Code of the Eagle - For The Motherland Book 1

Chapter 1

Garikai’s feet pounded the tarmac as he jogged down the street in the early morning near darkness. Lynnette’s call had chased away any lingering desire to sleep. He had woken up the sleeping woman, (Susan, Sally, Savannah?), given her taxi fare and shown her the door. She had scowled at him and cussed him out but he couldn't have cared less. What had she expected after being picked up from a club at eleven at night? If she was looking for a husband she should have gone to church.

He had brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face and left his bathroom without even sparing a look in his mirror.

Despite his womanizing, alcohol addiction and intermittent desire to die sooner than most people, he still insisted on staying in some sort of shape. In his line of work it was a requirement, death wish or no death wish. If he was going to be taken out, he had no qualms about making it a very unpleasant experience for his would-be killer.

He had been jogging for about a kilometre when the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up. This was an inherent self preservation mechanism that had been developed by years of living in a highly dangerous business. It seemed like his subconscious mind, the most primitive part of his brain, defied his conscious mind’s daredevil desires. It wanted to stay alive.

Being careful not to be obvious, he looked around. His hoodie hid his eye’s rapid scan of his environment and it wasn't long before he saw him, a lone figure jogging not too far behind him. The warning bells in his head continued to beep on high alert. He jogged these streets on a regular basis and came across various people on different days. This was the first time in a really long time that his senses had tingled from the presence of another jogger. The last time this had happened, his would be robber had ended up on the ground with a broken nose, bruised ribs and a busted knee.

Without picking up speed, he changed course and headed towards some buildings to his left. He kept a steady pace, but, as soon as he turned a corner, he stopped, pulled out his Glock from its holster at the small of his back and waited. He didn't have long to wait before he heard the jogger come up pretty fast. As he turned the corner, Garikai hit him on the side of his head with his weapon, grabbed his arm and threw him so he fell face first into the dirt. Quicker than anyone would have thought he could move, Garikai kneed the back of the man who lay groaning on the floor and cocked his gun, putting the muzzle against his temple.

“Why are you following me?” he asked his hapless victim, his voice colder than a Zimbabwean night in June. When he got no response he pushed the gun harder against the man’s head. “I don't like to repeat myself. Not answering my questions is a quick way to get an invitation to the next life.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Garikai, let the man be,” said an irritated voice. Dammit. He really was losing his edge. He should have heard the person coming up behind him. Any other time and he could have been shot dead.

With a sigh he uncocked his gun and removed his knee from the man’s back, standing up slowly. He stood up, his gun hand hanging loosely by his side, and gave a mirthless chuckle as the man got up and dusted himself off. The boy had the audacity to glare at him before looking at the woman who had probably saved his life. Lynnette  shook her head and then bobbed her head towards the road, telling him he should give them some privacy. He walked a few meters away and kept guard.

The early morning air was still, as people had not yet begun to move about in the eternal bid to better their lives by making money for other people. Somewhere he heard a cockerel crow and smiled. Gaborone never failed to have animal surprises.

Garikai stared at the woman who stood before him. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight knot that looked like it wouldn't dare defy her and come loose. She wore a dark pants suit with a white shirt and black shoes. Even at four in the morning she looked as fresh as a magazine model, her dark skin smoother than hot chocolate on a cold night.  Her brown eyes looked at him steadily, noting his haggard appearance and stubble that graced the bottom half of his face. If he hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed the telltale bulge on her left side which indicated where her own handgun was concealed.

“You look like crap,” she said without preamble. He knew her eyes had taken a quick and efficient appraisal of him from head to toe. He was a meter ninety and big by any standards yet he never felt like he dwarfed her meter seventy height. He knew it was because of the quiet assurance and determination with which she carried herself. She was a woman with something to prove and she made sure everyone knew it. He also knew that only one man made her bow her head before him, and that was the Head of State of Zimbabwe, Comrade Kudzai Musiki himself.

So now, as they stood unmoving, facing each other, he didn't really care that his light-skinned face was flushed, and that she could barely see the faded scar that ran from his left temple upward into his curly hair that badly needed a cut. His dark brown eyes were mostly hidden by the top of his hoodie but he knew she had his face committed to memory. She was one of the few people in the world who knew him better than anyone and he hated that she had gotten under his skin and refused to budge; like a tapeworm that was hooked itself into a brain and refused to let go. She was also the only person in the world who he could not say no to two times in a row.

“Good to see you too, Lynnette. I see your pitbull tenaciousness and stalker tendencies still stand you in good stead. What do you want?” he said to her, not mincing his words.

Her lips thinned and her stare turned into a glare. She looked like she was about to say something scathing and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he would have relished it. It had been too long since he had enjoyed her barbed remarks and sarcastic rejoinders. Her sharp tongue loved to cut him down to size and he waited in anticipation for her scathing words.

“I didn't come here to play footsie with you, agent. We have a crisis and I need you.”

“You need me, ey? Tell it to someone who gives a damn, lady. I'm not interested. Your needs have nothing to do with me anymore. I quit, remember. Just in case it missed your thick --”

“Someone stole the Ngozi Omega Virus.”

And just like that, he knew he was back in the game.