As soon as they arrived at Fulbright’s “safe house,” Sara transferred the blood samples from her bag to the refrigerator. Less than an hour had passed since she and Fulbright had been whisked away from the hospital by helicopter. A short flight to a private airfield had followed, and almost immediately upon arriving, they had driven to a house in an upscale neighborhood in Bole, south of the city. Sara felt like a piece of driftwood in a raging river. Caught in the current of events beyond her control, there was not even the illusion of choice. She clutched the specimen bag like a lifeline; at least that was something she understood. She had to keep the blood drawn from Felice Carter viable. Processing the specimens and learning what secrets they held would have to wait until the team showed up with the equipment. That was what she kept telling herself. But as she watched Fulbright’s face change during yet another phone conversation, she knew that wasn’t going to happen. When he finally rang off and turned to her, she quickly sat down.
