Hard Pursuit (Cobra Elite #6) - Pamela Clare Page 0,2

Malik shouted back. “Chill, man!”

But the clock was ticking. After a month of spending every night together, he and Kristi now had only seconds left.

He stepped back, cupped her cheeks in his palms. “I wish you’d cancel your contract and go to Botswana or Zambia or Tanzania instead. Nigeria is an amazing place, but with Boko Haram, the drug trade, bandits, and human trafficking, it just isn’t safe. I’ve been there. I know what I’m talking about.”

She nodded. “I’m not sure I can change it, but I’ll try.”

Segal stuck his head inside again. “They’re refueling. Time to roll.”

Kristi jumped into Malik’s arms, pressed her lips to his.

He kissed her hard and deep and long—then lowered her gently to the floor, searching for the right words. “Take care of yourself, Kristi. You’re amazing. You know that, right?”

She took one of his hands, held it. “Promise me you’ll stay safe. No getting shot or blown up.”

“I’ll do my best.” He put on his mask, picked up his duffel, and followed Isaksen out into the frigid cold of austral winter.

Kristi watched Malik go, determined not to shed another tear. She was a big girl. She’d walked into this willingly, knowing he wouldn’t stay. She couldn’t fall apart now.

Beside her, Samantha sniffed, wiped her eyes—and then turned and disappeared into the coatroom. Kristi knew what she intended to do and followed. Quickly, they put on their snow pants, hats, gloves, masks, and parkas, and hurried outside and down two flights of stairs to the ice below to watch the plane take off.

They stood in silence, watching as the men walked to the skiway, where the plane waited, the Aurora Australis blazing in the dark sky above them. Fuelies rushed to get the C-130 refueled and in the air again as quickly as possible. Even from a distance and in the dark, Kristi could tell which of the three men was Malik from those long, sure strides, each one taking him farther away from her.

One at a time, they boarded—Lev first, then Malik, who glanced back over his shoulder and waved to her, then Thor, who turned and waved to Samantha just before the doors closed. Then the fuelies stepped away, and the plane was ready to depart.

Samantha gave a little sob, and Kristi could hear her whispering, “Don’t crash. Don’t crash. Don’t crash.”

Flying in Antarctica in the winter was extremely dangerous.

Kristi took Samantha’s gloved hand in hers, neither of them speaking as the plane headed down the skiway, slowly gaining momentum. Then the rockets fired in a burst of orange, and the plane left the ground.

Kristi sniffed. “Well, I just said goodbye to the best sex of my life—and the nicest man I’ve ever known. I’m going to miss Malik so much.”

The two of them stood there, watching until the plane’s lights had vanished. Then, together, they walked back up the stairs and into the warmth of the station.

1

Kinu Village

Kaduna State, Nigeria

Eighteen months later

Kristi Chang opened the plastic vial with gloved hands and squeezed the cholera vaccine into the mouth of a sweet little girl who couldn’t have been more than five. “What a great job you’re doing. You’re standing so still.”

When every precious drop was in the child’s mouth, Kristi tossed the vial into the trash, watching to make sure the girl swallowed. “All done.”

She was lucky that most people in Nigeria spoke at least some English, the country’s official language. She spoke fluent Mandarin and decent Spanish—two languages that were useless here. In rural areas like this, people were more likely to speak Hausa, Igbo, Yoruba—or any one of the more than five hundred languages and dialects native to the country.

The little girl gave her a shy smile.

“Now, it’s your mama’s turn.” Kristi opened another vial and stood to administer it to the little girl’s mother, who was visibly pregnant. “You’re all done.”

Normally, they might hesitate to administer cholera vaccines to pregnant women, but these weren’t normal times. The risks to a woman’s fetus or her pregnancy from cholera far outweighed any risk from the vaccine.

It had been a long, wet rainy season, and Nigeria was in the midst of a cholera epidemic that had already left hundreds of people dead of dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. Rural areas in Kaduna State had been hit especially hard. Kristi was here with four others from her mobile medical unit and a group of Nigerian public health volunteers to vaccinate as many villagers as they could and to provide whatever medical care might be needed.

Rural