Christine Feehan: Conspiracy Game

The bullet took Biyoya behind the neck. Even as he fell, Jack switched his target to the man kicking the woman and fired a second round. Calmly, he let go of the sniper rifle and took up the assault weapon, laying down a covering fire to give the woman and child a chance to escape. The soldiers fired back, bullets smacking into the trees around him. Jack knew they couldn’t see him, but the muzzle flash and smoke were a dead giveaway. The woman caught her child to her and took off into the rain forest. Jack gave them as long a lead as he dared before moving, sliding back into heavier foliage and leaping up through the branches to use the canopy as a highway.

Ekabela was not going to let this go. Jack would have every rebel in the Congo chasing him all the way to Kinshasa.

BrionyJenkins huddled in the darkest corner of the room, hands over her ears, eyes tightly closed, desperate to shut out the assault of thousands of people and their suffering. It had been such a mistake to take the job. She’d tried to tell Jebediah she couldn’t do it, but it meant so much to the family-so much money the circus needed to stay solvent. How in the world was she ever going to perform? She could barely see with the pain shattering her head and with spots dancing in front of her eyes. There was no medicine she could take, no relief from the suffering and violence in this place.

“Briony?” Jebediah crouched beside her.

She shook her head, pressing her hands tighter over her ears, as if that would keep the thoughts and emotions from flooding her mind. “I told you I couldn’t come to a place like this. I’m going to be sick again.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t dare open her eyes and see light. Her body shook uncontrollably, and tiny beads of sweat trickled down her face. “I’m getting another nosebleed.”

Jebediah ran cold water on a cloth and handed it to his younger sister. “I had no idea it would be this bad. I thought you were doing all those exercises to help shield you from whatever it is that causes this.”

Briony bit back her retort, clamping down hard on her temper. She was on psychic overload and it wouldn’t help to get angry with Jebediah. Sure, her brothers and the other members of the circus had pressured her to come, but she could have refused. She should have refused. And she had told him it would be this bad. Jebediah and the others had simply chosen not to listen, because it wasn’t in their best interests. She pressed her lips together and tried to breathe away the pain. Jebediah might as well have been stabbing ice picks through her head, but it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea what psychic overload actually was-or felt like.

She remembered the many times her parents had tried in vain to comfort her when she huddled in a ball in a corner of a dark room and rocked herself back and forth, trying to ease the pain in her head. At times she could hear them discussing whether or not she had some form of autism. She needed to be alone. She didn’t like close physical contact. They were so hurt by her behavior. Shattered. She still woke up with her mother’s sobs ringing in her ears, and her voice asking why didn’t Briony love them? Briony adored them; she just couldn’t get too close without terrible repercussions, and there was no way to make them understand that the pain was real, not psychological.

She knew exactly how this scenario would play out. She’d gone through it a million times. “This is Africa, Jeb,” she reminded him, “a country rampant with suffering. There’s AIDS and death and rape and loss and it’s swamping me.”

His mouth tightened. He didn’t like her to bring up anything even hinting of psychic overload. He didn’t believe in it and, like her parents, thought it was a form of autism. He wanted her to fight through it and succeed in being “normal.” “Can you stop the nosebleed?” He glanced at his watch. “I need you to be able to perform, Briony.”

She wanted to throw something at him. “You say that before every performance and I always manage to make it. Go away, Jebediah. I need to be alone.”

Her other brothers pressed closer. Tyrel, as always, looked sympathetic, Seth angry, and Ruben disgusted. Ruben always chose to bully her, thinking that would somehow make her shape up. Seth yelled at her, and Tyrel eventually would get annoyed with both of them and run them off. The ritual had been going on as long as she could remember, and not once had any of them understood that she couldn’t help what was happening to her and that their presence, with their intense emotions, only made it worse.

“There’s a rumor going around that the rebel leader’s troops have been pouring into the city looking for someone,” Tyrel said. “That’s not a good sign, Jeb. You know they’re going to look at all foreigners.”

Jebediah swore. “If the rebel troops are coming into the city, the soldiers are going to be very nervous and trigger-happy. Why would they come into the city armed and ready for trouble?”

“Hell, I don’t understand any of the politics here,” Seth replied. “Everyone hates everyone and they want everyone else dead.”

No one had to tell that to Briony. The heightened tension in the streets increased her inability to function. There was poverty and sickness and so many tragedies she wanted to crawl into a hole and muffle out all emotion, sound, and thought.

“Your skin is changing color again, Briony,” Ruben said impatiently. “I told you to watch that around people.”

“We aren’t people; we’re her family,” Tyrel pointed out. “Leave her alone.”

Ruben persisted. “Well, how can she do that? Like some lizard or something.”

Briony sighed, pushing her pounding head into her hand. It felt like someone was hammering nails into her skull, but there was no pointing that out to anyone. The show had to go on-and Briony always, always , came through. It was a matter of pride with her. She was a Jenkins and whatever they did, she could do-and would do.

“Anyone could walk in here,” Ruben defended.

“I locked the door,” Seth said. “Snap out of it, Bri. I’m not kidding around with you. You’re too old for panic attacks.”

Briony had had enough. They had ten minutes until they were on, and if her brothers didn’t leave, she wouldn’t be able to pull herself together. “Get out.” She bit the words out between her teeth, glaring at them.

Her four brothers looked startled. It was the first time she had ever interrupted the ritual. They were big men, muscular and well built with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She had wheat and platinum hair, dark, chocolate brown eyes, and was about five foot two. She looked nothing like them, and certainly didn’t have their adventurous personalities-although she wished she did. She never really sassed them, although she considered herself pushed around a bit by them. At once all their faces dropped.

Ruben crouched down beside her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Briony. We can work it without you if you can’t make it this time. It won’t be easy, and you know the crowd isn’t going to like it, but if you can’t pull yourself together this time… ”

Seth sucked in his breath. “Yeah, I could maybe take your spot, honey. Why don’t you try to go to bed? Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“We can call for a doctor,” Tyrel offered. “Your doctor has always flown out within an hour of a call.”

Briony would have laughed if her head wasn’t splitting apart. “I’ve never missed a performance. Just give me a little alone time and I’ll be fine.”

Jebediah waved the others out of the room and sank down beside her, reaching out a hand to push back her thick mop of blond hair. “We need you, honey, I won’t lie to you, but I’ll call the doc if you think you’re going to need him. We have several performances to do, and if the rebels are really sneaking into the city, the emotions are only going to get worse.”