Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (43 page)

Richard sat up and looked at her. He untied their bindings and then he saw the blood on the wood beneath her leg and the stained make-do dressing around her thigh. The medic busied himself with something more permanent. “What the hell’s going on?” Richard slurred.

“Just relax,” said the medic. He looked into Richard’s eyes, held a small circular device against the inside of his wrist, checked some readings on his monitor and then scrambled for something in his green holdall. “You will be fine,” he said reassuringly. “Here. Take these two tablets. Swallow them whole; it will clear your head.” He looked up at his colleague, who also wore a green cotton two-piece suit, and gestured with his head towards the bathroom. “Glass of water, maybe, and one for the lady.”

Members of the SWAT team pulled Springer and Rickenbach to their feet. A couch was pulled clear and the men pushed down onto it, where they sat with two rifle barrels pointing at them. Smith sat on the floor with his head between his knees, trying to recover. “I’ll have two of those!” he growled.

After swallowing the tablets, Richard climbed to his feet to make room for the medic. Suddenly the monotonous bleeping sound from the monitor quickened. Naomi’s eyes flickered momentarily and then closed. She mumbled something and then her head fell limply to the side.

“What’s wrong?” Richard snapped. Crouching, he felt her forehead.

The medic immediately turned his attention to the machine’s display. “Her heart rate is still dropping. It’s the blood loss. I think she is going into shock,” he said. “I need to find out her blood group.” He quickly wiped a glass slide across Naomi’s blood-soaked bandage and slipped it into a recess in the side of the monitor’s plastic body. It took only a few seconds for the display to register a number of readings. “Shit!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “It’s the rarest blood group for transfusions – type O negative. I’m not carrying any!”

“I’m O negative,” responded Richard immediately, and he withdrew a chain with his dog-tag attached from beneath his shirt and showed it to the medic.

The man looked surprised. “But there’s another complication,” he said, looking back at the display. “Analysis has revealed her type as being Duffy negative. Is this woman of African origin?”

Richard nodded. “Yes, on her mother’s side,” he confirmed.

“And you?”

“I’m English, as far back as I know.”

“Then we are likely to do more harm than good. I’ll need to run a blood chemistry check first – for compatibility. Roll up your sleeve,” ordered the medic.

When the results were displayed, the medic looked even more surprised. “Sure you two aren’t related?” he asked, looking back at Richard.

“Absolutely not!”

The medic shrugged as he hastily prepared some equipment. “You have highly compatible blood chemistry; your antigenic substances are remarkably similar: proteins . . . glycoproteins . . . glycolipids . . . Looks like someone is smiling on her from above,” he commented. “Quickly, over here! I’ll take half a litre. I have a tonic that will help you regain the loss within a few hours.”

Smith stood to leave. With a tube in his arm, Richard looked up at him from the couch; he knew exactly what Smith had done for him and he nodded his thanks and gave him a thumbs-up. Smith replied with a nonchalant salute. Oscar Perram put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and looked at Rothschild. “It’s been a memorable experience,” he said quietly. “Now, we’d like to get that flight back to the States.”

Springer and Rickenbach seemed unable to speak. Their mouths opened and they tried, but no words came out – just streams of sounds. They appeared oblivious to their surroundings and their expressions were gormless. Clearly they didn’t know each other or where they were. The second paramedic asked Rickenbach a question, but he had no answer. In fact he had no response at all; he just sat aimlessly taking in his surroundings. With simple acknowledgement of the movement around him, he raised his hand and pointed. Occasionally he gurgled something – like a baby would, sitting in a cot.

CHAPTER 24

Windfall

“You look bloody awful and I mean it,” Rothschild said, as he watched Richard tuck into a breakfast of bacon, egg and toast.

“Thank you, Peter,” responded Richard with a brief smile as he took another mouthful.

“You are a liability as a field agent – totally unpredictable. No discipline whatsoever. I simply don’t know what you are going to get yourself into next.”

“Thank you, Peter, most reassuring.”

“Well, did you learn anything from that escapade? I hope so, it nearly cost you your life . . . and Madame Vallogia’s?” Rothschild rested his elbows on the kitchen table and shook his head.

Richard looked up. His hair was still wet from his shower and he hadn’t brushed it yet. He glared back at Rothschild momentarily and then glanced across the kitchen at the lady wearing a blue dress and a white apron who was washing dishes at the sink. “Nothing usable at the moment, as it happens.”

“I see. So again, you put people’s lives at risk and nothing to show for it – I’m beginning to despair.” Rothschild sat back in the wooden chair and sighed.

Richard nodded enthusiastically as the lady turned and pointed towards the toaster. Drying her hands, she looked impressed at the quantity Richard was able to consume.

“How is Naomi?” Richard asked nonchalantly.

“We have a doctor in the house and a nurse. Fortunately the sublet passed through her leg. She will stay in bed for a day or two at least. I’ve ordered provisions for a week and domestic staff. She is welcome to stay here until she feels well enough to go home. With all the excitement outside, this place is no longer suitable for our purposes anyway. I have requested a flight to Cairo for her and Mr Makkoum – that’s what she wants. The least we can do, considering the circumstances.”

Richard nodded and continued eating.

“How this safe house was compromised in the first place, God only knows.” Rothschild looked unimpressed. “Abbey is looking into it as a matter of priority,” he continued.

“You still think it’s the Americans?”

“Can’t be anyone else, to my mind.”

“And the Moon, what’s going on there?”

“The Lunar Senate is deeply suspicious of the ISSF and its motives – it’s difficult to get information.”

Richard finished his plateful. He looked straight-faced at Rothschild. “The Senate must know that there’s a problem with SERON, Peter. That’s why they won’t be specific about their situation. They are afraid that information could be leaked that will undermine their defence systems. You can’t blame them.”

“That’s feasible I suppose.”

Richard showed his gratitude for the large mug of tea that arrived, with a wide smile. He looked around the spacious kitchen and examined the long pine table and the marks on its surface. “Nice place,” he said.

“Listen. We have to get you back to Andromeda as soon as possible. There’s hell to pay as it is – bordering on diplomatic confrontation, in fact. We can only assume that they have very serious security problems. Why else a request for military help? Sentinel Wing’s ‘A Flight’ at the Cape has been put on full alert. If required, their Delta Class fighters could be on station in four hours.”

“You’re not aware of the problem at all?”

Rothschild shook his head. “Rachel’s called several times. Of course, I’ve told her that you are on confidential duties, but you are well. She doesn’t know any specifics, but she told me that there is a feeling of trepidation in Andromeda – it’s insidious. There have already been a number of deaths – in research outposts on the outer rim . . . and some of their early warning equipment is down.”

“You think sabotage?”

“The Federation has been speculating for days.”

Richard nodded his understanding. “Then I had better get back, pronto.”

“Andromeda has put a ship at your disposal. It’s parked at the Spaceport and its pilot is waiting for you.” Rothschild checked his watch. “It’s almost three. I suggest you get a few hours sleep. I’ll arrange a wake-up call for you at seven and a take-off at eight-thirty. There’s a bedroom for you upstairs.”

Richard nodded again. “What about the Icarus Protocol . . . the incoming?”

“Panic’s over. The object has been identified as the
Enigma
.”

“The
Enigma
!”

“The on-board computer has brought her back; all fifty-three billion world dollars of her – good news there at least.”

“When . . . when does she arrive?”

“The last update, when I left the office yesterday evening, was the day after tomorrow. She is expected to enter a prescribed orbit at 13:00 GMT. She passed Mars and slowed down considerably. Professor Nieve told me that EMILY, the computer system, will be planning the arrival carefully. By approaching within orthodox parameters and on an approved course, she knows that she cannot be identified as a threat and therefore will not initiate defensive measures – very clever, don’t you think?”

“You know my thoughts on computer systems that exceed Level Seven on the Illinois scale . . . I don’t trust them – never have and never will. And that goes for Thomas, too. You can have him back. Thanks, but no thanks!”

“Yes, well . . . grateful as always, Richard.” Rothschild stood to leave. “Oh, by the way, there
is
one other thing. Rachel forwarded an eDiction from Commander Race; it arrived at your home. She thought it might be important and forwarded it to me and asked me to pass it on.”

“You’ve got it on your telephone?”

Rothschild nodded. “I can forward it.”

“Let me have your phone, Peter; I’ll enter my password and we can both read it. It’s unusual to receive anything from Tom on the domestic net.” Richard looked up, smirked, and added, “Anyway, I know you’re itching to find out.”

Rothschild looked back scornfully and then withdrew his telephone from a pocket. He flipped open the lid, tapped several keys and then handed the device to Richard who entered another series of digits. As he read the text Richard’s eyebrows lifted. “This
is
interesting,” he said, rereading the message. “Tom’s in a quandary and I think I can help him.” A different smile jabbed Richard’s lips and he paused for a moment, staring blankly at the table. “Tom has a problem and I have an answer,” he said, shifting his gaze back to Rothschild. “A direct result of my unpredictability, Peter.”

“Go on.” Rothschild sat down.

“The Federation has deactivated the exclusion zone around the Elysium Pyramids again. Seems they want some answers, too. Tom’s en route to Zeta Three. He said that the last time he was there, four years ago, he discovered an impression of a hand engraved in a stone wall close to what he thought was a large immovable door. He never thought it relevant and so never mentioned it, but something’s changed – doesn’t say what. He thinks that it might be a key to the door – he means the engraving. He wants to know if I have any ideas.” Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Will you take me to Naomi’s room please? You might want to hear this.”

Richard sat on the edge of Naomi’s bed. He touched her face lightly with his hand and she woke up. He looked kindly at her and smiled. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Seeing Rothschild, Naomi shifted, seemingly a little embarrassed. She sat up slowly. “Much better thank you.” She looked up into Richard’s eyes with a tender gaze and put a hand on his; there was affection in her way.

“Peter says that you are a remarkably resilient woman,” continued Richard. “You’ll be back on your feet in a day or two.”

Naomi nodded and smiled again, apparently pleased with the compliment. “Our union, Richard,” she said. “Was it fruitful? Were there memories of the crystals? Did you find what you hoped?”

Richard’s eyes darted towards Rothschild and then back again. Rothschild took a step closer.

“We will talk about that when you are rested,” Richard said.

Naomi realised his motive and changed the subject. “How is your headache?” she asked.

“Disappeared after a dose of Asperamin and a good breakfast, thanks,” Richard replied with a shrug. Then he paused thoughtfully, took Naomi’s hand in his and looked into her eyes. “Listen, Naomi, I need your help again,” he said, as if rapt. “I’m sorry but this is vital.”

“If I can, I will, you know that.”

Richard nodded and leaned towards her. “Tom Race has found an impression of a hand on one of the Elysium Pyramids on Mars. He thinks it might be a key to a door, a way inside the pyramid. From a recent experience, I think he could be right.”

“Yes . . . and?”

“I think it’s the same key that
you
use to enter the Temple of Osiris, Naomi. Your own hand . . . don’t you see . . . because of who you are!”

“My hand . . . on Mars – surely that cannot be?”

“The key is part of your ancestral line, Naomi, passed genetically from generation to generation. You told me yourself that the old people settled on the ‘red planet’ as well as the ‘blue’. If we had a model, a duplicate of your hand, with all its nuances . . . your fingerprints, the grooves, the lines . . . then Tom could try it. Just think what he might find inside those structures. I’ve seen them – they’re incredible. Much bigger than the pyramids in Cairo.”

“But Richard, if such a model existed, then anyone could enter my temple. My secret would be lost and therefore my birthright.” Naomi shook her head.

“I’ve already thought about that. Osiris Base could manufacture the model in Deromutine. It’s a protein gel that hardens for a few hours after mixing and then subsequently dissolves – even for less than a few hours when exposed to particular gasses in the Martian atmosphere. The material just becomes slurry and then evaporates. I often used it on surveying duties as a timing medium. Tom will have time to try the model in the recess. If it works and the door opens he can make other arrangements to keep it that way. The model would then dissolve. I’ll write specific eFormation into the programme so that only one copy can be made, and also only a 3D copier primed with Deromutine can be used on Mars. The signal will be transmitted in code by the Accelercom and so could never be intercepted. Your secret will remain within this room, I promise you that.”

Naomi thought for a moment. “I trust you, Richard,” she said, and nodded her approval.

Richard half-turned to Peter. “In the next day or two, Peter will arrange for a 3D scanner to be brought to your room. Asharf can operate it – it’s just pressing a few buttons – but don’t forget, we will need the maximum definition setting.”

“I’ll remember, Richard.”

Richard nodded his thanks. “I’ll let you get back to resting now – I’ll see you.”

As Rothschild turned to leave, Richard leaned further forward and kissed Naomi’s forehead lovingly and then again on the side of her face. He squeezed her hand in his and held their palms together for a moment. Only Naomi knew what he meant. “When you and Asharf get back to Cairo, be sure to go and see Professor Mubarakar . . . okay?
Say you will
,” he said, insisting.

Naomi nodded and Richard winked back at her, and then he followed Rothschild from the room.

As they walked across the landing, Rothschild asked: “Are you not going to tell her where you are going?”

Richard glanced back. “She already knows.”