In his restrictive biohazard suit, Harvath pantomimed a tactical entry, stepping inside with a rifle and shooting.
If the shooters had been following the same protocols he was, they might have wanted a few modifications to their weapons. Wearing the layers of gloves, the more refined features of the weapons would be difficult to manipulate. Perhaps they had upgraded to larger trigger guards and beefier charging handles to accommodate their thicker, less dexterous fingers.
It was also possible that for such a quick, in-and-out assignment where no resistance would have been expected, the men had just made do with whatever weapons they normally carried or had access to. There was no way of knowing for sure.
What he was able to know for sure came from examining the wall directly opposite the front door.
Based on the furniture scattered nearby, it had been some sort of clerical or nurse’s station, likely the place patients checked in and then were shown to a row of chairs where they would wait to see one of the clinic’s medical staff.
He ran his hand up and down the entire wall.
“What do you see?” Decker asked him.
“It’s not what I see,” said Harvath. “But what I don’t see. There are no bullet holes. At least not anymore. Look.”
She bent down and studied the places he pointed to.
“Whoever this was,” he continued, “they were absolute professionals. They did a full cleanup job. Right down to digging out the bullets and patching and painting the walls.”
While Decker looked for any records of what might have been going on at the clinic, Harvath examined the walls and floor in the ward and found more evidence of the walls having been repaired.
He was convinced that whoever it was had come in, killed the staff, and then had murdered all of the patients. He didn’t need to ask where their bodies had been taken. He already knew.
Decker rejoined him from the back of the clinic and shook her head.
“I can’t find anything,” she said.
“I’m not surprised,” he replied. “Don’t worry. We’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”
Decker nodded and they exited the clinic. Harvath went first.
As was his habit, he took a long, slow look around before signaling that it was safe for her to join him. It was still raining and the moment they stepped out from under the overhang, the rain began streaking down their faceplates.
Neither of them cared. They were both bordering on heatstroke. All that mattered was getting out of the suits.
Reentering the jungle, they retraced their steps to where they had positioned the canisters. Harvath had already mixed the solution inside, but he picked up each one and gave it a good shake before pumping their handles up and down.
It was a maddening process to have to go through when you were this uncomfortable, but because their lives depended on it, they took extra precautions not to rush things. They had made it this far. It was only a little bit further. Now was not the time to be cutting any corners.
Decker reminded Harvath to take a deep breath. It was thick with humidity, but he did so anyway. She then lifted the wand attached to her canister and began spraying him down.
He lifted his arms in the air and turned in a slow circle. She stopped to pump the handle and then had him repeat the process. He did the same for her.
They did it again and again until they had both exhausted two full canisters of the solution. Then came the hard part — doffing the PPE.
All sorts of horrible diseases had infected untold numbers of medical workers over the years — not because their suits had failed, but because they had failed to properly remove those suits.
Next to visiting an outbreak, the next most dangerous step involved was slithering out of the suit. The doffing procedure required steely patience and total concentration. Slowly, carefully, Decker walked him through every step.
Their scrubs and everything else went into the hole he had previously dug and packed with tinder.
While Decker showered, he doused the pile of gear with some of the kerosene he’d asked the Brits to source for the clinic. As soon as the fire was burning good and hot, it was his turn to shower.
He stood under the water and used the soap and shampoo to clean himself from top to bottom. His PPE had held and he was confident they had followed all the doffing procedures correctly. He wasn’t a hypochondriac and didn’t need to scrub himself raw.
He allowed the lukewarm water to trickle over his neck and shoulders. He was glad the clinic part was over. They would have to go back and check the burn pit, but it was pro forma at this point and at least he wouldn’t have to get back in one of those suits. It did indeed feel like he had competed in an Ironman race in one hundred degree heat.
He reached down for one of the water bottles mixed with Gatorade powder he had left on the edge of the shower, but it wasn’t there.
Straightening up, he saw Decker. She was standing there, naked, just looking at him with the bottle of Gatorade in her hand. Then, she stepped into the shower.
CHAPTER 16
Harvath was exhausted. So was Decker. He wanted to take a closer look at the burn pit, but now wasn’t the time. Not in the dark and the rain. It was time to get back to camp.
Shouldering their packs, they walked down to the river and returned the way they had come.
The rain made it difficult to talk, and it was probably for the best. Decker had already made going to the burn pit an issue. She wanted to go with him in the morning. Harvath had no idea what she had seen as a war correspondent, but he had strongly advised her against it. There were certain things that couldn’t be unseen. Once they were seared into your mind, they stayed there forever.
The additional reason he felt she should sit it out was that she had personal relationships with the people missing from the clinic. Based on what little he had seen, he knew the pit was going to be brutal.
Decker, though, had her mind made up. No matter how hard he might try to dissuade her, she intended to join him. There was no use fighting her on it and he let the subject drop.
When they entered the camp, they found the Brits, along with Jambo, sitting beneath a tarp slung between two trees and one of the Land Cruisers.
“How’d it go?” Ash asked.
“Not well,” Harvath replied. “We need to talk.”
The Brit motioned to the other Land Cruiser.
Inside, Harvath pulled his poncho off and threw it on the backseat.
Ash handed him a towel and asked, “What happened?”
“Someone hit the clinic.”
“Hit it how?”
“It looks like a team of shooters came in.”
The Brit stared at him. “The rebels? FRPI?”
“Not unless they travel with sanitation teams.”
“It was sanitized?”
Harvath nodded. “Right down to digging the slugs out of the wall and patching the holes.”
“It was a professional hit then.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
It didn’t make any sense. “It’s a charity clinic,” Ash replied. “Why would anyone waste those kinds of resources on it?”
Harvath shrugged. “No idea.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious.”
“No, you’re not,” the Brit stated. “You’ve been holding out on us since you arrived. I don’t believe for a second that you came to do some sort of assessment. You’re here to compile an after action report.”
Lying to people was part of Harvath’s job, but he hated doing it. Ash was completely correct. Harvath had been holding out on him. It was just the way things had to be done. At this point, though, he needed the man’s help more than he needed to keep any further secrets from him.
“Several days ago,” said Harvath, “CARE International received a video. It showed four gunmen entering the Matumaini Clinic and opening fire.”