Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
ABANDONED MINING OUTPOST
The outpost wasn’t much, with cracked concrete, rusted generators, and a ceiling fan turning on a dying motor. But Krueger lounged as though it were a penthouse suite, boots propped on a crate painted with Cyrillic stencils.
A runner entered, breathless, dust streaked across his face.
Krueger didn’t look up. “Well?” he asked, bored.
The runner swallowed. “The American… the one taken from the villa.”
Krueger’s head turned lazily, eyes sharp as razors. “The pretty one—Olivetti.”
The runner nodded. “He’s alive.”
The words hung in the musty air. Krueger’s smile crawled slowly across his face. “Amazing.” He leaned back. “I thought I’d cooked him from the inside out before they dragged him away.”
“They flew a surgeon in from London,” the runner added. “We intercepted chatter.”
Krueger’s jaw flexed, then he laughed. “Oh, that’s perfect.”
He rose, pacing with serpentine ease. “Olivetti surviving means three things. One, he’s suffering. And two…” He lifted a finger, turning to the runner with a wolfish grin. “…so is she. And three, he will wake up.”
The runner didn’t understand. Krueger liked that.
“And when he does,” Krueger continued, “he will remember everything I did to him. Every cut. Every shock.” He leaned in. “Every scream.”
The runner flinched.
“But here is the part your little mind is missing.” Krueger tapped his temple. “He will want revenge.” He spread his arms. “Revenge makes people reckless.”
He sat back down, steepling his fingers. “And when he comes for me… he will bring the girl.”
A flicker of something lit in his eyes. “Tell Khalil we move in seventy-two hours. The third device sale is on schedule.”
The runner bowed and fled.
Krueger leaned back, smiling. “Olivetti lived.” He savored it. “Good.”
FORWARD OPERATING BASE – ICU TENT
The makeshift OR door flapped open with a burst of cool night air as Roe stepped out, scrubs soaked through, gloves stripped, jaw hard with exhaustion.
Shannon shot to her feet so fast, her chair skidded. Ford was right behind her.
Roe held up a hand. It was a command that quieted everyone. “He’s alive.”
Shannon exhaled like her ribs had finally unlocked. Ford closed his eyes, head tipping back once in relief.
“But listen,” Roe stepped closer, “his condition is grave. I stopped the major bleeds. We drained a liter of infected fluid. His kidneys are failing, and his blood pressure is barely holding. This place can only keep him stable for a short window.”
Shannon swallowed hard. “How long?”
“Maybe six hours,” Roe said. “Maybe two.”
The room stilled.
“We have to get him out of here. Germany has the specialists he needs. The sooner, the better,” Roe said.
Shannon nodded. Her legs trembled, but she stood tall.
Roe assessed her. “You held up. Your dad will be proud.”
Shannon blinked hard before straightening. “What do you need?”
Roe’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but the closest thing he ever gave. “I need you to stay steady. For him.”
The med tent had been transformed. Extra monitors were hauled in. Fresh IV lines were started. Blood-warming units hummed beneath blankets.
They wheeled Dante in, tubes and lines everywhere, chest rising only because the vent commanded it. Shannon followed, one hand on the rail, steady as steel.
Roe placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can sit with him. He’ll hear you.”
Ford stood outside the tent, arms crossed, pacing small circles like a caged beast.
Shannon didn’t break in front of Dante. Hours passed. The monitors hummed, his vitals flickering in fragile waves. She sat at his bedside, fingers wrapped around his hand, whispering steady, quiet things. They were things only he was meant to hear.
Ford eventually returned with water, protein packs, and electrolyte pouches. “You need to drink.”
She ignored the cup. “I’m not sleeping. I won’t miss a second.”
Ford didn’t argue. “Please drink. I don’t want your kidneys failing.”
The tent went quiet again, everyone waiting for the next alarm to sound. Dante lay motionless beneath blankets and tubes. Shannon didn’t move from her seat, but she did drink. She held his hand like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
Ford stood just outside the tent flap, headset pressed to one ear as he argued in low, clipped tones.
“…No, I don’t care if the jet is wheels-up already.
It won’t be able to land. We need flight clearance all the way for a C-130J Super Hercules to take off from the FOB to Ramstein AFB and a quick transport to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.
And I want their trauma team on standby. ”
He listened. “Then make it happen.” He ripped the headset off with a growl and scrubbed both hands over his face. He looked wrecked.
Inside the tent, Roe emerged from checking Dante’s drains and central lines.
He stripped off his gloves, expression unreadable but intense.
“He’s holding. Barely. His pressure’s riding a tight line.
Vaso drips are keeping it up for now. Kidneys are still non-responsive.
Infection’s spreading, but the surgery bought him time. ”
Shannon lifted her head. “What’s the window?”
Roe hesitated, which was answer enough. “Three hours before he destabilizes again. Maybe less. Every minute we stay here, we gamble.”
Ford stepped in. “Status evac bird?”
A technical sergeant answered from the comms desk, “Inbound from Agadez. It’s twenty minutes out.”
Roe nodded sharply. “Good. Prep him for transport.”
Shannon’s eyes were bloodshot, face pale, voice frayed with exhaustion, but she was razor-focused.
“You’re riding with him?” Roe asked.
“Yes,” she said instantly.
Ford lifted a brow. “Your CO?”
“Lawson will sign off,” Shannon said. “Or she’ll have to sedate me to stop me.”
Roe gave the smallest approving nod. “She’s not wrong.”
A small jet hit the tarmac. Dust plumed in the early morning wind as the armored SUV rolled to a stop. Mike and Ian stepped out, both in tactical pants and polos, both dead on their feet from sleepless travel but moving with purpose.
Shannon was already outside the tent before they reached it. Mike wrapped her into his chest, one hand at the back of her head. “You holding up, baby girl?”
She swallowed hard. “He’s still here.”
“That’s because you kept him here,” her dad whispered.
Ian stepped inside the tent and scanned Dante’s condition, then he turned to Roe. “What do you need from us?”
Roe didn’t waste breath. “Type-specific blood and dialysis waiting, but what we really need is that big jet inbound to Germany with full renal and infectious disease support.”
Ian already had his phone out. “Handled. Hunt Montgomery is prepping a trauma bay at Landstuhl. Mack Browning is en route from Berlin via New Orleans. You’ll have anything you need when you land.”
Roe exhaled with relief he didn’t show often. “Good. Then we make this flight count.”
The sand blasted through the camp, tearing dust across the area as the big C130 hit the runway. Medics rushed forward with the reinforced litter. Roe supervised Dante being transferred, checking every tube, every clamp, every stitch.
Shannon moved to Dante’s side, hand gripping his shoulder firmly enough to steady both of them. “Dante,” she leaned close, “you’re getting closer to home. Hear me? You’re heading home.”
His eyelids fluttered a trace.
Roe looked up sharply. “He can hear you. Keep talking.”
The crew carried him into the bird with controlled urgency. Lines vibrated. A monitor screeched until a medic silenced it.
Ford approached Shannon as she climbed in. “Try to sleep. It’s a long flight, and the plane has a full staff.”
Shannon strapped in beside Dante as they lifted into the thin desert dawn. Roe sat across from her, knees braced and hands in sterile gloves as he adjusted the vent rate. Ford sat a row down.
The monitor beeped erratically. His blood pressure was falling. The aircrew was already responding.
Shannon leaned forward. “Roe?”
“Stay calm. He’s compensating… but he’s losing volume again.”
A medic hung a fresh unit of O-neg. Roe nodded.
The plane jolted in turbulence. Shannon grabbed the rail with one hand, Dante’s arm with the other. “Stay with me!” she shouted over the engines.
He didn’t respond. But his blood pressure ticked up, one point, then another.
Roe nodded. “Good. Good. That’s it.” Another medic hung more antibiotics.
Shannon’s breath came back. She didn’t let go of him again, not for the rest of the flight.
The med-flight touched down in the cold, gray morning, wheels screeching against the runway before the engines slowed enough for the doors to wrench open.
Hunt Montgomery was waiting on the tarmac with a trauma team behind him.
They were all in surgical caps and cold-weather jackets, breath fogging in the air. Fall temps had started early.
He didn’t wait for the crew to wheel Dante out. He boarded the plane himself, his
eyes sweeping over Dante’s flushed skin, his distended belly, the drips and the monitors. His expression went grim. “Get him inside the ambulance. Now.”
Roe clamped his exhausted hand on Hunt’s arm. “Renal failure is accelerating. He needs a full septic workup the moment we hit the bay. And, Hunt…” He shook his head.
Hunt nodded tightly. “You kept him alive long enough to get here. We both can take it from here.”
Roe sank back in his seat. He was shaking. He hadn’t eaten, slept, or left Dante’s side in almost eighteen hours.
Shannon unbuckled and followed the litter, boots hitting the tarmac before Hunt stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Shannon.” His voice was steady but firm. “You understand this next part is surgical. There’s nothing you can do in the OR.”
She stiffened. “I’m not leaving him.”
“You don’t have to.” Hunt softened just a fraction. “Stay outside the OR. Eat and drink something and take a catnap. As soon as we stabilize him, you’ll see him.”
Her chin lifted. “Okay.” Her eyes followed him. “I’ll try.”
Hunt gave one curt nod, then shouted, “Move! Let’s go!”
REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER OR
The world dissolved into motion the second the ambulance hit the hospital. Dante was transferred onto the cold steel table, lights glaring down. Vitals tanking. Fever climbing. A second crash team assembled in the corner.
Hunt called out, “Intubation tube secure?”
“Confirmed!”
“Blood cultures, I want two sets, now. Hang meropenem as soon as you get those cultures.”
“His abdomen’s rigid with possible compartment syndrome!” a German trauma specialist warned.
“Prepare for a decompression laparotomy!” Hunt pulled up his mask and moved to scrub.
Shannon stood outside the glass doors with her palms flat to the surface, watching the blur of bodies working to keep Dante alive.
Ford joined her after a quick debrief with Bravo Team still in Africa, sweat still streaking the dust on his face. He followed her gaze through the glass. “Any word?”
Her voice trembled. “They won’t say it. But you can see it.”
Ford swallowed hard, hand bracing on the doorframe beside her head. “He’s strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“I know,” Shannon whispered. “That’s the only reason he’s still here.”
ICU
Hunt emerged first, still wearing his green OR gown. His face was hollowed from the length of the surgery.
Shannon stood immediately, Ford a step behind her.
Hunt looked directly at her. “He made it through the surgery.”
Her knees nearly gave out, but she held the wall.
Hunt continued, “We relieved massive intra-abdominal pressure from the infection, placed new drains, and started him on high-dose antibiotics and dialysis. He is still critical and septic. His temp is still high. We’ve cleaned and treated all his wounds. He’s holding.”
Shannon swallowed a sob so tightly, it burned. “Can I see him?”
Hunt nodded. “Yes. One at a time.”
She slipped inside the ICU. Dante lay shivering from fever beneath the cooling blankets, wrapped in a web of wires and tubes, his chest rising slowly with the ventilator. His hair was damp, lips cracked and his handsome face bruised. But he was there.
She touched his hand. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving you.”
His fingers twitched faintly. She needed to believe it was on purpose.
She broke silently with her forehead against his arm. She didn’t leave him for the next twenty-four hours.