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thinking of starting its own program and felt I might be able to
persuade them with my story.”
    “It’s an
honorable effort, I wish you luck.”
    “Thank
you, Mr. President.”
    Zokwana
bowed again then joined the line clearing security.
    “Please
place all metal objects in the tray.” Zokwana emptied his pockets. “Do you have
any medical implants?” asked the guard.
    Zokwana
shook his head. “No.”
    “Please
proceed.” The man waved him toward the scanner and he stepped through, filling
his pockets on the other side. He was ushered toward the plane and climbed the
stairs, winded by the time he reached the top. He stood in awe at the sight.
    “Welcome
aboard, sir,” said a young woman, her smile wide and from all outward
appearances, genuine.
    “Th-thank
you,” he managed, his mouth agape as he took in the opulence. It was unlike any
plane he had ever seen, though it was only the third plane he had ever been
inside. The planes that had taken him to and from Moscow had everyone crammed
in like goats, but not this one.
    It’s a
hundred times the size of my home!
    His
phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out as he was led toward the
seating area. He read the text and frowned.
    This
isn’t good.
     
    Senior Airman Cameron Lennox had had no choice but to contact the
men involved. The memory stick had been wiped, that much he had been able to
confirm. They said they would know if he didn’t do as told and he couldn’t risk
them killing Cecilia and Janice by doing nothing.
    He had
sent them a text.
    And the
reply had shocked him.
    Go to
the main deck. Guest seating area.
    He
climbed the stairs, two at a time, his palms sweaty, his shirt soaked, sweat
dripping off his earlobes.
    He felt
like shit, sick from worry.
    “Airman,
are you feeling okay?”
    Lennox
nearly pissed his pants as he grabbed the railing, bringing himself to an
immediate halt. “Umm, yes, Mr. President.”
    “You
look like hell, son.”
    “I guess
the local cuisine didn’t agree with me, sir.”
    President
Starling leaned in, lowering his voice. “Pepto-Bismol helped me to sleep last
night. I think sometimes our American stomachs are a little too delicate.”
    Lennox
forced a smile on his face. “Yes, Mr. President.”
    “Listen,
you try to take it easy and I’ll have the galley rustle up a good old American
cheeseburger and fries for you.”
    “That’s
not necessary, Mr. President. I’ll be fine.”
    Starling
slapped him on the back. “Your choice, son, but now that I’ve said it, I think
I’m in the mood for one. You just let the chef know if you change your mind.”
    “Yes,
sir, thank you, sir.”
    Starling
continued on, his wife and daughter smiling politely at him as he stood against
the wall, giving them room, not that there were many cramped quarters aboard.
He headed for the guest seating area and stepped to the side as a black man who
looked as bad as he felt stepped in front of him.
    “Excuse
me, where is the bathroom?”
    Lennox
pointed. “Over there, sir.”
    The man
took his hand, shaking it. Lennox’s eyes popped wide as he felt something
pressed into his palm as the man leaned forward, lowering his voice.
    “Remember
your family.”
     
     

 
     
    CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
     
    “Got something, boss.”
    “What is
it?” echoed Leroux and Morrison, Leroux blushing, Morrison deferring with a
wave of his hand.
    Child
grinned, then thought better of it. “Newspaper article from six months ago.
Looks like South African President Surty was interviewed about a new program
that sent citizens outside of the country for medical treatments that were
beyond the South African system’s capabilities. Mostly experimental stuff. Last
ditch stuff, if you know what I mean.”
    “Is Zokwana
mentioned?”
    “Yes. He
was challenged as to why a member of his family was part of the program.”
    “And his
response?” asked Morrison.
    “He said
that his cousin was dying and this was his only hope. He