Bodyguard Lockdown(37)

“I can’t watch you die, Sandra.”

“So you’re going to make me watch you.” Tears filled her eyes, ran down her face.

“Trygg left one parachute.” Booker grabbed it from the galley closet, slipped it over her back and buckled it.

“Hold on to me. We’ll go tandem,” she pleaded. “If we get you to the hospital, I might be able to reverse the damage.”

“All right. Tandem,” he agreed. He wrapped her in his arms, hugged her close.

“I love you, Booker.” She cupped his cheek, waited.

He caught her hand and pressed it to his skin but said nothing.

“One, two, three. Go!” Booker stepped out of her arms and shoved Sandra out the open hatch.

“I love you, too, Doc,” he murmured. Without another thought, he jumped into the open air, gun in hand.

Booker dived, his arms tucked at his side. Air rushed at him. He searched for Trygg.

A parachute opened below. Trygg’s...

He hit the man in the back, rolled with him in the air. Trygg grabbed Booker’s throat. But Booker already had his hand in the backpack.

The steel of the cylinders hit his hand. He grabbed them, then shoved Trygg away with his knees.

Trygg scrambled for balance, but he was too late.

Booker reached into his pocket, flipped the safety and hit the remote button.



Trygg exploded into a fireball.

Booker spread his arms, catching wind, and shot up. Suddenly, Sandra appeared, grabbed him midair.

He looped his arms into her straps and nodded.

She pulled the toggle and the chute popped open.

“Don’t you dare die on me, McKnight!”

Booker took the impact of the touchdown. Both grappled for a moment against the wind shear and the parachute. He pulled the cord, releasing the chute across the desert.

“Hold on, Booker. They’ll find us and I’ll figure out how to save you.”

“Doesn’t matter now, Doc,” Booker answered, suddenly tired. “You’re safe. Trygg’s dead.”

* * *

IT TOOK THREE HOURS for the helicopter to find them. An hour of which Booker lay unconscious in Sandra’s arms.

She’d never felt so helpless in her life.

Finally, the spotlight hit her. She waved her arms. “Hurry,” she whispered, knowing they couldn’t hear her over the helicopter’s blades.

As soon as it settled, Quamar and Aaron jumped from its cockpit.

“I need a stretcher!” Sandra screamed. Aaron turned back, waved at two men in the helicopter.

“What happened?”

“He breathed in the nanites.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do, Sandra,” Quamar said quietly.

“I can save him, Quamar,” Sandra insisted. “It wasn’t the serum that killed Booker’s wife. It was the nanites. Pitman skewed the programming to cause damage. I just need to find someone who is experienced in reprogramming the nanites.”

“Kate MacAlister is in Taer. She flew in to take charge of disaster protocol, just in case the CIRCDIAN was released.” Quamar took his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll have her meet us at the hospital.”

It took another hour to reach the hospital. “His pulse is weak,” Aaron stated, coming up on the women. He and Quamar handed Booker over to the waiting interns. “His breathing is erratic. I gave him oxygen.”

“He’s fighting the onslaught. The body is moving into a self-induced coma,” Sandra explained, her tone urgent.

Kate MacAlister met them at the main entrance. “We have the surgery room ready. Number two.”

“Thank you.” Sandra waved two nurses to her side. “I need two interns. And the patient prepped. I want him ready when we’re done. No medication. Nothing. Not even for the pain. They’ll interfere with my nanites.”

Two interns carried Booker down the hallway on the stretcher. She turned to Kate. “It’s over four hours.”

“How many hours do we have?”

“Twelve more. Outside. Before the damage is irreparable.” Sandra turned to the older woman. “I know I don’t deserve your help, but Booker needs it...” Her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Kate.”

“Forgiven. Years ago.” Kate gave her a swift hug. “Now what do you need me to do?”

“The nanites. They were the defective part of the procedure,” Sandra explained. “The flaw was in Pitman’s design. If we make the corrections, I can counteract the bad nanites with good nanites that match Booker’s DNA.”

“A war of nanites in his body?” Kate asked. “Will he survive that?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “But he won’t survive otherwise.”

“Is Trygg’s lab still intact?” Kate asked.

“No.”



“We need access to a nanite lab,” Kate said, thinking. “Nearest is London.”

“Just so happens I know the Prime Minister,” Quamar said grimly. “Jordan Beck.”

“That will work,” Kate said urgently. “Still, it will be close.”

“I’ll get started on the DNA matching,” Sandra insisted. “Once his organs start shutting down, they might not be strong enough to counter and survive the battle.”



“He’ll need blood. And a lot of it,” Kate insisted.

“His blood type is rare,” Sandra remembered. “Call ahead, Quamar, tell them we need AB negative.”

“And if they don’t have enough on hand?” Quamar warned.

Aaron stepped up, his features set. “He can have all he wants of mine.”

“AB negative?” Sandra demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron replied. “And this one is on the house.”





Chapter Nineteen



Two months later

The Al Asheera’s camp wound along the lowest ridge, a snake of canvas tents interspersed with wagons, small herds of goats and camels.

The smell of coffee and baking bread drifted on the wind and reached Booker on the cliff above.

His stomach tightened.

He’d been traveling by horse for two days with little food and less sleep.



He peered through his binoculars.

It had been two months since they took Trygg down. Two months since Sandra forced the internal nanite war inside him. And saved his life.

For the first week or so, he’d felt like a human punching bag. Kate MacAlister had told him just how close he’d come to dying. How hard Sandra fought to save him.

Now it was his turn to fight for her.

“Let’s go, Sam,” Booker murmured and nudged his horse down the slope.

Less than an hour past dawn, but the camp was active. The men were lighting fires, tending to the stock. The woman tended to the children, and prepared the morning meal.

He slid out of the saddle and onto the ground, then tethered his horse on a loose caravan wheel.

“Are you here for something, McKnight?” Aaron Sabra strolled over from a nearby tent. “Or someone?”

“Very funny, Sabra. Where is she?” Booker glanced at the rifle holstered in the saddle, left it there and swung around. “Where is the doc?”

“Who told you she was here?” Aaron sipped some of his coffee.

“Kate,” Booker replied, not amused. “I hope you’ve kept her safe.”

“I’ve kept her busy.” Aaron smiled into his cup. “The only one she needs to be kept safe from is you.”

“Busy doing what?”

“She’s a doctor. What do you think?”

Booker stepped forward. “So help me, God, if she gets sick, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Hurt me?” Aaron’s eyes went slate-gray. “Do you really think anything my people could do would hurt her any more than you have already?”

“I’m not here to hurt her. I’m here to make things right.” But the fact she’d been suffering didn’t sit well with Booker.

“Fair enough.” Aaron lifted a negligent shoulder. “But she’s kept herself busy with my people.”

“Your people?”

“Yes,” Aaron explained. “Jon Mercer has persuaded me to help rebuild the Al Asheera into a productive tribe. One that works with Jarek, instead of against him.”

“And Sandra?”

“She’s spent her days vaccinating the young, healing the sick, comforting the elderly. She’s even delivered a few babies over the last couple of weeks.”

“I want to see her.”

“She went for a walk,” Aaron replied. “You’ll find her by the rocks, just outside of camp.”