffening, sweat breaking out on his brow and trickling down into his eyes. Did Biyoya know his trigger? His one weakness? That was impossible. His mouth went dry and his heart slammed in his chest. What did Biyoya know about him? Ken had been brutally tortured. There wasn't a square inch on his twin's body that hadn't been cut with tiny slices or stripped of skin. Could the interrogation have broken Ken?
Jack shook his head, denying the thought, and wiped the sweat from his face, the movement slow and careful. Ken would never betray him, tortured or not. The knowledge was certain, as much a part of him as breathing. However he'd gotten his information, Biyoya had set the perfect trap. Jack had to respond. His past, buried deep where he never looked, wouldn't let him walk away. Trap or not, he had to react, take countermeasures. His gut knotted up and his lungs burned for air. He swore under his breath and put his eye to the scope again, determined to take out Biyoya's backup.
The woman screamed again, this time the sound painful in the early morning dawn. The knots in his belly hardened into something scary. Yeah. Biyoya knew, had information on him. He was classified, and the information Biyoya possessed was in a classified file with a million red flags. So who the hell sold me out? Jack rubbed his eyes again to clear the sweat from them. Someone close to them set the brothers up. There was no other explanation.
The screams increased in strength and duration. The child sobbed, begging for mercy. Jack cursed and jerked his head up, furious with himself, with his inability to ignore it. "You're going to die here, Jack," he whispered aloud. "Because you're a damned fool." It didn't matter. He couldn't let it go. The past was bile in his throat, the door in his mind creaking open, the screams growing louder in his head.
He leapt from the safety of his tree to another one, using the canopy to travel, relying on his skin and clothing to camouflage him. He moved fast, following Biyoya's trail into the darkened interior. The ribbon of road flowed below him, hacked out of the thick vegetation, pitted, mined, and trampled. It looked more like a strip of mud than an actual road. He followed it, using the trees and vines, moving fast to catch up with the main body of soldiers.
He slipped into a tall tree right above the heads of the soldiers, settling in the foliage, lying flat along a branch. Somewhere behind him the sniper was coming, but Jack hadn't left a trail on the ground, and he would be difficult to spot blending in as he did with the leaves and bark. A woman lay on the ground, clothes torn, a soldier bending over her, kicking at her as she cried helplessly. A small boy of about ten struggled against the men shoving him back and forth between them. There was terror in the child's eyes.
There was no doubt in Jack's mind that Biyoya had constructed a trap, but the woman and the child were innocent victims. No one could fake that kind of terror. He swore over and over in his mind, trying to force himself to walk away. His first duty was to escape, but this--he couldn't leave the woman and child in the hands of a master torturer. He forced his mind to slow down to block out the cries and pleas.
Biyoya was the target and Jack had to find his place of concealment. Jack inhaled sharply, relying on his enhanced sense of smell. If his nose was right--and it nearly always was--the major crouched behind the jeep just to the left of the woman and boy, behind a wall of soldiers. Jack circled around and lifted his rifle, taking the bead on Biyoya, knowing the soldiers would be able to pinpoint his trajectory.
The bullet took Biyoya behind the neck. Even as he fell, Jack switched his target to the man kicking the woman and fired a second round. Calmly, he let go of the sniper rifle and took up the assault weapon, laying down a covering fire to give the woman and child a chance to escape. The soldiers fired back, bullets smacking into the trees around him. Jack knew they couldn't see him, but the muzzle flash and smoke were a dead giveaway. The woman caught her child to her and took off into the rain forest. Jack gave them as long a lead as he dared before moving, sliding back into heavier foliag
e and leaping up through the branches to use the canopy as a highway.
Ekabela was not going to let this go. Jack would have every rebel in the Congo chasing him all the way to Kinshasa.
CHAPTER 2
Briony Jenkins huddled in the darkest corner of the room, hands over her ears, eyes tightly closed, desperate to shut out the assault of thousands of people and their suffering. It had been such a mistake to take the job. She'd tried to tell Jebediah she couldn't do it, but it meant so much to the family--so much money the circus needed to stay solvent. How in the world was she ever going to perform? She could barely see with the pain shattering her head and with spots dancing in front of her eyes. There was no medicine she could take, no relief from the suffering and violence in this place.
"Briony?" Jebediah crouched beside her.
She shook her head, pressing her hands tighter over her ears, as if that would keep the thoughts and emotions from flooding her mind. "I told you I couldn't come to a place like this. I'm going to be sick again." She couldn't look at him, didn't dare open her eyes and see light. Her body shook uncontrollably, and tiny beads of sweat trickled down her face. "I'm getting another nosebleed."
Jebediah ran cold water on a cloth and handed it to his younger sister. "I had no idea it would be this bad. I thought you were doing all those exercises to help shield you from whatever it is that causes this."
Briony bit back her retort, clamping down hard on her temper. She was on psychic overload and it wouldn't help to get angry with Jebediah. Sure, her brothers and the other members of the circus had pressured her to come, but she could have refused. She should have refused. And she had told him it would be this bad. Jebediah and the others had simply chosen not to listen, because it wasn't in their best interests. She pressed her lips together and tried to breathe away the pain. Jebediah might as well have been stabbing ice picks through her head, but it wasn't his fault. He had no idea what psychic overload actually was--or felt like.
She remembered the many times her parents had tried in vain to comfort her when she huddled in a ball in a corner of a dark room and rocked herself back and forth, trying to ease the pain in her head. At times she could hear them discussing whether or not she had some form of autism. She needed to be alone. She didn't like close physical contact. They were so hurt by her behavior. Shattered. She still woke up with her mother's sobs ringing in her ears, and her voice asking why didn't Briony love them? Briony adored them; she just couldn't get too close without terrible repercussions, and there was no way to make them understand that the pain was real, not psychological.
She knew exactly how this scenario would play out. She'd gone through it a million times. "This is Africa, Jeb," she reminded him, "a country rampant with suffering. There's AIDS and death and rape and loss and it's swamping me."
His mouth tightened. He didn't like her to bring up anything even hinting of psychic overload. He didn't believe in it and, like her parents, thought it was a form of autism. He wanted her to fight through it and succeed in being "normal." "Can you stop the nosebleed?" He glanced at his watch. "I need you to be able to perform, Briony."
She wanted to throw something at him. "You say that before every performance and I always manage to make it. Go away, Jebediah. I need to be alone."
Her other brothers pressed closer. Tyrel, as always, looked sympathetic, Seth angry, and Ruben disgusted. Ruben always chose to bully her, thinking that would somehow make her shape up. Seth yelled at her, and Tyrel eventually would get annoyed with both of them and run them off. The ritual had been going on as long as she could remember, and not once had any of them understood that she couldn't help what was happening to her and that their presence, with their intense emotions, only made it worse.
"There's a rumor going around that the rebel leader's troops have been pouring into the city looking for someone," Tyrel said. "That's not a good sign, Jeb. You know they're going to look at all foreigners."
Jebediah swore. "If the rebel troops are coming into the city, the soldiers are going to be very nervous and trigger-happy. Why would they come into the city armed and ready for trouble?"
"Hell, I don't understand any of the politics here," Seth replied. "Everyone hates everyone and they want everyone else dead."
No one had to tell that to Briony. The heightened tension in the streets increased her inability to function. There was poverty and sickness and so many tragedies she wanted to crawl into a hole and muffle out all emotion, sound, and thought.
"Your skin is changing color again, Briony," Ruben said impatiently. "I told you to watch that around people."
"We aren't people; we're her family," Tyrel pointed out. "Leave her alone."
Ruben persisted. "Well, how can she do that? Like some lizard or something."
Briony sighed, pushing her pounding head into her hand. It felt like someone was hammering nails into her skull, but there was no pointing that out to anyone. The show had to go on--and Briony always, always, came through. It was a matter of pride with her. She was a Jenkins and whatever they did, she could do--and would do.
"Anyone could walk in here," Ruben defended.
"I locked the door," Seth said. "Snap out of it, Bri. I'm not kidding around with you. You're too old for panic attacks."
Briony had had enough. They had ten minutes until they were on, and if her brothers didn't leave, she wouldn't be able to pull herself together. "Get out." She bit the words out between her teeth, glaring at them.
Her four brothers looked startled. It was the first time she had ever interrupted the ritual. They were big men, muscular and well built with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She had wheat and platinum hair, dark, chocolate brown eyes, and was about five foot two. She looked nothing like them, and certainly didn't have their adventurous personalities--although she wished she did. She never really sassed them, although she considered herself pushed around a bit by them. At once all their faces dropped.
Ruben crouched down beside her. "I didn't mean to upset you, Briony. We can work it without you if you can't make it this time. It won't be easy, and you know the crowd isn't going to like it, but if you can't pull yourself together this time..."
Seth sucked in his breath. "Yeah, I could maybe take your spot, honey. Why don't you try to go to bed? Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."
"We can call for a doctor," Tyrel offered. "Your doctor has always flown out within an hour of a call."
Briony would have laughed if her head wasn't splitting apart. "I've never missed a performance. Just give me a little alone time and I'll be fine."
Jebediah waved the others out of the room and sank down beside her, reaching out a hand to push back her thick mop of blond hair. "We need you, honey, I won't lie to you, but I'll call the doc if you think you're going to need him. We have several performances to do, and if the rebels are really sneaking into the city, the emotions are only going to get worse."
It was such a concession for Jebediah to admit that anything would make her condition worse. "I don't like the doctor." Briony rubbed her hand over her face. "He stares at me like I'm an insect under a microscope. There's something not right about him."
Jebediah sighed and sank back on his heels. "You're being paranoid again."
"Am I? Why is it the rest of you can go to any doctor you choose, but I have to have a specific doctor, one that flies halfway around the world to treat me?"
"Because you're special and Mom and Dad promised. I keep their promises and so should you."
"I'm all grown up." When he didn't respond, she let her breath out slowly. "I'm serious, Jeb, just give me some space. I can beat this." She wasn't certain this time. It was the worst she'd ever been, other than when she was a child, unable to cope with or understand what was happening to her. Feeling desperate, Briony closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly and evenly, looking for that calm, tranquil spot inside of herself.
She was barely aware of her oldest brother leaving, concentrating instead on putting a
way the emotions of the people in the city, of the soldiers and their guns and dark deeds, of the hatred and fear battering at her mind. Once she was calm enough, she dealt with the ever-present fear of high places. If there was one person in the world who shouldn't be doing trapeze or high-wire acts, it was Briony.
"Let's do it," Seth called from outside the door.
Briony stood, looked in the mirror to make certain there was no blood on her face and that she could manage a high-wattage smile, and then ran out to join her brothers. The audience had swelled to immense proportions. She didn't look at them, concentrating on the beat of the music. They used a blend of popular African and Cuban music to do their performance, a dangerous trapeze act.
Briony completed a quadruple somersault; Jebediah caught her and sent her flying out toward the taut high wire, where she was caught by Tyrel and swung up onto the wire. Seth and Ruben continued the flying act while she ran across the wire without a pole, and as Ruben flew back toward Seth, she crossed him in the air, diving to Jebediah through a ring of fire Tyrel held. It was a wild, frightening act, done with exact precision and timing, and at least two of them flying in the air at all times.
No one knew why Briony had such incredible balance or strength, but to the act, it was a huge boon, drawing thousands to their performances. It helped that her brothers were handsome and incredible athletes. No one had an act like theirs, as daring and complicated and showy. Briony thought the hip-hop beat and the drums only added to the excitement of the show. Adrenaline poured through her body as she flew through the sky, concentrating on her mark, listening for her brother's command. He caught her and sent her spinning back through the air. She tucked and jackknifed, turning as she came out of it, to reach with her hands and connect with Tyrel.