by Ron McGee
Across the courtyard, Ryan saw a guard noting the large gathering, curious about what was going on. The man grabbed his radio and said something, his eyes on the crowd.
“Then a miracle happened,” Malik continued. “They escaped. Somehow, they outsmarted the government. The rich might have all the power in Lovanda, but they could not destroy Anbo and Delilah.”
Ryan felt a sudden surge of pride as he realized something. “My grandfather Declan was one of the people who rescued them. He got them out of the country.”
“And now you have brought him back.” Malik gave Ryan a warm smile. “Yes, full of surprises.”
Ryan looked back at the guard as another joined him. They watched the crowd carefully, pulling rifles from their shoulders and holding them in a ready position. The crowd was drawing too much attention.
Leaving Malik, Ryan pushed his way through the throng. He finally made it to Lawrence. The young men and boys were asking him to sing. Just one song, they begged, offering up their suggestions. Their excitement was contagious, spreading through the group. But Lawrence remained frozen, overwhelmed and looking like he wanted to bolt.
“The guards are noticing,” Ryan whispered to him. “We should get out of here while we can.”
Lawrence’s gaze darted to the edge of the courtyard where the guards gathered. His expression changed, becoming harder. The sight of the guards with their automatic weapons was making him angry. Ryan saw something shift inside Lawrence. His fear seemed to melt away. There was something different in his eyes now—a strength that Ryan had not seen before.
Then, surprisingly, Lawrence began to sing.
For a moment, the song couldn’t be heard, drowned out by the voices of the crowd. But as those closest to Lawrence realized what was happening, a hush rippled through them. Lawrence’s voice was hesitant and unsteady. He was singing in Swahili, a traditional song that was both haunting and beautiful. It sounded old, maybe something he’d learned growing up.
But as he continued, Lawrence’s voice gained conviction. His tone became richer and his volume increased. The sound of a drum joined in. Ryan turned to see a boy moving forward, accompanying Lawrence.
Lawrence’s uncertainty vanished as he began to move to the music. He sang to everyone around him, giving the distinct impression that he was performing for them alone. They leaned in, pressing closer.
The moment the traditional African song ended, Lawrence launched into a rap. He rapped in English, the words like staccato gunfire full of anger and betrayal. Ryan was amazed by the instantaneous transformation. The singer before him radiated charisma and confidence. No longer was he seeing Lawrence—this was Anbo:
Kept down low, no place to go,
No way to grow, to show what I can do—
Waking up, still in the dark.
Tossin’, turnin’, need a spark
To light my way.
Who am I? Just a man-child wanting more,
A wave can’t make the shore,
Always reaching out, then pulled away …
Ryan was so transfixed that he didn’t see Malik come up behind him.
“They’re coming.”
There were now four guards moving toward the crowd. Their fingers gripped the rifle triggers, ready to fire as they yelled at the workers.
Lawrence finished the rap and the crowd broke out in riotous cheering. Those farther back pushed closer, forcing Ryan aside. After shoving several guys out of the way, Ryan was finally able to grab Lawrence’s elbow.
“We have to go—now.”
Realizing the guards were closing in, Lawrence pulled himself away from everyone and followed. Malik pointed to the barracks on the far side.
“Go there. We will keep the guards away.”
“Come with us,” Ryan said, not wanting to leave him behind.
But Malik was insistent. “No. You take Anbo. You must get him out of this place. Like your grandfather.”
“I can help you, too.”
“Go!” Malik grinned. “We will make a little luck for you.”
Before Ryan could say thanks, Malik turned and shouted at the others. They responded immediately, forming a wall between the guards and Ryan and Lawrence.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Ryan led Lawrence across the yard. They dashed between two of the buildings, not stopping until they were safely in the shadows beyond the barracks.
“You said my dad’s with you?”
“Yeah, he’s waiting for us at the fence,” Lawrence said. “But he’s all the way on the opposite side of the complex.”
“The guards will be on high alert now.”
Lawrence pulled the sardine tin from his pocket. “John gave me this. It’s some kind of explosive. He said it’s not that powerful, but it should be enough to distract the guards.”
Ryan took the sardine can. His first thought was to set it off by the front gates so some of the people here could escape. He quickly dismissed that option. Even though a few might make it out, many would undoubtedly be shot.
How could he help Malik and the others without getting them killed?
Remembering his long day in the mine, Ryan was struck by an idea. He couldn’t free everyone forced to work here. He just might, however, have a way to shut the entire operation down for a while.
But for his plan to work, he was gonna need a much bigger boom.
CHAPTER
35
NEW YORK,
USA
Tasha stormed down the sidewalk toward the antiques shop, furious at Braxton Crisp. She now realized she’d made a huge mistake getting involved with him. The man had no moral code whatsoever.
Crisp had promised never to sell the identities of anyone she or her father had helped during their ERC missions. It had been the most important demand Tasha had made when she’d agreed to work with him. But just this morning, she had received an emergency call alerting her that a woman they had rescued five years ago had been abducted last night.
Tasha was pulsing with anger, not just at Crisp, but at the whole situation. It was John Quinn’s fault she had betrayed the ERC! If he hadn’t abandoned her father and left him to die alone, none of this would have happened.
She refused to let her father’s legacy be destroyed. That obnoxious little toad Crisp had agreed not to sell those identities and she would hold him to it.
Tasha entered the antiques store, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. She flipped over the sign in the window so it showed the shop was closed. Sitting at his desk, Braxton Crisp peered at Tasha over the rim of his reading glasses. He always looked supremely annoyed when she visited.
“Do we have an appointment?” Crisp disdainfully checked an open notebook on his desk. “No. We do not. And at present, I’m quite busy.”
“Yeah, seems like you’re swamped.” The shop was completely empty. Tasha threw down a copy of the Boston Globe newspaper. “Front page news in Boston. An abduction.”
“How tragic.” Crisp didn’t even glance at the newspaper.
“My father helped that woman settle there. You promised not to sell those identities—we had a deal!”
Crisp stood, picking up the paper. He looked ridiculous, Tasha thought, in his bow tie and old-man suit, surrounded by all these historic weapons. She felt like grabbing one of the Civil War swords off the wall and using it on him.
“You have my word, I had nothing to do with this.” Crisp tossed the newspaper back at her.
Tasha instinctively caught it, realizing too late that it was a trick. Crisp had diverted her attention from his true intention. He lifted a device that looked like a gun except for its bright yellow color. When he pulled the trigger, two barbed electrodes shot out, hitting Tasha before she could move. The electrodes were attached to long thin wires.
Tasha’s whole body jerked as the Taser zapped her with thousands of volts of electricity. Her muscles went rigid, pain shooting through her body. For a moment she convulsed and then dropped to the floo
r as the current finally subsided.
“Ms. Levi, I’m afraid your usefulness has come to an end.” Crisp walked calmly around the desk and looked down at her. From his jacket pocket, he withdrew his cell phone and made a call. “I need you to dispose of some garbage. Enter from the back.”
Tasha knew she had to fight or she was as good as dead. She struggled to move, but her muscles wouldn’t obey. All she could do was look up helplessly as Crisp towered over her.
“Emotion makes you weak,” he said. “It makes you reckless. Easy to manipulate. Your father really should have trained you better.”
Inside her head, Tasha roared, wanting to make Crisp pay for those words. But she couldn’t even lift a finger to stop him as he zapped her once more. This time, she nearly passed out.
Through a haze, she felt her wrists and ankles being duct-taped together. Another piece of tape was stretched across her mouth so she couldn’t talk. Within minutes, a big man dressed in a tracksuit entered from the back of the shop. He lifted Tasha as if she weighed nothing and slung her over his shoulder.
As they exited into the alley, Tasha saw a sedan with its trunk open. She desperately tried to hit or kick Crisp’s goon, knowing this might be her last chance. He barely even noticed. The big man tossed her in the trunk and slammed it closed.
Tasha slowly regained her wits. The trunk was pitch-black. She could barely move. She probed around, trying to find a jagged piece of metal or something she could use to tear the tape and get free. She was frustrated to realize that the trunk was completely empty. Obviously, this guy was careful, which would make it even harder for her to get away.
They drove for over thirty minutes. Tasha was certain they had left Manhattan as the traffic noise gradually diminished. The car bumped along, causing her to bounce from side to side. The cramped space was uncomfortable, and it was hard to breathe with the tape over her mouth.
Alone in the dark, she couldn’t stop thinking about Crisp. He had said she was easily manipulated. But what did he mean exactly? Had he manipulated her in some way she didn’t understand? Had Tasha been so determined to avenge her father’s death that she let herself be duped by Crisp? She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it wasn’t just from her current situation.
The sudden squeal of brakes jolted Tasha from her reverie. The car slammed to a stop as the sound of crunching metal shattered the quiet. Tasha rolled into the back of the trunk, smashing her shoulder hard.
They had rear-ended another car. Tasha heard voices and the closing of car doors as the drivers got out. The words weren’t clear, but the other driver was a woman who sounded upset and angry.
This might be her chance. She had to get the woman’s attention. Tasha turned on her back and tried kicking the trunk lid. It was awkward—she didn’t have much room, so the kicks weren’t very powerful. But she managed to make a little noise. Beneath her duct-tape gag, she let loose with a muffled scream.
The voices suddenly stopped. Tasha wanted to yell at the woman to run and get help, but couldn’t even move her lips. She kicked the trunk lid again.
Then Tasha recognized the sound of somebody getting punched. And again. A body hit the side of the car and fell to the ground outside.
Defeated, Tasha quit kicking. Crisp’s thug had knocked the woman out, maybe even killed her. Her last chance had failed.
Keys rattled in the trunk’s lock, and the lid suddenly opened. Bright sunlight blinded Tasha. She blinked rapidly as a silhouetted figure loomed over her.
But it wasn’t Crisp’s muscle. It was the woman.
“Hello, Tasha,” Jacqueline Quinn said. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER
36
MOUNT SATORI,
LOVANDA, AFRICA
The diesel fuel cans were stacked across from where the dump trucks were parked for the night. Ryan checked the first two, disappointed to find them empty, before picking up one that was half-full.
“Take this,” he said, handing it to Lawrence.
“We have to hurry.” Lawrence peered around the end of one of the trucks, keeping watch for guards.
“I know.” Ryan found two more cans that still held some fuel. He didn’t actually want much liquid. Explosions were caused by the diesel vapors—the gases trapped inside the can—not by the fuel itself. Three should be plenty for what he had in mind.
“Come on,” he whispered.
With a can in each hand, Ryan snuck across the complex, using the equipment and machinery to keep out of sight. Lawrence followed, less fearful and more confident since his impromptu performance. Finally, they made it to Ryan’s target.
The stone crusher was a huge metal monstrosity, old and battered with a giant drum sitting on a raised platform two stories up. A network of conveyor belts carried chunks of stone up to the mouth of the beast where they were pulverized and the gold extracted. Ryan set his diesel cans down and climbed the scaffolding to the raised platform.
“Pass them up.”
“What is this?” Lawrence asked as he handed the cans to Ryan.
“This baby crushes all the stone. Without it, the mine comes to a standstill.”
Ryan tucked two of the cans under the main drum and the other right next to the crusher’s motor. He pulled out the sardine tin filled with plastic explosive and positioned it halfway between the two points. If this worked right, one small explosion would now become several big ones. At this time of night, no people were in this area, so the only damage would be to the machinery.
Ryan jumped down from the platform. “Once we get closer to my dad, we’ll trigger it.”
Keeping to the shadows, they retraced their path around the barracks. The uproar in the courtyard seemed to have calmed down, but there were still a lot of guards in the area. Lawrence took the lead, guiding them around the buildings and back toward the hole in the fence.
“It’s that way.” Lawrence pointed, but Ryan couldn’t see very far in the dark. “We’re close.”
Ryan heard a soft crackling sound behind them and spun around. He couldn’t see anyone, but that had sounded like static from a walkie-talkie. Then the hum of an engine approaching became unmistakable.
Behind them, a guard emerged from the corner of the building, his rifle raised. Ryan grabbed Lawrence’s shirt and yanked him around the corner as a shot rang out. The bullet hit the edge of the metal structure barely missing them.
Lawrence and Ryan dashed along the side of the building. A truck suddenly appeared, cutting them off. Ryan turned back, but the guard was now blocking their retreat.
The wiry foreman with the cloudy eye got out of the passenger side of the truck. He pointed at Ryan and Lawrence, yelling commands to his men in their language. They closed in, leaving nowhere to run.
Ryan’s hand slipped into his pocket, grasping the remote control. All three buttons at once, Lawrence had said. Ryan’s fingers found each of them. The guard behind him was now very close as Ryan pressed the buttons, praying this worked.
Ka-boom! A ball of fire blasted into the sky as a thunderous explosion rocked the mine complex. The foreman and his men all looked up in shock and confusion.
Ryan didn’t hesitate, whirling and grabbing the guard’s rifle. He whipped it out of the startled man’s grip, then hit him with a Krav Maga Straight Punch right in the chin. The guard fell to the ground, but Ryan was already turning.
A second explosion shook the ground as he charged the two men in the truck. Holding the rifle at each end, Ryan aimed at the driver who was raising a handgun. Ryan slammed into the man, using the rifle like a battering ram. The driver was knocked into the truck, hitting his head against the metal and crumpling to the ground.
Ryan turned toward the foreman, but he was too late. The man’s face was twisted in fury as he punched Ryan in the side. He snatched the rifle out of Ryan’s hands, then swung the butt end at him. Ryan blocked the blow with his arm. Pain shot through his shoulder as he fell to his knees. The foreman raised the rifle hig
h overhead, prepared to deal a crippling blow.
But then he slumped over, tumbling to the ground. Lawrence stood behind him, a rock in his hand. His strike had knocked the foreman out cold.
“Let’s go—the other guard’s getting up!” Lawrence dropped the rock and grabbed Ryan’s hand, helping him stand.
On the far side of the complex, the flickering glow of orange flames lit the night sky. The moans of wrenching metal reverberated through the camp as the stone crusher fell to pieces. Ryan thought it would take them weeks to get the mine running again. It wasn’t freedom, but hopefully it bought a little reprieve for Malik and the other miners.
Still reeling from the blow to his side, Ryan hobbled after Lawrence. It hurt to move, but they had to reach the fence. As they passed the farthest building, a figure materialized from the darkness.
“Dad!” Ryan raced up to his father, never happier to see him. They hugged and then his dad pulled away, examining him with concern.
“Are you hurt?”
“Winded, but I’ll be fine.”
John glanced in the direction of the raging fire at the stone crusher. “What did you do?”
“Created a distraction.” Ryan couldn’t help grinning. “Maybe a little bigger than you originally planned.”
Dad smiled at him with admiration. “Come on, we need to get out of here before they pull themselves together.”
He led the way toward the hole in the fence, holding back the chain link as Lawrence ducked through. Ryan followed, grateful to leave the Devil’s House far behind.
CHAPTER
37
HOUDALI,
LOVANDA, AFRICA
Danny checked the side mirror again. It was impossible to tell if anyone was following them, though. Even at night, the narrow streets of Houdali were packed with cars and trucks jockeying for position. At this rate, they’d never make it to the airport.
