by Elle James
“No! No! No!” Pitbull shook his fist in the air.
Buck caught up with him, breathing hard and pressing a hand to his injured head. “What the hell were you trying to do?”
“I couldn’t let her go.” He spun and walked several steps back the way they’d come and then spun again and marched toward Buck. “What can I do? How will I find her? Damn it, Buck. They’ll kill her.” He gripped his friend’s collar.
Buck grabbed his wrists. “Get a hold of yourself, dude. We’ll find her.”
“How?” Pitbull dropped his hands to his sides. “Africa is a big continent. They could be going anywhere.”
Buck shook his head. “I don’t know, but I know someone who might.” He grinned. “T-Mac. If anyone can find Marly’s plane, it would be our man T-Mac. He’s an absolute genius when it comes to computers and communications.”
“But it’s a plane, not a computer.”
“Planes have transponders. Transponders talk to computers somewhere. T-Mac just has to find the computer, hack into it and locate our girl.”
“They lose airplanes all the time. What will make Marly’s plane any different?”
“We can stand here and discuss the merits of hacking or actually try something.” Buck straightened the swath of bandages around his head. “Come on.”
Pitbull ran ahead of him to the main house, yelling at the top of his lungs, “T-Mac, Harm, Big Jake, Diesel!”
All four men ran out of the house, followed by Talia and the chef.
“What’s going on?” Big Jake demanded.
“Marly and her plane were hijacked. They killed the guards and took her and the plane.”
“Holy hell,” Harm said.
Pitbull faced T-Mac. “You can track her, can’t you? Please tell me you can track the plane.”
“I’ll need my laptop and a strong internet connection.”
“I’ll get your computer.” Diesel ran for T-Mac’s bungalow.
“Follow me into my office. We have satellite internet,” Talia said. “It’s fast and pretty reliable.”
“What else do you need?” Pitbull hated being so helpless.
“I need to know we aren’t going to come under attack anytime soon.” T-Mac stared at Pitbull.
“He’s right,” Big Jake added. “We need to make sure there aren’t any other Tangos running around the perimeter or inside the compound.”
Pitbull gave T-Mac a narrow-eyed glare. “You’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?”
“If I said yes, would it work?” T-Mac challenged him with raised eyebrows. “I need time to figure this out. I’ve tracked a lot of things, but I haven’t tracked an airplane. We don’t have a GPS device implanted on Marly or the airplane.”
“Do you know anyone who has tracked an airplane using whatever the airplane has on board?” Pitbull asked.
“I have some contacts,” T-Mac said.
Talia threw open a door to a spacious office. The walls were lined with bookshelves. A massive mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room with two wingback chairs in front of it and a leather office chair behind.
T-Mac paced the length of the room. “I really need my laptop.”
“You’re welcome to use my computer.” Talia keyed her user name and password and stood back. “Go for it, and find Marly.”
T-Mac sank into the office chair and placed his hands on the keyboard. A moment later, Diesel arrived with his laptop. He set the laptop beside the desktop monitor and fired it up.
Before he started his search, he glanced up at Pitbull and the rest of the team. “Standing around staring at me isn’t going to help me find Marly any faster. Please, go take care of the guards before the buzzards do the job.”
Big Jake gripped Pitbull’s elbow. “Come, we have a job to do, and T-Mac has his job. He’ll let you know as soon as he learns something.”
“I need to be here when he finds Marly. You don’t understand.”
Jake nodded. “I do understand, but you’re not going to help T-Mac by getting in his way.”
Pitbull knew Big Jake was right, but he didn’t like leaving, especially if the one man who was conducting the search found something significant that could lead to bringing Marly back. He wanted to be there when that happened. The sooner he knew where she was, the sooner he’d go to her.
Trouble was, they didn’t have the transportation to go anywhere.
Pitbull grabbed the telephone on the desk. “Does this thing work?”
Talia nodded. “Most of the time. It’s a satellite phone. It can be sketchy during bad weather. But most of the time it’s reliable.”
“Who are you going to call?” Big Jake put his hand over the one Pitbull had on the phone.
“The team back in Djibouti. We’ll need backup and support.”
Big Jake nodded. “Let me. You’re a little too close to the problem.”
The need to be proactive made Pitbull reluctant to hand over the phone. In his gut, he knew Big Jake was right. He was too upset to be coherent and calm. He handed the phone to Big Jake and then hovered beside him for support until he’d completed the call.
“What did they say?” Pitbull asked.
“They’re going to scramble the team and call for support from the 160th Night Stalkers.” Big Jake laid a hand on Pitbull’s shoulder. “They’re coming.” He turned toward T-Mac. “As soon as we know anything, we’re to contact them.”
“They need to pick us up first,” Pitbull insisted. “We have to be there for Marly.”
Big Jake shook his head. “If Marly ends up being closer to them, they’ll go direct.”
“You’re right.” Pitbull’s fists knotted so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms. “God, I feel trapped.”
“And we all will feel trapped until we locate Marly and get a ride out of here to her.” Harm clapped a hand to Pitbull’s back. “Come on. We need to check the perimeter and take care of the guards.”
Pitbull gave T-Mac one last glance. “Find her.”
T-Mac saluted him without turning away from the desk. “Will do.”
The five men checked their weapons and ammo and then left the office.
Talia followed them into the foyer, her brow dipping into a V. “I need help taking care of the guards. I can’t leave them out there for the buzzards to feast on.”
“We can take care of them,” Big Jake assured her. “I’m not sure how it works here, but shouldn’t the police investigate?”
The resort owner drew in a deep breath. “I put a call in to the local authorities. They should be here within the next fifteen minutes.” Talia wrung her hands. “Those guards were good men. I have no idea what to tell their families.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Big Jake said. “But you might have a bigger problem.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“How many guards do you have working this resort?” he asked.
“I had five, but I’m down to three. One fills in for the others and two of them work the night shift.”
“It might not be enough,” Harm said.
Talia nodded. “I hope I can get additional guards. They might not want to come to work on a resort where two have already been attacked and killed.”
“I’m heading out to check the perimeter.” Pitbull didn’t have the patience to stand around inside the house. As it was, the walls seemed to be closing in around him. The sooner he got outside, the better.
He needed to search the grounds and out around the landing strip. What if the plane hadn’t been large enough to hold all of the attackers? There might be more thugs waiting for sundown to make a break for it. If they could capture one, they could coerce him into telling them where they’d taken Marly.
Pitbull grabbed the doorknob and yanked open the door. “Are you coming?”
“Me, too,” Diesel said.
Pitbull stared pointedly at Talia. “You’ll let us know if you hear anything from T-Mac or Marly?”
Talia nodded. “You bet. Anything. As soon as I hear.”
Pitbull shot a last glance toward the office. He couldn’t hover behind T-Mac, and he had to do something to burn off frustrated energy. Until they knew where the hijackers had taken Marly, he couldn’t do much to rescue her. He could only kick himself for not going with her to the plane. Guilt gnawed at his gut. He couldn’t imagine what she might be going through. Some of the rebel factions in Africa were cruel—especially toward females.
He and his team spread out, taking different directions upon leaving the compound, weapons drawn. After the two guards had been killed, they knew the attackers weren’t messing around.
All they had to go on was finding the plane. What if the hijackers separated Marly from her plane? In that case, they’d be shooting in the dark to find her.
Chapter Twelve
Marly surfaced from a very dark and foggy place. Pain throbbed in her cheek and temple. When she opened her eyes, the darkness abated only a little. She blinked to clear her vision, but the darkness remained as a hazy gray twilight.
She lay on a hard surface, not the soft cushy mattress she’d shared with Pitbull at the resort. Where was she? Confusion cleared as memories rushed in. Marly sat up straight, her vision slowly adjusting to her surroundings. The hard surface was a dirt floor. The walls around her weren’t those of her plane. Instead they were made of mud and thatch. The only light making its way into her prison was from a gap near the roof, and it wasn’t much. Night must be falling. She’d been unconscious for a while.
Marly staggered to her feet, bracing a hand on the rough wall to steady herself while the world spun in protest. When her legs stopped wobbling, she straightened and searched the interior of her cell for the exit. A wooden door at one end of the small space was the only way in or out, and apparently it was locked from the outside.
She fought the urge to yell and shake the door violently. If there was another way out, she didn’t want to alert her captors to the fact she was awake. For a long moment, she listened, straining to hear sounds of movement, talking or anything that would tell her what was happening outside. Several times she heard vehicle engines. Once she heard a shout in what sounded like Swahili.
And then she heard a moan. Soon the moan turned to quiet sobs from the other side of one of her cell walls.
Marly’s heartbeat quickened as she crossed to the wall and leaned her head close. From the sounds of the sobs, it had to be either a child or a woman.
“Hey, can you hear me?” Marly called out in just above a whisper.
The sobbing continued.
A little louder this time, Marly called out, “Hey, can you hear me?”
For a moment silence reigned. Then a soft voice sounded from the other side of the wall. “Oui,” said a woman with a French accent. French was the official language of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
“My name is Marly. Do you speak English?” Marly asked, praying the other woman did. Otherwise, it would be next to useless for them to combine efforts.
“Oui,” she responded. “A little.”
Marly sagged with relief. “Where are we?”
The woman started crying again.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right. But I need to know where we are and why we were brought here.”
Through her sobs, the woman managed to say, “We are to be sold and taken away to other countries.”
Marly swore softly. If these were the same people who’d been poaching on national preserves, not only were they after baby animals, they were involved in human trafficking.
“Oh, no, they won’t,” Marly promised. If it was the last thing she did, she’d get out of this mess and take the other woman with her. “Are there more women?” she asked.
“Oui,” the woman answered. “I do not know how many.”
“My name’s Marly,” she said.
“I am Celeste,” the woman answered, though the sound was more of a sob.
“Well, Celeste, we’re going to get out of here. You hear me?”
“S’il vous plaît.”
Marly searched the room again, even more intent on escape than before. She refused to allow herself and other women to be sold like cattle to the highest bidder and then used as sex slaves in God knew where.
The walls were dried mud and straw, but hard-packed and dense. It would take a long time to scratch her way through with nothing but her fingernails. She eyed the gap near the roof that allowed air and a little light from the moon to filter through. From where she stood, the gap didn’t appear large enough for a human to fit through. But she wouldn’t know unless she climbed up there and found out.
She’d been over the room several times and found nothing but herself and the dirt floor. Without a ladder or a chair to stand on, she could use only her hands and feet to scale the wall. How hard could it be?
She jumped and made a grab for the top of the mud wall. No matter how high she jumped, it remained out of her reach. With no toe or finger holes, she couldn’t climb the wall. Using her fingernails, she scratched and dug into the hard-packed mud walls. All she managed was to break her nails down to the quick. If only she had something hard and sharp.
Marly almost laughed out loud. Too often she’d been poked by the underwire in her bra when it found its way out of the fabric and dug into her skin.
Quickly she unzipped her flight suit, peeled it down her torso and removed her favorite pink bra. A few minutes later, she had the underwire out of the bra. She slipped the bra into her back pocket, sans the wire, and zipped herself back into her suit.
Using the sharp end of the metal, she dug at the dirt walls in the corner of the room, creating toe and hand holds she could grip as she climbed the wall. The work was slow and steady, but what else did she have to do? She wasn’t content to wait for the thugs who’d put her here to come back, rough her up and knock her out again. She had to escape and get the others out before they sold them to the barbarians who traded in human flesh.
One by one, she dug holes deep enough and shaped for her hands to grip. By the time the moon had risen high into the sky, she reached the top of the wall and could see out of the building. There was only a four-inch gap between the roof and the thatched roof. Not enough for her to shimmy through but...
She pushed at the thatch. It gave a little but was tied snugly to keep the rain out. Pushing again, she could feel it give a little more. Using the underwire, she slashed at the binding holding the thatch together. The dull edge of the wire did little to cut through. Marly was persistent and kept hacking away, praying her efforts would eventually pay off.
“Marly.” Celeste’s voice sounded through the wall. “Someone comes.”
Marly left the wire hooked in the thatch and dropped down the wall to the floor. She moved quickly to the opposite side of the room, where she lay on the floor as if she were still unconscious.
The door to her cell opened and a flashlight shone in onto her face.
Though Marly peeked through her lashes, all she could see was the flashlight’s beam glaring at her. She could hear two guards speaking in Swahili. One of them entered the cell and kicked her with his boot.
Marly fought hard not to cry out or flinch. He’d caught her in the rib and it hurt like the devil. She hoped they’d move on and leave her alone if they thought she was still out.
Her luck continued to be lousy.
The men each grabbed an arm, hauled her out of the cell and dragged her through what appeared to be a small village with a mix of thatch-roofed huts and tin and plywood shanties. Between the huts and shanties were stacks of cages. Some had animals trapped inside.
As they passed by, the creatures locked in the cages sounded off. Some screeched like apes. Others cried like kittens.
This was where they were bringing the baby animals. Marly’s chest tightened. Those poor babies, snatched from their mothers, cried pitifully, breaking Marly’s heart. Somehow she had to help them and the women who were also being held. It wasn’t enough to escape. She couldn’t leave them behind.
The guards carried her into the only structure that appeared to have had any thought put into its construction, with sturdy wooden walls and a tin roof.
Marly didn’t make it easy on the men. She relaxed her body, still pretending to be unconscious. When they dumped her on the ground in front of a table and chair, she lay still, hoping whoever she’d been brought to see would have them take her back to her cell to recover. Surely they wouldn’t sell an unconscious woman?
“Ms. Simpson, I know you are awake,” a man said.
She refused to acknowledge him, lying as still as possible, her eyes opened only enough for her to see through her lashes. Not that she saw more than a pair of boots and legs beneath the desk.
The man spoke in rapid Swahili to the two guards who’d dumped her on the floor. They bent to lift her again and plunked her into a chair, and then moved it to sit in front of the table. The tied her to the chair and left her to face their boss.
A single light hung suspended from the ceiling over the table and chairs. The man on the other side wore a boonie hat. The light hitting the brim cast his face in a deep, dark shadow.
“Ms. Simpson, cooperate and I might let you live.” He had an accent that didn’t sound like any in Africa. He wasn’t South African or British. Hell, he sounded American.
Marly sat tied to the chair, her head hanging, her body limp. She didn’t know how long she could pretend to be unconscious, but she didn’t have another plan.
The man again spoke to the guards. One left the building and returned a moment later carrying a bucket.
Before she could guess his intention, he tossed the contents of the bucket at her.
Water hit her full in the face. The shock made her gasp and she sucked some in, resulting in a fit of coughing that destroyed her ruse of being unconscious.
