Authors: Dorian Paul
"Take me to him."
My God, she hasn't seen him yet. She stroked Mrs. Bouchta's hand as she led her to the temporary morgue. No words could prepare the widow for the stench of death and acrid chemicals awaiting her, and yet those horrors would pale compared to her first sight of her husband. Claire touched the draped corpse. "Aziz is here."
Claire started to uncover him with slow gentleness, but Mrs. Bouchta yanked the sheet back. Her fingertips passed over every inch of his exposed flesh lovingly, most especially his mangled face and head. She chanted into where his ears should have been, her anguish intelligible in any language, and then kissed, over and over, what remained of his face.
Until she rounded on Claire, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her so violently she had to plant her feet to stay upright.
"How could he leave me alone?" Mrs. Bouchta shrieked. "Leave my girls without a father?"
Then she freed Claire just as abruptly, turned back to her husband and pummeled his chest with a fury Claire understood, as never before.
She must hate him now so she can love him later.
***
David wasn't pleased when they directed him to the morgue, preferring a more auspicious setting to ask Claire's forgiveness and declare his love. But he was equally desperate to see her so he followed the scent of decay to a large tent. He hesitated before entering and thought how like Claire, who barely escaped death herself, to volunteer in this setting where her coworkers lay lifeless. Such fortitude showed her spine of steel. Would she bend to forgive him?
A man with a clipboard pointed him to the rear of the tent, and the sight of Claire swelled his heart with love . . . and relief. There but for fortune he'd be claiming her cold corpse. Instead, her arm curved around the shoulders of a black-clad woman in mourning. God, she was amazing. And what he sought from her was precisely what those grieving here had lost – love and family. Perhaps here was exactly the right place and time to take her in his arms, kiss the living daylights out of her, and profess his fidelity.
But as he approached Claire and her inconsolable companion, he recognized the man being mourned was his fallen comrade, Aziz Bouchta. Which meant his enemy's mutilated body lay on one of the adjoining plywood slabs and Claire had most likely seen it. Surely she would ask what he learned before killing Varat, but would she question him directly about the desecration of his adversary? He'd come here determined on complete honesty with her, but if he told her the truth of that fight, might she not turn from him in disapproving horror? Could he risk it?
While Mrs. Bouchta held Claire's hand in a firm grip, he halted at a discreet distance and sought words to smooth his path into her heart. He was still searching when Claire looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were misty. Was she was pleased to see him, or was he the last person she wished to see?
When she smiled he knew the answer, and when she mouthed the words 'I love you,' he returned them in kind, so elated he found it difficult not to jump for joy. Instead he took Mrs. Bouchta's other hand, even though it was Claire's he wished to hold now and forever.
"This is David Ruskin," Claire said softly.
"You are Tiger?" Mrs. Bouchta asked. "You were with Aziz when they did this to him?"
He bowed his head in regret. He couldn't blame her for holding him responsible for her husband's death.
"Aziz admired you," she said.
Her words smarted. Not much to admire when he failed to immediately spot Varat's ambush and the result was Bouchta's end. "His death was swift. He did not suffer."
"Nevertheless, he is dead," she said, her voice as dry as sawdust.
He could offer only a cliché, but he spoke the truth. "He is a hero. The invitation in his pocket led me to the Governor's. Because of Aziz your daughters live, and your King is in his debt."
Fresh tears washed over Mrs. Bouchta and she keened toward her husband's body. He and Claire supported her until she bid Aziz a final farewell. When at last he and Claire were alone, he held her close, aware she was dearer to him than life itself, and whispered, "Darling, I love you more than anything. Let us leave here as soon as possible."
Chapter 48
Claire was ready to go, but only after picking up the small amount of vaccine material she'd been able to salvage from the explosion. Even with Varat dead and Messina in custody, the knowledge acquired during this crisis would be helpful to whoever took the lead during future attacks with new bioweapons yet to be devised.
In the middle of the devastation that had once been a vaccine plant, David held the door of the gleaming black limo and helped her into the backseat. He was the perfect gentleman despite the bloodstained bandage on his neck, rumpled clothes caked with dried blood, and a dark five o'clock shadow. His face was clean but his eyes were weary. In short, he never looked more handsome.
"You were hurt in the fight with Varat."
His deep rumble could have meant anything.
"He was completely torn up," she said.
He looked away. "I held Varat responsible for your death. And Jeremy's. He was already dead when I took my revenge."
She shrank at the memory of the gash across Varat's throat, and the sight of his brain leaking from one demolished eye socket. "You savaged him, David."
"I did."
His pitiless reply chilled her. "Killing him wasn't enough?"
"No, it was not." He dropped his head in his hands. "And I am ashamed."
"I know you were enemies. You hated each other –"
"No, you're wrong! We were brothers Claire, blood brothers, more alike than different," he cried out. "I defiled the man who knew me best of all."
She was well aware how David despised Varat, but he grieved for him too, and viewed him as a kindred spirit. Yet the man she'd grown to love, though capable of brutality and skilled at dissembling, was not black-souled like his enemy. She took David's bleak, bristly face in her hands. "You are not the same as Varat. You would never do what he did to those children in Paris."
He looked up and she thought she'd never seen him as desolate as now, unable to forgive himself for inflicting such blind retribution on Varat.
"You are not a cold-blooded killer. You're not," she swore.
"I long to be as convinced as you."
"I'm certain of who you are, and you are not Varat." She touched the bandage at his throat. "Were you badly hurt?"
"Not so badly," he replied.
He sounded more like himself and allowed her to touch him. This hint of normalcy relieved her.
"Thank you for accepting me for who I am, Claire." He kissed her forehead. "It means a great deal to me. Someday I hope to be able to explain it to myself and you." He ran his hands through his filthy hair and sighed. "And now I thought we'd take the last flight out tonight. Go home. Is that okay with you?"
Home?
"Sherborne House. Our home."
"David –"
He stopped her words with a passionate kiss that lasted half way to the airport where the plane waited to take them . . . home. Yes, she could say that now. And soon they would be together in her bed in the Duchess suite. She relaxed against his chest until his phone buzzed.
"Sorry, darling. I must take it. Bobby."
***
"Where are ya, pal?"
He was right where he wanted to be. In the Governor's limo on his way to fly home to a life with the woman he loved. "About to reach Agadir airport and then back to London."
"Change of plans. Army barracks hit in Kansas."
He straightened. "You're certain it's Tivaz TB?"
At his question, Claire tore at his sleeve and he'd no choice but to punch the speakerphone button so she might share in every word.
"Not confirmed yet, but looks like." Bobby groaned. "First report to CDC had them thinkin' pneumonia, typical army barracks stuff. But one of the docs there says this is way too fast and hard-hitting for run-of-the-mill pneumonia."
"The victims are adults?" Claire verified.
"Yep, men and women in tip-top shape."
"Then Messina's done something to enhance Tivaz TB."
"Just talked to Strong and Smartz, and they're thinkin' the same thing. Get yourselves here pronto and bring whatever vaccine you got –"
"We need to bring Messina too," Claire interrupted. "We have to find out what he did to the bug if it's hitting adults."
"Bobby, arrange for us to get custody of Messina." If Claire thought taking the devil with them might help her, she had his support. "Have him brought to the airport. We'll take him to Kansas."
"Sorry, pal."
"Bobby, I appreciate Messina's under Morocco's jurisdiction, but surely, given the circumstances –"
"He can't go."
"Then I'll go to wherever he is," Claire asserted. "I must speak to him."
"No can do."
"Why ever not? Take the request all the way to the top if you must." The blasted international restrictions. "Just do it, Bobby."
"Would if I could, pal. Messina's dead."
"Dead?" Claire turned on him. "You told me he was in custody."
"So he was when I left the Governor's. Bobby, please explain."
"Messina killed himself, least that's what they say."
"And you do not believe them any more than do I."
"C'mon, pal, Morocco ain't gonna give me the X, Y, Z of it."
Claire pursed her lips, her irritation with Bobby's account . . . or lack thereof . . . obvious.
"If Messina can't tell us what he's done," she said, "I need Roscoe Smartz to help me figure out how he made Tivaz TB more lethal."
"Already done. He's on his way from London with that new nano stuff. That should do the trick, right?"
"There's no way to know. We designed it to kill Tivaz TB as we knew it yesterday, not today."
Claire had warned them in the videoconference the bug could evolve or Messina could create a more toxic strain, and also that he was capable of weaponizing additional Tivaz TB. That meant more attacks might be in the offing. "Bobby, you've raised the threat level at your bases?"
"Yep. But there are zillions of 'em."
Varat's words flashed in David's brain. "Bobby, before we fought, Varat boasted that after he killed me he'd live to enjoy devastation from plots I'd yet to uncover."
"Shit. Doesn't sound good. Not good at all, pal."
"Agreed." God damn Varat's bloody soul, but he had every right to boast. He'd outwitted them with an attack on the U.S. Army. Why didn't he fully grasp that Varat's goal was vengeance on Iran for executing his family, and he wouldn't stop until he accomplished that. Targeting the U.S. military was brilliant. "Bobby, Varat's scheme all along was designed to launch a war with Iran. We didn't uncover the money trail back to Tehran; he gave it to us to allow him to achieve his ultimate goal."
"Hear ya. I'll update our diplomats, but I can't promise anything."
"Nor I, but we must make the case."
He ended the conversation to see Claire biting her lips raw. Messina's death was a blow, and not knowing what he had done to Tivaz TB presented a massive challenge for her.
"I understand the difficulty Omar Messina's passing presents."
"Do you?" she snapped at him.
How could she doubt him? "Yes, you pursued the secrets of his science as single-mindedly as I sought Varat –"
"How did Messina die?"
"I've no idea."
She looked askance.
"Honestly, Claire. I expressly asked that scientists question him during the debriefing process."
"And you expect me to believe you?" She struck like a viper. "I know what you're capable of. I saw Varat's body . . . and while you were ashamed of what you did to him . . . you were not completely remorseful."
He had no defense for her accusation. They stared each other down for a brief moment until Claire broke the silence. The flush of love her cheeks had shown mere minutes ago had been replaced with the flame of anger.
"David, we can't go on like this. I need to know the truth."
"Claire, I had nothing to do with Messina's death. I am telling you the truth."
"What about Meg?"
"Meg? What on earth does she have to do with this?"
"You never mentioned her. How can you expect me to trust you?"
"Did Elizabeth tell you about Meg?"
"No. You were speaking to her the day of the steam explosion, when I was at the school with Ian. I asked Elizabeth about her, and she said I should speak to you."
"Meg means nothing to me, Claire. Nothing."
"And will I mean nothing to you when you meet someone else who interests you more?"
"Claire, darling, no. You couldn't be more off the mark. Meg is an old family friend."
"David, please, this is no time for half-truths."
"I am being truthful. Meg and I have known one another for years. She's married with children and intends to remain so. After Jeremy I had no stomach for a serious relationship. The arrangement worked for us both."
"She's your long-time lover then," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Claire, I swear to you I haven't seen her since I met you. Not in that way. I love you and wish to spend my life with you." This wasn't exactly the circumstance he'd had in mind for an all out declaration.
"Have you told Meg?"
He took her hands in his. "No, but I shall."
"When? After you've secured my affection?"
"You must trust me. Surely the events of the last day show full well what we mean to one another."
She remained unmoved.
"Claire, please. I beg of you."
She looked him in the eye and he felt his life hanging in the balance. Finally she said, "I need to know if I can trust you before I face this next crisis. Success with our nanomolecule is uncertain at best, I'm exhausted, and I'm not sure I can stand on my own much longer."
"You can, but you will not have to. You can rely on me."
"Can I?"
"Yes, if you let me love you. Will you?"