Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
KASAVOA DOCKS
The harbor settled into controlled tension.
The first boat from Tevenne rocked gently beside the dock, secured by Eagle’s Talon lines.
The crew and the two male and two female passengers remained aboard as instructed, masks on, hands visible.
Two patrol officers passed crates of bottled water and packaged food onto the deck.
Ford moved carefully along the dock, checking on them one by one. “Everyone stays on the vessel for now. You’ll have food, water, and medical screening again in an hour.”
The silver-haired man, Johan Joubert, nodded quickly. “Understood.”
Rourke stood nearby with Alpha squad spread along the pier. Their presence alone kept the scene orderly.
Dr. Rios finished noting temperatures on her tablet. “Still no fevers. I’ll start them on the exposure dose for the antiviral medication.”
“That’s good.” Ford stepped back onto the dock. For a moment, it seemed like the situation might stabilize. Then a sound cut across the harbor—a loud engine.
Rourke turned instantly toward the breakwater. “Boat incoming.”
Ford followed his gaze. A small motorboat burst over the far side of the harbor entrance at full speed. The hull slammed hard against the waves as it cleared the breakwater.
“Jesus,” one of the patrol officers muttered.
“Easy!” another shouted, waving both arms.
The boat barely slowed. It skidded sideways toward the dock, nearly clipping a patrol vessel before the driver cut the throttle. The craft slammed into the pier with a hard crack of fiberglass. Eagle’s Talon operators moved immediately.
“Hold position,” Rourke ordered.
Two operators secured the lines before the boat could drift. Ford stepped forward, already assessing the situation.
This was not the same as the first boat.
The two men at the controls were local. Black, likely Seychellois, with lean builds shaped by long days on the water, skin burnished by sun and salt.
The driver kept both hands steady on the wheel, not overcorrecting, just adjusting as necessary.
The second man stood just behind him, balanced easily despite the chop, eyes moving across the dock, the operators, the perimeter.
Not nervous. Not guessing. They were professional crew.
Behind them, the deck was chaos. Eight passengers crowded the small craft.
A well-dressed couple stood near the stern.
They were American. Ford caught it before they spoke.
The cut of their clothes, the posture, the expectation that someone would take control of the situation for them.
When the man opened his mouth, the New York accent confirmed it.
And there were six young pregnant women.
All looked sick. They did not match the couple.
He chewed his cheek to stop his curse. The girls were all too young.
They had pale skin with fevered, ruddy cheeks; sharp features; and light eyes.
Considering Andrei Varga came from Bulgaria, and Petrov had a Russian accent, he made an educated guess they were Eastern European.
One girl leaned over the side, coughing hard into her sleeve. Another clutched her abdomen, face tightening as a contraction moved through her. A third sat hunched in on herself, arms wrapped tight, shaking.
Ford felt it settle in his chest. “Rios.”
“I see them.”
The American man stood quickly. “Doctor, thank God.”
Ford raised a hand. “Stay where you are.”
The man nodded immediately. “Please, we need help.”
Ford’s voice stayed calm. “How many people on board?”
“Eight passengers. Two crew,” the man at the helm called back, his accent clearly Creole.
Ford flicked a glance at Rourke, then back. “Everyone masked?”
“Yes. We made them,” the second crewmember said.
Ford stepped closer to the edge of the dock, eyes still moving across the women.
“Why did you head here?”
“My name is Bradley Lucas.” The man gestured toward the girls. “One of them is ours.”
Ford’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Yours?”
“Our surrogate. Daria’s twenty-two. We have a signed contract. Everything’s legal.”
Ford tracked the woman he indicated. She sat near the center bench, breathing hard but alert.
“How far along?”
“Forty-one weeks. She was supposed to be induced today.”
Ford nodded. “A week late.”
Bradley hesitated, then looked back at the others. “But them…” His voice broke. “They were sharing Daria’s room.”
Ford’s eyes shifted again. Four of the girls looked barely older than children. Another coughed, folding forward as a contraction hit.
“How old are they?” Ford asked.
Bradley shook his head. “We don’t know. None of them speak English. And when we used Google translator, they wouldn’t answer us. They’re afraid.”
His wife spoke, voice tight. “You can see, they’re babies.”
Silence settled across the dock.
Bradley struggled with the next words. “They were going to induce our surrogate this morning.” He looked back at the girls. “But the others… we couldn’t leave them there.”
Ford studied the boat again. Six pregnant girls. Eastern European. Actively ill. At least one in labor. Two steady crew who knew exactly how to move people under pressure. And an American couple who had stepped into something far bigger than a contract.
Rourke moved in beside him. “This changes things.”
Ford nodded slowly then looked at Dr. Rios. “New protocol.”
Rios was already opening another kit. “Understood.”
Ford turned back to the boat. “Alright, we will care for you, but no one moves yet.”
PEDIATRIC WARD — KASAVOA CLINIC
Véronique’s room was no longer peaceful. The steady rhythm of the monitor broke into a sharp, irregular alarm that cut through everything.
Hunter entered a step ahead of Liana, who took over for the nurse at the bedside, adjusting the oxygen mask over Véronique’s small face. The girl’s chest rose too fast, each breath shallow and strained. Her stuffed turtle had slipped from her hand and hung half off the bed.
“Sat?” Hunter asked.
“Eighty-one,” Liana said.
“Dropping?”
“Yes. Véronique, the doctor is going to listen to your chest.”
Hunter moved to the other side and placed his stethoscope against Véronique’s chest. He listened once. And again. His jaw tightened. “Lungs are tight. She’s barely moving air.”
“Fluid?” Liana asked.
“Inflammation,” Hunter said. “Maybe both.”
Véronique coughed weakly beneath the mask. Her small hand searched across the blanket. “Eira…” she whispered.
Liana glanced toward the door. “Honey, she’s in her room.”
Véronique shook her head faintly. “Ford…”
“He’s working,” Liana said, looking up at Hunter.
The monitor dipped again. 79.
Hunter made the call. “Alright. We move now.”
“Respiratory support?”
He nodded. “Bi-pap. And another neb treatment.”
Liana turned. “Get the pediatric unit.”
The nurse ran.
Hunter reached down and picked up the turtle, setting it gently against Véronique’s shoulder so she could feel it. “Hey,” he said, softer now.
Her eyes fluttered open halfway. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He kept his voice calm and steady. “I’m going to make things better. I’m right here.”
“It hurts,” she whispered.
“I know. That’s your lungs working too hard. We’re going to help them.” Her fingers curled weakly into the stuffed turtle as Hunter adjusted the mask slightly. “Do you know who I am?”
She blinked at him, trying to focus. “Nuh-uh.”
He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I’m Eira’s big brother.”
That landed. Something in her expression shifted, even through the fear. “You… are?”
“I am, which means I have to take very good care of you, or she’ll be very mad at me.”
A faint, breathless sound that might have been a laugh slipped past the mask. “She… gets mad,” Véronique whispered.
“She does,” Hunter said. “Especially if I don’t make her special patients better.”
Her hand tightened slightly on the turtle.
“You’re holding him like a pro.” Hunter nodded toward the toy. “What’s his name?”
She hesitated, breath hitching. “Gigi.”
“Gigi. A girl.” Hunter chuckled. “Alright. Gigi and I are both on your team now.” He leaned in just enough so she could focus on him. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take slow breaths. Not fast ones. I’ll count with you.”
Her eyes stayed on him. Anchored.
“Can you do that with me?”
A small nod.
“Good. In through your nose if you can. Out slow.” He demonstrated, slow and controlled.
She tried to follow. It was uneven, but it was something. It would buy time while they set up the pediatric bi-pap.
The nurse rushed back in with the high-flow unit. Liana moved to set it up.
“Attach the vibrating mesh nebulizer in the circuit. I want continuous albuterol. Also push one milligram of Ativan.” Hunter didn’t look away from Véronique. “You’re doing exactly what I need,” he told her. “That’s perfect.”
Her breathing still rasped, still strained, but her eyes stayed locked on him now. Not searching the doorway anymore. Not looking for Eira. She had something else to hold on to.
And Hunter stayed right there, one hand steadying the mask, the other keeping Gigi in place, holding the line for her while the room moved around them.
Down the hall, Eira pushed herself upright again. The fever made the room tilt slightly, but she heard the alarm. She knew that sound.
“Véronique,” she whispered. She swung her legs off the bed again. This time, she moved slower. The floor felt cold under her feet. She steadied herself against the wall and stepped into the hallway.
The world swayed slightly with each step. But she kept moving.
Inside Véronique’s room, the monitor dipped again to 76.
“Tell me something about Gigi.” Hunter asked, “Is she brave?”
She nodded faintly. “Very.”
Hunter eased the mask away as Liana positioned the bi-pap mask, securing it gently and adjusting the flow. “Stay with me, sweetie,” he begged. “I’ll try to make the mask as comfortable as possible.” He worried that if she didn’t improve, he’d have to intubate her.
The oxygen and the medication surged. Véronique’s chest still moved too fast, but the air came easier now.