“That son of a bitch Whitney did it, didn’t he?” Draden demanded after he’d greeted his fellow GhostWalkers. Trap and Wyatt looked as if they might fall on their faces. The lab was already being broken
down and all evidence of the hemorrhagic virus and the antibodies produced in Draden’s and Shylah’s blood was long gone from Indonesia, flown to the United States along with the computer containing the three scientists’ work.
“He did,” Trap said tiredly. “We just have to be happy knowing we saved the two of you.”
Shylah’s lips quirked, remembering that Joe had said they’d fought the virus off alone and Trap hadn’t saved them.
“You happy?” Draden demanded.
“It does overshadow the effects of success when we know we were maneuvered into doing exactly what that bastard wanted.”
“I detest that Whitney managed to get the vaccine, which is probably what he was looking to do all along,” Wyatt agreed. “It wasn’t hard to figure out that his three little puppets developed a hemorrhagic virus at his command after figuring out that Shylah’s immune system was so strong that she could fight off anything. He wanted a vaccine. Now he’s got the biological weapon he was looking for.”
“Wait.” Shylah frowned at them. “Whitney’s not in good standing with the government. He’s in hiding. He couldn’t have really orchestrated all of this. He doesn’t have that kind of power outside his compounds—does he?” She looked to Draden expectantly.
“Of course he orchestrated this,” Trap said. “Whitney has a lot of friends who believe in what he’s doing. He creates supersoldiers for cannon fodder and GhostWalkers to send in to do what no one else can do.”
Trap sounded as tired as he looked. He was swaying with weariness, his skin color nearly gray, alarming Draden. He glanced at Gino, Diego and Wyatt. They all shrugged. There was no stopping Trap, and he’d been determined that he wasn’t going to lose Shylah or Draden.
“Thanks again, Trap. I know you haven’t gotten much sleep, but the fact that you hung in there with me means the world.”
Emotion moved on Trap’s face and centered in his eyes. He blinked, and it was gone. “It’s not like I have a lot of friends, Draden. Not losing even one of them.” Trap ran both hands through his hair. “I’m going home and getting my woman. She’s pissed at me, and I don’t like her upset.”
“You don’t like her being away from you,” Draden pointed out.
“We’re all going home,” Gino stated. “They were good to us here and happy that we helped break the MSS. Some of us are going into Palembang for a celebration before we take off. Trap will have the jet on standby for us.”
“Nice,” Draden said. He didn’t commit to a celebration. Clearly, the team thought someone was listening in on their conversation.
At this point, anyone could be an enemy. Whitney certainly; now that he had what he wanted, he didn’t really need Shylah back, despite what a valuable asset she’d been. The Indonesians? Not enemies, but they probably wanted a pint or two of blood from either Shylah or Draden. The WHO, the CDC, every health organization around the world would be very interested in blood from the two survivors—the only known survivors.
Joe slipped into the room and nodded. They were ready to escape into the city so Shylah could do her thing and find the creators of the virus.
A port city on the Musi River, Palembang was not only the oldest municipality in Sumatra, it was also was the second largest. The river was spanned by the Ampera Bridge. Currently painted red, the vertical lift bridge was a landmark of the city, connecting two regions of Palembang. No longer opening for ships to pass, the bridge now overlooked the floating markets and lines of houses built on stilts lining the river.
Draden shadowed Shylah through the streets as she maneuvered her way easily through the tourist areas to get to the heart of the city where the locals lived, worked and played. He could barely take his eyes off of her as she threaded her way through the people, smiling at them, open, leaning down to listen to older women or young children as they volunteered information without even realizing they were doing it.
She managed to look as though she wasn’t a tourist, but a woman who had chosen the city as her home and knew it intimately. He knew that was one of her gifts—blending seamlessly in, looking as if she belonged, her sunny nature inviting others to talk to her. He was watching a master at work and recognized it. He found he was inexplicably proud of her, as if her accomplishments were his own. He could see why Whitney considered her one of the best trackers on the planet.
He stayed close but tried not to be seen if at all possible. His looks, usually an asset, were just the opposite, drawing attention he didn’t want. His body was intimidating, all muscle, a predator moving among sheep, and it showed. She could get far more information without him. She knew the local customs and dressed accordingly. She also bargained for everything.
In the morning she’d gotten them some amazing fruit and pancakes. She seemed obsessed with pancakes, and he liked watching her eat them. She didn’t hold back at all from showing her enjoyment. Her laughter rang out often and she was so quirky with her dancing eyebrows and other expressions that she got the most stoic individual to laugh with her.
Draden found himself actually fantasizing about having a little boy with curls in his hair and freckles sprinkled across his nose, holding her hand and laughing with the men and women she approached to ask questions. There were always children ringing her, as if she were the center of the universe, and for him, she had rapidly become just that.
She moved from group to group easily. He never stepped too close. He was going to be remembered if anyone interacted with him. He was a big man and he couldn’t do much about his looks unless he wanted to wear a disguise. She’d laughed about that and dismissed the idea out of hand, telling him not to be so vain. It took him several hours of watching her as they moved deeper and deeper into the underbelly of Palembang to realize she had some gift that prevented others from describing her. She was using that same gift to shield him as well.
The moment Draden realized she had to be using some psychic ability, he did his best to remain in the shadows. Using any gift for a prolonged length of time took its toll. Just like the body of a runner who runs miles and is in top shape, but at some point becomes exhausted. In this case, the brain did.
He’d never watched someone like Shylah work before and it was very intriguing, almost as if she were following a psychic footprint rather than a human one. She seemed to follow a path instinctively, skipping groups of people to hone in on some lone man rocking himself back and forth beside a gated wall. From there she went deeper into the city, away from all tourist areas, into places that others might fear.
She obviously had the scent of her prey and was running them down. The three scientists should have been long gone from Sumatra, but while every law enforcement agency was looking outside of the country, she was moving on a sure, set path, totally believing she could find them, even though she was hunting much later than the others.
Night fell as they continued slipping in and out of doorways and alleyways. Shylah offered money in some cases and stood talking for longer periods of times with the informant. More often, she smiled, shook her head and thanked whomever she spoke with politely. Watching faces, more than once, his hand slipped to his knife. She had money and appeared to be a woman alone asking questions in the wrong places. She looked as if she might be easy to rob.
This looks like a good bet. Three men rented a small apartment just south of here a few blocks. They were sweaty, on edge and according to my man, Bakti, here, they were up to no good. One, clearly Agus Orucov, did all the negotiations to get the apartment for a week.
A week? Draden thought that over. Why had they left the forest just to hide out in Palembang for another week? How long specifically? Seven days? Six? If it’s a week, Shylah, we’re right behind them. He couldn’t believe that. Why would they stay in Indonesia? They had to know everyone was looking for them. The longer they remained, the more news spread of who they were. What would be their motivation? Ask him if they had visitors.
Shylah asked another set of questions. Bakti shrugged noncommittedly. Shylah o
ffered more cash. He shook his head. She added a few more bills. Bakti still refused to cooperate. She was the one to shrug and start to put the money away. Bakti reached out and scooped it from her hand. There was another exchange. She laughed, not holding the slightest grudge against the man for his bargaining. The dim light spilling from the open door shone on Shylah. Draden could barely keep his eyes off her. Indonesia was a predominantly Muslim community. Women wore dresses quite a bit and covered their hair with loose scarves. Shylah had chosen to wear slim jeans that rode low on her hips and moved with her, allowing her to run or fight quickly. Her tank top was white cotton to protect against the heat, but she also wore a beautiful scarf that went over her head and shoulders to wrap around her upper arms like sleeves. The scarf was made by a local woman and it was bright turquoise and beautiful. The swath of blue wrapped so artfully around her head and shoulders, it gave her an exotic look that called to him.
They were waiting for Montgomery. He came looking for them. I know by his description. Bakti and the others didn’t like him and called him inventive names. He was very arrogant but gave them lots of money. Bakti wanted more money at that point in our conversation and was very annoyed when I refused. It appears Whitney’s three clowns have still been trying to come up with a vaccine because they asked for a number of items Bakti found suspicious.
Draden didn’t like the sound of any of it. Can we go there?
He’s going to take me there now. More money exchanged hands at that point, and Shylah stepped back to allow Bakti to lead her through the narrow, twisting alley toward the apartment the three men had rented.
I don’t trust this man for one moment. He’s been cooperative, and I think he’s telling the truth, that the Williams brothers and Orucov rented an apartment there for a week, but he wants money and I have it. He’s probably got a bit of backup somewhere. He doesn’t think they’ll have trouble robbing me, because I’m a woman. I’m actually a little surprised that he hasn’t tried to rob me on his own, but I think there’s something more here. I’m getting the vibe that he knows Orucov, and I’m coming to believe that Orucov came here to this place specifically for Bakti to help him.