Fly by Night by Ward Larsen Page A

Made her consider a lower level on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
    Davis leaned closer to her, and twisted his head so no one else could quite see. He whispered, “Faites-confiancemoi. Laissez lui allez.”
    The doctor stared at him. She was certainly educated. And Italywas right next to France, so there was an excellent chance that she would understand the French phrase. Trust me. Let it go.
    She did. Or at least she calmed down. Davis eased his grip on her arm. Let her go.
    The soldiers switched the load from one truck to the other with quick efficiency, like they’d done it all before. Davis took note of what they were stealing. Blankets, medicine, bulk food. Most would probably still make its way to those in need. There was just another middleman now. That’s what Davis told himself, again and again.
    The doctor backed away, clearly not wanting to watch. She went to the driver’s side of her truck, still seething, but quiet. She had her SA back. When the thieves were done with the transfer, the officer looked at Davis and gave him a knowing grin, along with a two-fingered salute. Davis returned it, rather subtly, with a one-fingered variant. The little convoy drove off at a more leisurely pace than it had arrived. Sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep, the commander looked smug. Davis wondered briefly if he had made the wrong choice, wondered if he should have broken the guy’s neck after all. The other men might have cheered. Might even have made Davis the new squad leader. Yeah , he thought, that’s just what I need. My own private army .
    Once the trucks were out of sight, he turned to the doctor. She was at the running board going over a clipboard with a pencil, probably checking off what she’d lost, item by item. Damage control. When she was done, she set the clipboard on the front fender, came over, and stood right in front of Davis. With a big windmill swing, she slapped his face hard.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Six hours.
    That was how long Davis had been in-country, and he already had five confirmed enemies. Three Arab thieves, Schmitthead, and now an overwrought Italian physician. At that rate, by the end of next week— No , he decided, no need to go there .
    The doctor’s slap hadn’t mitigated anything—she still looked furious. He found himself wondering what she’d look like if she smiled.
    He said, “You’re welcome.”
    Way too early for a smile. Just anger. Or, best case, maybe quizzical anger now.
    “I will not thank you. You have done me no favors,” she said. Her English was decent, albeit laced with a hard accent.
    He said, “You were digging a pretty deep hole for yourself. I got you out.”
    She didn’t reply, only stood there. Impassive. Defiant. Pretty. He caught her scent, and she didn’t smell like any doctor he’d ever known. No olfactory assault of iodine or antiseptic soap or latex gloves. She smelled sweet, like rain on jasmine.
    “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry you lost that shipment, but I’m sure there will be others.”
    “Not for weeks. In that time, do you know how many of my patients will suffer? How many could die?”
    Davis took this for a rhetorical question. Still, he had a good reply. “And how many would suffer or die if those thugs had taken you away? I haven’t been here long, but I’d bet that losing a good doctor is a lot worse than losing a few crates of supplies.”
    He thought that might hit home, the idea that she could have been taken away by the South Khartoum Crew. If so, it didn’t show. She was still frosty, even in this heat.
    “So who were those guys?” he asked.
    “I have never seen them, but other aid workers have warned me about them. They have a warehouse and come here occasionally to keep it full.”
    “Are they really soldiers?”
    “Technically, yes. Men like that have been terrorizing this country for years. Lately, however, killing, rape, and mutilation have become unfashionable, so they have turned to more practical