The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(53)
The flight attendant was obviously in shock. It was painful to witness the deaths of co-workers and friends. Thea forced herself not to dwell on Captain Houston and the others. There was no room for negative thoughts in such a dire setting.
Their best tools were their brains, as survival often required more mental than physical skills. Keeping a rational mind helped you avoid making stupid mistakes. They needed to stay in the shade and avoid exertion to maintain hydration.
Drought had ravaged Kanzi the past few years. No wonder the country was ridden with strife. Local tribes struggled to find watering holes, herding their cattle into other tribal territories for survival. Deadly battles raged over both the water and the cattle. The desert was an unforgiving environment.
She’d undergone SERE training —survival, evasion, resistance, and escape—during her time with the DIA, and she was thankful that modern military training was more scientific than it had been early on in the Second World War. In North Africa, the US military command thought they could condition soldiers to survive with less water by progressively reducing the amount they drank during training. These experiments had led to hundreds of heat casualties. Humans needed water to survive, lots of it, especially in high temperatures. She would kill for a tall, cold glass right about now.
Peter wiped sweat from his forehead, his fair skin pink and mottled. “Christos demands impeccable maintenance of his planes. What the hell happened up there?”
“Sabotage.” Thea hugged her knees. Her suspicions about Kennedy had lessened somewhat, given that he was on the plane when it went down. She still sensed that he was holding something back, though.
“What?” she asked Rif, whose face was a study in intensity.
His expression darkened. “Someone must’ve slipped a little C4 into the hell hole. A perfect spot, because the pilot wouldn’t have seen it in his preflight visual inspection. We lost hydraulic pressure. And just to ensure we’d crash, both pilots were poisoned. Whoever was behind this was definitely thorough.”
“Who was the target?” Peter asked. Good question. It could have been one of them or all of them. Given the other attacks, Thea was likely at the top of the hit list.
“I don’t know. But whoever did this didn’t count on us having another pilot on board. We’re damn lucky we had Rif.” She swatted away a fly.
“This heat is giving me a headache.” Sweat poured down Peter’s face. “And my legs are cramping.” Headache, mental confusion, irritability, excessive sweating, weakness, and cramps were all symptoms of heat exhaustion.
Thea wasn’t feeling well either. Her diabetes was going to be a major problem when they ran out of food or the high temperatures destroyed her insulin. But she wouldn’t disclose her condition unless absolutely necessary. The others had enough to worry about.
The heat was their fiercest enemy. Ironic, given that in a few short hours, the sun would set and leave them with the opposite problem. Hypothermia. At night, temperatures in the desert could drop below fifty degrees, and they had no blankets or jackets for warmth.
Brianna seemed to be fading, her body language signaling defeat. “If I don’t make it, please tell my son, my little Jimmy, that his mother loves him.”
Rif held her hand. “You’ll tell him yourself. Picture going home to Jimmy. What’s the first thing you’ll do?”
A spark reignited in her eyes. “I’ll hug him and kiss him and then take him swimming.”
Thea wiped her brow. “Damn, that sounds good. Can I come?”
They all laughed. But the situation wasn’t really funny. Rif stayed close to the flight attendant, supporting her so she wouldn’t give up hope.
He handled himself well in emergencies—always had. Thea thought about how long she had known him, and she traced the scar on her cheek.
Thea nestled on a chaise longue by the pool at their Meadow Lane estate in Southampton, sipping a glass of wine. She didn’t drink much because of her diabetes, but she wanted a little something to take the edge off having to socialize with a few hundred people at the upcoming party.
Today was a happy day, as Papa was home after a long trip to the Middle East with Hakan and Piers. She reached down to stroke Aegis, who was curled up at her feet, snoozing as the sun dropped in the sky. Labor Day weekend, the end of the summer—kind of a sad time. Rif, Nikos, and Thea would go their separate ways. Nikos would leave tomorrow for Harvard, where he was doing his MBA, and she’d head to Georgetown for her sophomore year.
Rif had been accepted into West Point—one of the few international students enrolled—and Papa was hosting a party for him to celebrate the news. Christos was proud of his godson and wanted everyone to know it.
The sun dropped below the horizon, and the torches around the pool flickered on the water’s surface. Staff worked in formation to set up for the party. Rif stopped to help one of the waiters, who was struggling with a large box, then joined Thea on the next chaise. Aegis stirred, immediately abandoning her for the future officer.
“You just can’t find loyalty today.” She laughed.
Rif reached into his pocket and brought out a treat. “Like most men, he’s a slave to his stomach. He knows I’m a soft target.”
“You must be excited about West Point and the training you’ll be doing.”
“Well, I need to defend myself against your kung fu, Bruce Lee.” He was always teasing her about her study of Jeet Kune Do.