left the treatment room. Michael was waiting for her outside. "He is in your office, Doctor."
Jess walked down the dimly lit corridor to her small office. She opened the door and was greeted by a stranger wearing a baseball cap and sporting a light beard.
"Doctor Hutton, my name is Aden." He removed his cap, uncovering a shock of dark hair, and offered her a hand.
"Please call me Jess. Everyone does." She placed the fruit on her desk and grasped the man's hand noticing how rough it was. She studied his face: to her he had kind eyes, dark brown with wrinkles around them suggesting he laughed a lot. His jaw line was strong, his nose crooked and his smile roguish. Jess put his age at around thirty-five. His slight accent threw her: a tinge of American, but something else, something crisper. Maybe he was from Boston or maybe he'd spent time in England.
"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Jess. No doubt you are a very busy woman."
"It's never quiet, that's for sure."
"I think what you're doing here is pretty damn special," said Bishop honestly. "It takes a certain kind of person to give up life in the developed world and throw themselves into this environment. Not everyone can do it."
She blushed and looked down at her desk.
Bishop had already seen her photo attached to her intel file. He knew Jess looked pretty, but in person she was even more so. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a white medical jacket, her long brown hair in a ponytail, she looked utterly desirable. Grey eyes, wide full lips, a roundish face and a button nose; not the sort of woman he usually pursued, but definitely highly attractive.
"I wanted to talk to you about your dealings with South Sudanese fighters."
"What about them?" The coy embarrassment disappeared from her face and her soft features hardened.
"I take it that a number of the groups bring their wounded here."
"This is Africa, Aden. I see a lot of war wounded. Not all of them are fighters." She crossed her arms across her chest.
"Of course. I apologize if I've thrown you a little." He pulled a card from his shirt and handed it across. "I'm from an independent US organization. We want to inject aid into South Sudan."
Jess examined the card suspiciously. Christians In Africa: C.I.A.
Aden certainly fit the mold of a US Government operative: well-built, bearded, the obligatory khaki shirt and baseball cap. No doubt he was also carrying a pistol.
"So what do you want from me?" Jess asked as she pocketed the card. "I'm guessing you're not looking to spend money on my hospital."
He shrugged. "Don't be so quick to write off the possibility. I'm sure there are a lot of things I can get you that can't be got here." He took a pen and pad out of his jeans and pushed it across the table. "You should write me a list."
Jess raised her eyebrows. She paused a second before writing some of the hospital's key deficiencies on the pad. "And what would you want in return?"
"Not much: just an introduction."
Jess stopped writing. "To who?"
"I've heard rumors of a newly formed group, the Southern Freedom Fighters. I've also heard they're led by a former American soldier. I'd like you to arrange a meeting with this man."
Jess finished the list and pushed the pad across the table.
"I haven't heard of any Americans but I will make some enquiries."
"I would be most obliged, Jess."
"How will I contact you if can arrange the meeting?"
"I'll be around tomorrow to drop off some of these things. Perhaps after that we could go and meet him together." He pocketed the notepad. "If you need me before then, my number is on the card."
Bishop rose from the table
Jess walked down the dimly lit corridor to her small office. She opened the door and was greeted by a stranger wearing a baseball cap and sporting a light beard.
"Doctor Hutton, my name is Aden." He removed his cap, uncovering a shock of dark hair, and offered her a hand.
"Please call me Jess. Everyone does." She placed the fruit on her desk and grasped the man's hand noticing how rough it was. She studied his face: to her he had kind eyes, dark brown with wrinkles around them suggesting he laughed a lot. His jaw line was strong, his nose crooked and his smile roguish. Jess put his age at around thirty-five. His slight accent threw her: a tinge of American, but something else, something crisper. Maybe he was from Boston or maybe he'd spent time in England.
"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Jess. No doubt you are a very busy woman."
"It's never quiet, that's for sure."
"I think what you're doing here is pretty damn special," said Bishop honestly. "It takes a certain kind of person to give up life in the developed world and throw themselves into this environment. Not everyone can do it."
She blushed and looked down at her desk.
Bishop had already seen her photo attached to her intel file. He knew Jess looked pretty, but in person she was even more so. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a white medical jacket, her long brown hair in a ponytail, she looked utterly desirable. Grey eyes, wide full lips, a roundish face and a button nose; not the sort of woman he usually pursued, but definitely highly attractive.
"I wanted to talk to you about your dealings with South Sudanese fighters."
"What about them?" The coy embarrassment disappeared from her face and her soft features hardened.
"I take it that a number of the groups bring their wounded here."
"This is Africa, Aden. I see a lot of war wounded. Not all of them are fighters." She crossed her arms across her chest.
"Of course. I apologize if I've thrown you a little." He pulled a card from his shirt and handed it across. "I'm from an independent US organization. We want to inject aid into South Sudan."
Jess examined the card suspiciously. Christians In Africa: C.I.A.
Aden certainly fit the mold of a US Government operative: well-built, bearded, the obligatory khaki shirt and baseball cap. No doubt he was also carrying a pistol.
"So what do you want from me?" Jess asked as she pocketed the card. "I'm guessing you're not looking to spend money on my hospital."
He shrugged. "Don't be so quick to write off the possibility. I'm sure there are a lot of things I can get you that can't be got here." He took a pen and pad out of his jeans and pushed it across the table. "You should write me a list."
Jess raised her eyebrows. She paused a second before writing some of the hospital's key deficiencies on the pad. "And what would you want in return?"
"Not much: just an introduction."
Jess stopped writing. "To who?"
"I've heard rumors of a newly formed group, the Southern Freedom Fighters. I've also heard they're led by a former American soldier. I'd like you to arrange a meeting with this man."
Jess finished the list and pushed the pad across the table.
"I haven't heard of any Americans but I will make some enquiries."
"I would be most obliged, Jess."
"How will I contact you if can arrange the meeting?"
"I'll be around tomorrow to drop off some of these things. Perhaps after that we could go and meet him together." He pocketed the notepad. "If you need me before then, my number is on the card."
Bishop rose from the table
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