Sacred Mission

Demola Adenuga stood in the middle of the lodge, watching the giant-screen television with the crowd of fifty or so people who'd gathered around for the big event. On screen four women, all tall, all pretty.

The Angels were at it again.

Demola shifted his gaze from the giant picture to the small family that stood directly in front of the screen. At least there was a halfway decent reason behind this madness. Like most of the other stunts the Angels women had performed in the last three years, this one was a fund-raiser. The recipient was the ten-year-old boy sitting in the wheelchair front and center, flanked protectively by his parents. He needed a bone marrow transplant and his family had no insurance to cover the cost.

Demola studied the boy. He was small for his age, pale and looked as if they couldn't start the procedure any time soon. But he was a cute kid with a killer smile and there was a sparkle in his eyes that said he was living this minute for all it was worth.

He shifted his attention back to the screen. In total surround sound, the whir of the chopper's blades filled the room and vibrated beneath their feet. The scream of the wind howled in their ears. It was probably quieter in the damned helicopter. But even over the steady thump in the floor, he could feel his heart pounding, hear it over the roar of the helicopter blades.