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“I promise, ma’am. He’s not here!”

“Hah. So you admit you know who I’m talking about. Where is he? I’m a CIA field officer. Don’t make me pull rank on you and call in my superiors. They’re some severely heavy hitters.”

She didn’t technically work for the CIA, but the aid organization she did work for, Doctors Unlimited, fed data to the CIA and took requests from the agency as to where to send their medical “observers”. And right now, she was too pissed off to split hairs.

The kid’s stonewalling wavered. “He’s not here, ma’am. He left about five minutes after you checked in.”

“Where did he go?”

A shrug. “I don’t know. But he left with all his gear in a big hurry.”

Her jaw dropped. He’d gone? As in totally gone? Abandoned her here, alone? Her mouth snapped shut. Murder exploded inher heart. She was going to find him, and then shove the mice down his throat and the thumb drive up his ass.

“Did he give you any idea where he was going?”

“No, ma’am. He did drive away in his vehicle, however.”

“I need a phone. And the number for the front gate’s guard shack.” The young man was eager to help her, and a quick call confirmed that Ian had left the compound nearly an hour before, destination unknown.

Crud. He could be headed anywhere by now. Was he even who he said he was? Or had he played her for a colossal fool all along? Surely, he didn’t work for the same terrorists who’d paid the Scientist or and were doing business with the PHP guys.

Horror flowed through her.

“I need an overseas phone line,” she announced. “Where can I get one?”

“Now?” the kid blurted.

“Right now.”

“At this time of night, you’ll need the Command Post.” He gave her directions and she stomped out of the building on foot.

It was evening back in the States. A secretary took her call with a melodious, “Good morning, this is Doctors Unlimited. How my I direct your call?”

“I need to speak with André Fortinay. This is Piper Roth.”

“Oh, hi, Piper. How’s Africa?” the woman responded.

“Hot. And getting hotter by the second.”

The receptionist must have heard the tension in her voice because she said quickly, “Let me put you through to his cell phone Just a sec, sweetie.”

“Hello, Miss Roth. What can I do for you?” Her boss, the head of Doctors Unlimited, was originally from France and a faint hint of his Parisian roots lingered in his vowels.

“I need you to run down a guy named Ian McCloud. Find out who he works for. He claims to be military intelligence.”

“I have no need to run him down. He is Katie’s McCloud’s brother, and he is, indeed, with Naval Intelligence.”

Of course. McCloud. She should have associated the name with her colleague, Katie McCloud, at Doctors Unlimited. Katie was a nurse and worked exclusively with one of the organization’s doctors: a genius of a guy named Alex Peters.

“Assuming the man calling himself McCloud is actually the real Ian McCloud,” André commented.

Good point. “I don’t have a picture of my McCloud,” she admitted. “He’s tall. About six-foot-two. Built like an athlete. Brown hair sun bleached almost blond. Hazel eyes. Good looking guy.”

“That sounds like Ian.”

“How about you send me a picture of the real Ian McCloud?”

“Let me give his sister a call. I’m sure she has one she could send me.”