I was confused. I stood up cautiously, scanning the area. Then I realized why everyone was running. The truck was packed with explosives. As I stood in the open like an idiot, the truck exploded. I instantly dropped to the ground behind the barrier. I could still see the fireball that climbed more than forty feet into the air. The concussion of the explosion rocked my insides and blew shrapnel and loose rocks everywhere. Luckily, the barrier I was behind took most of the blast.

Sirens started to blare all around the base. A voice came over the loudspeaker, but my ears were ringing too badly for me to understand what was being said. I was on my hands and knees so I shook my head, hoping to clear it. No one from the truck had survived that blast. I wasn’t worried about anyone rushing through the gate. I was worried about a possible concussion or hearing damage. A trickle of blood dribbled out of my nose.

All I could do was sit with my back against the barrier for a moment. I opened my mouth, trying to clear my ears. It helped a little. Then things started to come back into focus.

A shadow fell over me and I looked up, still in a daze. Greg kneeled next to me and asked me if I was okay. All I could do was nod. He helped me up slowly. My legs were still a little shaky.

The first thing I did was turn toward the destroyed gate. One of the towers where the Ugandans had been standing was just a twisted mass of metal. It looked like an arthritic hand reaching up into the sky.

There were several bodies closer to the gate. People were rushing forward to help the wounded spread out around the gate. No one tried to extinguish the fire still burning brightly and melting what was left of the truck.

When I had my footing, I turned to Stout and said, “Where’s Jason?”

Stout shrugged and we both started looking for him. He’d been standing near us when the truck came into view. I glanced at the wounded, then breathed a short sigh of relief when I saw he wasn’t one of those being treated.

Then I saw the look on Stout’s face, twenty feet ahead of me. I raced to him. I froze. On the ground, right in front of us, was retired US Secret Service agent Jason Roche. A piece of shrapnel had hit him in the lower back part of his head. There were several exit wounds on his face. He still had a look of shock. His eyes staring straight ahead.

He was dead.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

It’d been a tough start to my assignment. Greg and I stayed with DP as he called the US office of Non-Metric Solutions. Someone had to tell Roche’s wife and daughters as soon as possible.