by Angel Vane
Rahim forced her against the sidewall of the building, then walked back to the door and slammed it closed. Mena looked around the deserted yard, trying to focus her eyes in the darkness. To her right, toward the front of the fenced-in compound, a few trees dotted the barren landscape. A lone light shone from the front of the building, casting the rest of the property into a dark abyss. To her left, less than ten feet away from the back of the compound, was a crumbling stone wall. Mena could see no other guards on this part of the property, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. The pitch-black darkness obscured her view. She could hear voices in the distance, but she wasn’t sure if they were wafting through the breeze from the front of the building or from behind.
Rahim stepped in front of her. His fingers brushed against her face. Mena flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. His rough fingers dragged against her skin, wiping away the dirt until the wind stopped.
“Beautiful. Should not be here,” Rahim said.
Mena opened her eyes and stared at the gunman. The softness in his dark eyes had returned. There was no hint of malice in his gaze or his touch and despite the danger of being alone with him, she didn’t believe he was going to hurt her.
A rush of emotions hit Mena as her body grew limp. Slipping down into the dirt, she cried uncontrollably. She should not be here. She should be back at her condo in the Westlands with Julian. She should be having her nightly phone call to her mom telling her about all the exciting things she’d learned about Kenyans that day and how her work had progressed. She should be reading her online version of the Palmchat Gazette, searching for her Dad’s latest article buried on some obscure page of the website. She should be texting her half-brothers, checking up on their lives and looking at pictures of the antics of her nieces and nephews. That’s what she should be doing. Not crying into the dirt in some unknown deserted area in Africa, being held hostage by a gang of terrorists.
“No cry,” Rahim said, squatting down on the ground next to her. He didn’t make eye contact as he gripped the ropes that bound her hands. Slipping his fingers between the knots, he wiggled the tight ropes. The pain of the ropes against her skin eased away, loosening.
Wangari’s screams pierced the air. “No! No! Please don’t! No! Oh God No!!!”
Rahim stopped as shouts erupted from the building. Dropping her wrists from his hands, he stood and rushed back inside, leaving her alone against the outer wall.
Fear gripped Mena. What were they doing to Wangari? Why would they hurt her now when Okeyo still had time to meet their ransom demand?
The shouts in the tribal language grew more intense and loud. The dull thuds of fists banging flesh grew louder as Wangari’s cries hit a crescendo. There was a loud bang, then an eerie silence settled in the night air.
Mena’s breathing roared in her ears. Leaning over, she pressed her hands to the ground, trying to stand. She stopped, watching as the rope shifted downward on her forearms, toward her elbow.
Wiggling her hand, she pulled backward forcefully against the ropes. The abrasive braids gave way, slackening with each pull. Mena jerked harder as muffled footsteps pounded the ground. She pushed her arm backward with increasing force. The single heart shaped charm clinked softly against her bracelet.
With one more forceful pull, her right arm was free. The ropes dangled loosely against her left arm. Mena sat still, listening for sounds. The jostled movements continued from the front of the building, but there was no sign of Wangari, no sounds from the woman who’d mentored her and become a dear friend.
If Wangari had been murdered, Mena knew there was no hope for her.
Mena glanced at the stone wall less than ten feet away from the back of the property. It loomed toward the sky, challenging her.
Tempting her.
Chapter Thirty-One
Two minutes past 5 a.m. and the darkness of night was beginning to fade. When the sun rose, any surprise attack would be damn near impossible. Julian shifted the night vision goggles to a more comfortable position as he walked briskly across the dirt road lined with shrubs and brushes. Their movements were quick but silent. An outcropping of trees, about three hundred feet away from the CSL, concealed their presence.
Maneuvering toward a sliver of an opening between the trees, Julian raised his binoculars and focused on the CSL in the distance. The cracked and stained stone one-story compound matched the flattened step pyramid structure they’d studied from the satellite photos back at TIDES HQ. Zale’s intel had located the right spot and detected militia movement around the structure. But were the hostages inside? Or had Tubeec pulled one over on TIDES as well?
Turning the binoculars for a sharper focus, Julian scanned the side of the compound.
The front of the building was the width of one room, a tight entry way that opened up into the middle section. From what Zale had been able to research, the middle was twice the size of the entry way and housed a small kitchen area and a large open space. This was believed to be the area where the terrorists had killed Isaac Gatobu. The back section of the building was the widest. It had five windows, each denoting a different room. A second door was on the west side of the compound. Zale estimated that it led to a long hallway that traversed the structure separating the middle and back sections. If their calculations were right, Mena and Wangari were being held in one of those five rooms at the back of the building.
Julian dropped the binoculars, glancing over his shoulder at the four men taking on this mission with him. Dressed in camo fatigues, Enzo and Glaze were outfitted with bullet proof vests, head gear, night vision goggles, and M16 assault rifles. The explosive experts, Wes and Kemp, stood a few paces away. Short and lean, both men carried an M16 and backpacks containing the necessary ingredients to blow up three sections of the stonewall in front of the compound. The diversionary tactics would draw the militia from the structure, giving Julian, Enzo and Glaze a chance to get inside and rescue Wangari and Mena.
The low hum of a drone grew louder. Julian glanced up into the sky, but couldn’t see the device cloaked in the early morning darkness.
“Move out in three minutes.” Sunny’s voice crackled in their ears. She was thirty miles away at an airstrip in Wajir, monitoring their every movement through camera equipped drones. “Montgomery, Enzo and Glaze, break off and head toward the southeast end of the property. Go slow as molasses so you won’t be heard. I don’t detect any movement back there, but rebel guards could be hiding. It’s dark and I can’t get a good visual. Kemp and Wes, move along the wall to the front of the compound. Gate is open with one guard sighted inside. He’s pacing. Try to avoid being seen as you head to the northwest corner, but shoot him if you need to. Stay low. Set the explosives, then get the hell out of there. Ninety second delay after the explosion, then Julian, Enzo and Glaze can scale the stone wall near the back of the house and enter. Shoot first and ask questions later.”
They each gave confirmation of the instructions, then Julian scrambled down low and sprinted toward the stone wall in the distance, with Enzo and Glaze following him. Reaching the wall, Julian dropped to the ground, then crawled until he was at about the halfway mark of the wall that lined the back of the property. Glaze remained at the corner, near the eastern side of the structure and Enzo was halfway between them. Once the bombs detonated, they wouldn’t have much time to get over the wall and into the compound to find Mena and Wangari. Each of them would attack the compound from a different entry point to maximize the chance of finding the women quickly.
A warm breeze rushed toward them, peppering his skin with sand. Fingers gripping the M16, he stroked the trigger as his heart beat slowed. The slow metronomic thuds lulling him into the meditative state he remembered from so many missions long ago. Once Wes and Kemp set the explosions, Tubeec’s militia would think they were under attack from the front of the compound. Pouring out of the structure, only a skeletal crew should be left behind to guard Mena and Wangari. Two, maybe three, rebels that he, Enzo, and Glaze could ea
sily overpower.
Julian closed his eyes and imagined seeing Mena again. Wrapping his arms around her, feeling her body next to his. He was so close to getting her back safe, but he couldn’t focus on that. He had to think one step at a time, one move at a time, subdue one captor at a time.
“Explosives set. Detonation in ten,” the words came through Julian’s earpiece.
Ten seconds later, a deafening blast and huge fireball burst into the early morning sky. Chaotic shouts filled the air.
“Two squirters coming out of the front door. A light on in room nearest to Glaze on the east side of the compound, no other movement detected. Wes and Kemp, get the hell out of there,” Sunny said.
A rapid-fire succession of bullets thundered from the front of the CSL.
“We got a problem. They have night vision goggles. Can see us just as clear as we can see them. We’re under fire,” the response came from Wes.
Julian stared at Enzo and Glaze several feet away from him. Gun blasts popped like firecrackers in the night sky. The smoky scent of gunpowder hung in the air.
“Should we go in? Provide backup?” Enzo shouted into the comms.
“No! Stay in your locations!” Sunny said. “Sixty more seconds, then move in.”
Julian pressed his back against the stone wall, his mind chaotic, fighting the urge to ignore Sunny’s orders and take out the rebels attacking Wes and Kemp. But this was the plan. Everything was unfolding as they’d designed. He had to stay and play his part or Mena might not make it out of this situation alive.
Rapid-fire continued from the front of the property.
“I’m hit!”
“Kemp down. Shot in the hip. Two rebels taken out. Gunfire still coming from the front of the house!”
“Get Kemp out of there! I’m coming to get you! Montgomery, Enzo, and Glaze go in now! Do not, I repeat, do not go toward the front of the house,” Sunny said.
“Need headshots gentlemen,” Julian said into the mouthpiece. “We’re fighting a crew built like us.”
“No shit!” Enzo responded.
“Let’s spill some rebel brains,” Glaze added.
“On three. One. Two. Three.”
Julian heaved his body over the stone wall in unison with Enzo and Glaze. In his periphery, he saw the men racing to their designated points of entry.
Julian rounded the corner of the house and stalked slowly toward the side door. Easing toward the door, he dropped to the ground pressing his back against the dirt. He pressed his feet into the side of the house and estimated he was one complete body roll away from being in front of the side door.
The air had gone quiet. In the distance, a bird chirped.
Julian trained his ears for any sound coming from the house.
Raspy breathing grew louder as the soft thud of footsteps cautiously approached. Moving his head from side to side, he saw no threat from the outside. The footsteps were coming from within the building.
As the side door creaked open slowly, Julian rolled his body over stopping when he was on his back again. The bearded rebel, with night vision goggles on his face, scanned the empty yard beyond Julian. The rebel’s M4 Carbine was trained toward the distance, moving slowly. Pressing his feet against the bottom foundation of the house, Julian unloaded two quick shots to the center of the rebel’s head.
The rebel’s gun erupted, spraying bullets wildly as his body dropped backward to the floor. Julian stood to his feet, crouching low, and entered the dark hallway. Passing the first door, he peered inside, eyes sweeping over a disheveled bed mat and abandoned covers. There were five rooms along the hallway and room one confirmed empty.
Julian advanced down the hallway. A figure emerged from the doorway of room two and glanced in his direction. The man wasn’t wearing night-vision goggles and likely couldn’t see Julian standing in the darkness.
The militant went back inside the room. Julian raised his weapon and waited for the man to come out again. Minutes that felt like hours passed. The rebel still hadn’t come back into the hallway. Had he escaped through the window? Was he coming—
A sharp blow struck Julian on the back of the head sending a lightning bolt of pain through his brain. Julian stumbled forward, dropping his gun. A man fell on his back, unloading punches to the side of Julian’s head, back and sides. Each blow sent a series of pain radiating and rocking through his body. Pushing up from the ground, Julian managed to land an elbow to the man’s arm, knocking him off kilter. Flipping over to his back, Julian reached for his knife as the man grabbed for Julian’s fallen gun. Slipping the butterfly knife from his ankle holster, Julian jerked his arm in a wide arc, slicing the rebel across the throat.
Blood spewed from the man’s neck, spraying across Julian’s face. The man grabbed at this throat. An awful gurgling noise emitting from his mouth as he tried to breathe, stumbling backward down the hallway toward the open side door. Julian reached for his gun and took one shot, hitting the man in the center of his chest.
Wiping blood from his goggles, Julian stood and turned, glancing into room two. Empty.
His steps cautious, Julian approached room three. Enzo should have entered the compound through the window of room three, but Julian hadn’t seen or heard his friend yet. To his left, across from the open door of room three, the wall ended, revealing an opening into the large room in the middle section of the structure. Rebels might be hiding in that room, waiting to ambush him. Inching slowly to the edge of the wall, Julian—
Gunfire sliced out of room three. Julian dropped to the floor. Return gunfire blasted from the large open room back toward room three. Julian couldn’t see the shooters. He stayed low, hoping Enzo was alive inside room three and would win the shootout.
Further down the hall, Glaze emerged from room five, squatting low against the back wall, waiting for the battle to end. Neither of them could risk surprising Enzo or join in the shootout without being able to positively ID which blasts were coming from their friend.
After several more rounds, the shooting ended. Julian held his breath, his weapon extended, waiting to see who would emerge. At the other end of the hall, Glaze did the same. They had to be careful. One wrong move and they could end up killing Enzo instead of a rebel.
A hand extended from room three, then clenched into a thumbs up sign. Standing to his feet, Julian approached room three as Enzo stepped into the hallway.
“Any sign of the hostages?” Enzo asked.
“Rooms one and two were empty,” Julian responded.
“My room was empty. No sign of them in there either,” Enzo said, pointing toward the large open room of the middle section of the compound.
“Male dead in room five. Isaac Gatobu. Only room four left, but I don’t hear any sounds coming from there,” said Glaze.
Julian moved forward, motioning for Enzo to follow. He knew what the men were thinking. One last chance to find Mena and Wangari. One last chance to find out if the intel had been accurate or if Tubeec Hirad had made a fool of them as well.
Glaze held back, holding position to provide cover fire in the hallway if any militants showed up. Walking along the side wall, Julian dropped low before swinging around to face the opening.
Wangari Irungu cowered in a corner, her eyes wide with fear as tears streamed down her face. A rebel stood behind her with hands raised. The man nodded toward a gun laying on the floor a few feet from where Julian stood.
“No gun,” the rebel said. “I give up.”
Julian stood and beckoned for Enzo and Glaze to follow. He entered the room, gun trained on the rebel.
“Julian? Is that you?” Wangari asked. Relief spread across her face.
Julian saw no sign of Mena.
Glaze moved past him and reached a hand toward Wangari, helping her to stand. Enzo picked up the discarded gun from the floor and placed it at the temple of the rebel.
“The other woman you kidnapped. Where is she?” Julian demanded, raising his gun toward the man’s face. His heart
pounding, he stroked the trigger with his finger.
“I don’t know. She escaped.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Inhaling deeply, Tubeec savored the pungent scent of urine filling the air as the soft trickle of liquid pattered against the metal floor of the hollowed-out van. He slid his thumb against the hard ridge of the laryngeal prominence and pressed his fingers into the neck of the hacker who went by the name, Garbo.
Tubeec had contemplated paying the arrogant fool for his services, but had realized quickly that money, as usual, was not the best motivator. Power and fear could incite and compel far better than currency. Undetectable precision and excellence was needed for this delicate task and the fear of being tortured for days before dying was creating an intense focus within Garbo.
Minutes ago, Tubeec had completed the exchange with a contrite Okeyo Lagat. Every piece of evidence the DPP had on Deputy President Kipsang Rono was copied onto a flash drive. Okeyo had followed his instructions perfectly, ditching the ASF Agents assigned to accompany him and delivered exactly what Tubeec wanted.
The consequence of any double-cross was clear.
“If this flash drive does not contain the evidence, you will watch your beautiful wife being murdered live on the morning news,” Tubeec had warned Okeyo.
Okeyo assured him that he’d handed over everything they had on Rono. The only thing left was for Tubeec to implement extra insurance in case Okeyo was lying. Even if Tubeec didn’t end up with the evidence against Rono, he needed to make sure that the Office of the Department of Public Prosecutions, ODPP, didn’t have it either.
Garbo had set up shop across the street from the ODPP House on Ragati Road waiting patiently for Tubeec to return. The van was obscured toward the back of a nearby parking lot, with a direct view of the building surrounded by ivy-covered brick walls and barb wire.
