Diamond Legacy

by Monica McCabe

  Matt just shrugged. “Nik will take care of getting us inside.”

  “Not with that thing on your leg,” Nik fired off. “No guns and absolutely no bloodshed allowed. Weston must give the commencement speech. You got that?”

  Matt frowned, unhappy with the order, but conceded and pulled the derringer off to toss it back in the bag. “You’re the boss.”

  “And do my heart a favor by not causing a scene that involves security,” Nik continued. “There are diplomats and bodyguards covering every square inch in there. One hint of trouble and half of them disappear.”

  “You worry too much, Nik.”

  “And I know you too well, Bennett.”

  “We’re wasting time.” Matt tugged on his sleeves to adjust the fit of the borrowed tux. “I want to get at Weston before he steps to the microphone.” He headed for the building.

  Jason fell into step beside Matt. “If Weston spills his guts, what assurances do we have that he’s telling the truth?”

  “International exposure is a powerful threat,” Matt replied. “But Weston isn’t the one I want. I’ll promise him the moon, including a chance to walk, just to get a name and a location.”

  Nik stopped in his tracks. “I knew there was something you weren’t telling me.”

  “I’ll explain later. Confession takes too long.” And weapon smugglers never allowed witnesses to live. Miranda was already on borrowed time. Every wasted minute ate at Matt.

  They entered the building, and Nik checked them through security before they headed down a maze of staff corridors. Matt knew the way and took off with a determined stride. Despite Nik’s warnings, he didn’t care how he got the information from Weston. If it took bloodshed, so be it. He wasn’t leaving until he had Miranda’s location and the name of the murdering bastard running guns through Glory Hill.

  Matt didn’t slow until the doorway of the grand entry hall appeared in front of him. There, he took one deep breath and entered the crowded hall.

  Stately and spacious, the expansive room felt small due to the number of dignitaries mingling about. An eclectic mixture of ambassadors, undersecretaries, prime ministers, and government aides all sipped champagne, engaged in conversation, or read pages of text. Few paid any attention to the trio as they threaded their way through the crowd.

  With single-minded purpose, Matt circled the grand hall searching for Weston, but he wasn’t to be found. Undaunted, Matt moved into the main auditorium where many had already found their seats. Plenty still stood, however, and the sound of voices echoed in the cavernous room.

  They’d entered on an upper level and the threesome began a gradual climb down toward the stage. That was when Matt spotted Weston. Stage right, he stood deep in conversation with several dignitaries.

  A surge of adrenaline rushed through Matt. His step quickened until a hand grabbed his arm, stopping his forward momentum. He turned to face Nik.

  “Perhaps I should do the talking,” Nik said with a troubled expression.

  “Not this time,” Matt replied. “I’m on the front-lines. You supply backup.”

  Nik looked ready to argue, so Matt shook his head. “You and Jason need to be in place in case he tries to bolt. Secure the area. I’m going in.”

  “Remember what I said, Matt.” Nik’s dark eyes glittered with serious intent. “No scenes.”

  With a curt nod, Matt aimed straight for the politician.

  He didn’t bother with niceties when he got there. Despite an avid conversation taking place, Matt marched right up and interrupted. “We need to talk, Weston.”

  The politician shot him a look full of disdain. “Do I know you?”

  “Not yet. But you will soon.” Matt turned to Weston’s companions. “Please excuse us, gentlemen. Critical matters require the Under Secretary’s attention.”

  Without waiting for acknowledgements, Matt grabbed the politician’s arm and steered him through a side door by the stage. Weston balked, but political training prevented him from making a scene. At least until they were out of the public eye.

  Once in the privacy of the corridor, Weston’s anger emerged, and he tossed off Matt’s hold. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”

  “An urgent matter requires your attention,” Matt said. “I need a name.”

  “I’m to deliver a speech within minutes,” Weston spat out between tense jaws. “I have no time for games.”

  “Nor do I.” Matt flashed his badge.

  That got an instant change in attitude. Wariness settled into the politician’s eyes, and he glanced up and down the corridor. “This way.” He motioned Matt to follow.

  He led the way into a small empty reception room, and Nik stepped in behind them. Jason followed to stand guard inside the door.

  The move seemed to annoy Weston, and he settled his ire on Matt. “What’s this all about?”

  “Simple, really.” Matt relaxed back against a table. “You give me some information and we go away.”

  “Nothing is ever simple,” Weston said skeptically. “What do you want?”

  “IDS stumbled across a very interesting network within Gaborone. Needless to say, we’ve been watching you closely for some time. You’ve some very unhealthy relationships, Weston.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Very well.” Matt dropped the casual front. “There’s a man who’s a frequent visitor of yours. I’ve seen him myself at Glory Hill.”

  Realization sank in. “That was you that night, I take it?”

  “The one and only,” Matt replied. “I’ve discovered that your friend is a very bad man, and I want his name.”

  Weston gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Not in a million years. That answer comes with a death sentence.”

  “We all have to pay the piper sooner or later.”

  The politician scowled at Matt’s cavalier attitude over his well-being. “Fortunately for me, I have better sense than to answer your abrupt demand. IDS be damned.”

  “You misunderstand,” Matt said. “You have no choice.”

  “This conversation is over,” Weston said through clenched jaws. He turned to leave.

  Jason barred his way with a grim smile and arms crossed. “No way out here, Buster.”

  The Under Secretary turned back to face Matt. “Call off your hound.”

  “Not in a million years,” Matt repeated.

  Anger flushed Weston’s face to ruddy-red. “I thought IDS had better sense than to harass one of Gaborone’s highest ranking officials.” His glare wasn’t for Matt alone. He turned his fury on Nik, too. “You realize the consequences of this insult?”

  “Absolutely.” Nik turned on his intimidation voice. “And I grow weary of arguing, so I suggest you answer my agent’s questions.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you people.” Weston was still defiant. “Unless you have something to hold me on, we should save this for another time. There’s a room full of international guests awaiting opening ceremony.”

  Matt didn’t care. “Then you might want to start talking.”

  Weston’s expression hardened. “You realize if I give you that name, my career is over.”

  “I’ve news for you,” Matt said. “Your career is over anyway. From conflict diamonds to arms dealing, IDS has enough on you to put you away for a good long time.”

  “You are bluffing.”

  Matt shoved away from the table hard enough to knock it over with a crash. “You want honesty?” He stood square in Weston’s face. “All right, listen up,” he snarled. “Men are waiting to take you into custody, and apologies will be made for your unfortunate absence. Another will make your opening speech tonight, and word of your arrest will spread like wildfire. Your reputation will be ruined, your career will be over, and you will live out the remainder of your days behind bars. Shall I go on?” The lethal seriousness of Matt’s tone must have sunk in, for Weston pulled out a chair and dropped down under the we
ight of his new reality.

  “The name,” Matt demanded.

  Weston eyed him with hostility. “He’s a mercenary. A cold-hearted bastard that makes ruthless seem like child’s play. If you’re going after him, then you’re a dead man.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  The Under Secretary sat and stared at nothing as the clock ticked by. The man was a consummate politician. Matt expected he weighed his options, calculating how to best turn this around.

  “I never expected things to get this far,” Weston said with a shake of his head. “But I made a deal with the devil, and I’m condemned to obey. It’s growing more intolerable every day.”

  “If you’re angling for sympathy, it won’t work.”

  “Look,” Weston began pleadingly. “I made a mistake years ago, and he bailed me out. Since then, he has tightened a noose around my neck. And not just me. He’s deadly, a viper with tentacles in every sector of Africa. He’s drunk on power. But I’m going to stop him. There’s already a plan in motion. All I need is for IDS to stand down.”

  “Not an option,” Nik said.

  “Whether you believe me or not, everything I’ve done is for the greater good of my country. Don’t interfere now.”

  Matt tapped his wristwatch. “Time is wasting.”

  Weston sighed heavily. “All right. But you will regret this.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his chin, as though calculating his next move. “If I give you the name, I want something in return.”

  Matt didn’t want to give him a damn thing, but he was here to cut a deal. He needed information. “How about a chance to walk out of Botswana without serving jail time?” Matt offered. His soon-to-be-informant appeared interested, so Matt continued. “You’ll have exactly three days to pack up and get out of the country before word gets out. In return, you will cancel the weapons deal, give me the man’s name, and the location of his base camp. And you will never, ever leak one word of Katanga’s involvement.”

  The last part he threw in for Miranda’s sake. And Roz and Letta. And the many others who benefited from the work performed there.

  “You don’t ask for much, do you?” Weston spoke through clenched jaws.

  “You’re damn lucky I’m not sending you up river immediately,” Matt said without an ounce of pity.

  The politician stared at him with eyes colder than Kilimanjaro snow. “I’ll cancel the deal and give you the name, but I regret I won’t be around for your funeral.”

  “I’ll suffer the disappointment.”

  Weston remained stone-faced, but he spilled the information. “His name is Pierre Bessault, and his camp sits just inside the Kalahari, beyond Molepolole.”

  Matt shoved paper and a pen in front of Weston. “I want a map.”

  He did as told and produced a rough sketch. “Unless you go in with an army, you will never get anywhere near Bessault,” he said as he handed over the drawing. “The place is heavily guarded by men every bit as ruthless as he is.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Matt gave a quick study of the map and stuffed it in his pocket. “Enjoy your speech, Weston. It will be your last.”

  Chapter 33

  From her constant perch at the grimy window, Miranda surveyed the commotion at the far end of camp. Five years ago, her father had faced smuggled guns and came away paralyzed. The view from their prison said her price would be much greater.

  Fear and regret threatened her ability to remain rational. She needed to focus on possible solutions instead. If they had any hope of living to tell this tale, they had to get out.

  Twilight had settled into dark, but generator lights peppering the compound revealed heightened activity occurring at the far end.

  “Something’s going on,” she said to Hank. “Even our guard is distracted.”

  In a flash, she crossed the room to the front door. Her heart pounded as she cracked it open a mere sliver and peered outside.

  Their guard stood fifty feet away, straining to glimpse the action. He was a stick of a man, barely big enough to cast a shadow, but he made up for it with the size of his gun. He took a few more steps away from them toward the action.

  “Hank,” she whispered, “come look.”

  She opened the door another inch. Trucks were arriving, the big military canvas-backed cargo trucks that held substantial ammunition stores. Were they picking up or delivering? There was no telling, but the entire camp headed over to meet them.

  “What’s going on?” Hank whispered behind her.

  “Some sort of shipment,” she replied. “And it has everyone’s attention.”

  Their guard glanced back, clearly torn between duty and curiosity. Miranda held her breath. Curiosity won the day, and he turned back to the commotion.

  She closed the door. “This might be our only chance, Hank.”

  A sudden look of alarm crossed his face. That worried her more than his swollen and bruised nose. He already wavered unsteadily on his feet. A strong wind gust would likely blow him over. It boded ill for the start of an escape attempt.

  Still, they had to try.

  “We’ll steal the first vehicle we find,” she said. “Keep to as much cover as possible and pray for luck.”

  “What are you talking about?” He sounded near panicked. “Do you seriously mean to make a run for it? Did you see all those guns out there?”

  How could he not realize the severity of their situation?

  “They’re going to kill us, Hank. We’ve seen their operation. We can identify people. That equals a death sentence for you and me. Personally, if I’m going to die, I’d rather do it trying to escape.”

  It didn’t seem possible for his pallor to drop another shade. But her take on their odds of survival did the trick. For some reason, that fact annoyed her.

  “We’re wasting time,” she said abruptly. “You can come with me, or stay, but I’m taking what slim chance there is to stay alive.”

  She opened the door a crack. Their guard appeared occupied by the latest set of headlights to pull in. The truck rolled to a stop in front of the biggest building near the end of the compound and was greeted by a resounding hail of cheers and whistles. Miranda saw the arrival as opportunity. Odds were, it would be their only one.

  “Now!” she whispered to Hank.

  She didn’t wait to see if he followed, just slipped out the door and quickly rounded to the dark side of their prison.

  Thankfully, Hank joined her and they inched down the wall, taking care to avoid jagged metal edges and splintered wood that made up the sides of the building.

  From the back, Miranda made a lightning fast survey of the area. Flat ground and minimal cover. A couple skeletal acacia trees, several more shacks, a burnt-out shell of a car, and one major pile of junk in the open space between them and the next set of buildings.

  That was it then. The debris became her target.

  She eyed the stretch between them and the questionable cover. Two shacks down, a small group of men headed toward the arriving caravan, but their backs were to them. She didn’t see anyone else in close range.

  Darkness was their only salvation. Her breathing went shallow, her heart raced, and every sense she owned stood on full alert. It’s time to make a run for it. “Okay,” she whispered as she turned back to Hank. “Here’s the plan.”

  Oh, God. Hank’s face had paled to a ghostly white. Add pinched lips, flared nostrils, and a blood-spattered shirt, and he looked one step from wretchedly sick. But there wasn’t time for sympathy. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “Snap out of it, Hank. Right now!” she whispered forcefully.

  He focused on her face, and she continued. “If you want to live, you need to pull it together.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “We’re making a run for that pile of junk.” She pointed, yet kept close watch for signs of comprehension. It was a tiny relief when he nodded, but she took it.


  Another peek around the corner and everything looked clear. It was now or never. “Now, Hank! Run!”

  She sprinted as fast as her legs would move. Though only seconds, it felt an eternity until she reached their target. Luck held however, and no warning whistle blew.

  She glanced back for Hank and sank into cold despair. He hadn’t moved! His stare was as frozen as the rest of him. She gave a fierce wave of her hand, an unmistakable order to move it.

  And surprisingly, he did. Without even checking to see if the coast was clear, he fled the building and crossed the space in a desperate run. Her breathing stopped until he joined her again.

  “Jesus, Miranda,” he panted, “you’re going to get us killed.”

  She ignored his obvious misconception. There were bigger things to worry about. Like their next move. She circled halfway around the rubble and stopped to spy on the caravan. Three big trucks now sat parked, their headlights revealing a hive of activity, but the excitement of their arrival would soon be over. Their window of opportunity was shrinking fast.

  “This is crazy,” Hank whined behind her. “We should’ve stayed put.”

  There wasn’t time to debate the issue as she calculated their next option. “Give me your hand.”

  He did and she took off running, dragging him behind her.

  Shouts rang out as they reached the next shack. Adrenaline raced through her veins as they disappeared around the side, straight down to the back. It took an unnerving second for her to realize the shouts weren’t due to their escape, but another celebration near the trucks. She exhaled a snap prayer of thanks. Then added a heartfelt plea for help. Heaven knew, they needed a miracle right now.

  She found one instantly. The front half of a rusted, old truck sat alongside the next shack. She’d never hot-wired a vehicle before, but unless the keys were on a silver platter, she’d be getting a crash course.

  “See that truck, Hank?”

  He grunted in reply.

  “I’m driving,” she said as she peered around the building.

  He didn’t argue.