Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  Colonel Rudd’s jaw dropped to the floor.

  ‘They did what?’

  ‘They planted trees, shrubs and other indigenous vegetation.’

  Colonel Rudd stared at her in slack-jawed silence for a few moments, and then released a booming belly laugh and thumped his fist on the desk.

  ‘They filled in the fuckin’ mine an’ planted fuckin’ trees on top of it?! Sweet Jesus an’ Mary Mother a’ God, y’all are dealin’ with a bunch a’ angry tree-huggin’ hippies?! That’s what y’all called us out here for?’

  Ms Hutton stared at Rudd with liquid nitrogen icicles in her eyes, but despite the viciousness of her stare he could not stop chuckling, and he couldn’t resist beaming a mocking smile at her. Her tone took on somewhat of a colder air, and every breath that emerged from between her tight, thin lips seemed to be laced with a vapour of ice crystals.

  ‘These “tree-hugging hippies”, as you call them, decimated an entire army of rebel militia, Colonel Rudd. That army was a major military force in this area … and now they’re gone. Completely, totally gone.’

  Colonel Rudd found it impossible to keep the incredulous sneer off of his face; every tanned wrinkle and crease in his weather-worn skin screamed out with silent, viciously jeering malice.

  ‘Well they sound like a bunch a’ long-haired bunny-huggin’ faggots t’ me! Jesus H. jumpin’ Christ, how in the hell did a bunch a’ effeminate ball-lickers like that even figure out which side of a rifle is the business-end? God almighty, y’all musta’ hired some bona fide incompetents, Hutton. See, I was told that y’all was dealin’ with a dangerous, heavily armed rebel group who was threatenin’ every damned coltan mine in this whole region, a group more powerful than M23, the LRA, or any other militia group known t’ ‘Merican intelligence. I wouldn’t a’ wasted ma’ goddamned time comin’ out here if I’d a’ known y’all wanted me t’ deal with some limp-wristed, pussy-lickin’ bunny-huggers.’

  Ms Hutton remained unperturbed by Rudd’s insults.

  ‘I assure you, colonel, these “limp-wristed pussy-eating bunny-huggers” are by far the most potent force in the region, as ludicrous as that may sound to you. We have a relatively clear idea of their short-term aims, but not why they are ultimately working toward these aims … not yet, at any rate. The point is that at least one of their major aims is the complete eradication of our industry here. Let me repeat that: not taking it over, but eradicating it. You know what kind of profits this industry rakes in, and you know that an uninterrupted and cheap supply of coltan is absolutely crucial to maintaining our global flow of exports and transfer of capital.’ Hutton’s slim fingers began to drum a faster and more forceful rhythmic composition out on the desktop as she spoke. ‘We absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, afford to lose these mines. The financial repercussions, both in the long-term and the short-term, would be beyond catastrophic. That is why we hired you; we need this threat taken care of by any means necessary. We need you to infiltrate their headquarters and terminate those in command with extreme prejudice. Now in order for you to do that effectively, you’re going to have to drop your preconceptions about “tree-hugging hippies” and treat this like the fucking war that it is. Because make no mistake, Rudd, if you underestimate the calibre of the soldiers you are up against out there in the jungle, you and your mercenaries will be annihilated just as surely as Rambo’s Rage were. And then, guess what? The mines here will fall. And I’ll have a fucking blemish on my spotless fucking record. And I don’t like blemishes, Colonel. In fact, I can’t fucking stand them. This is my career on the line as much as these fucking mines, and my fucking chance at promotion and eventually rising up to a spot on the board of directors of the Huntsmen Corporation. And let me tell you, Colonel Rudd: I may not look like it to an ignorant jarhead like you, but trust me when I say this: I am a woman you do not fuck with.’

  Colonel Rudd began to laugh abrasively, stopping midway through to fire a glare of raw aggression and menace straight into Ms Hutton’s pale brown eyes.

  ‘Is that a fact then, honeybuns? Are you actually trying to threaten me?’

  Ms Hutton smiled coldly and stopped tapping her fingers.

  ‘I’m not trying. I am threatening you.’

  Rudd chuckled and shook his head.

  ‘Y’all are one audacious little bitch, sweet cheeks, I’ll give ya that. But I could lean across this desk an’ snap that lil’ neck a’ yours in about two seconds flat, an’ I’ll fuckin’ do it if ya push me. I don’t give two shits about your company rank, whose dick you’re no doubt suckin’ on, or whatever “power” you think you have in your corporation. I’ve killed more men than a keyboard jockey like you can possibly imagine, and adding a bitchy lil’ New York skank t’ my kill list wouldn’t cause me t’ lose a single ounce a’ sleep.’

  Ms Hutton smiled strangely, and then stretched out her hands and cracked her knuckles.

  ‘C H ten, zero zero five three seven, zero zero A three five one one one four eight seven six.’

  Rudd sneered and curled his lip aggressively.

  ‘So you know my Swiss bank account number, huh? So fuckin’ what.’

  ‘Would you like me to tell you the pin as well, Colonel? Or maybe I should just tell you that I have Mr Deiss, Caleb Johnston and Marie Nel in my fucking pocket.’

  The colonel’s face paled with fear, and his mouth dropped open with disbelief. Ms Hutton simply smiled – a most subtle smile, one that barely registered on her angular face – but in that microscopic twist of the corners of her mouth, there simmered the malice of every demon in hell.

  ‘A brute like you could easily kill me,’ she said softly, ‘should it come to physical conflict. But, you see, we’re not living in the stone age anymore, you fucking Neanderthal. We’re living in my world. You need to understand, and I mean understand with crystal fucking clarity, that I can annihilate everything about your entire existence, Rudd. I can make every penny you think you own disappear with one click of my fingers. Everything you’ve worked for these last few decades of your life – and your redneck ranch that you’ve been working so hard on for your imminent retirement – I can make all of it simply go away. You see, Colonel Rudd, I control numbers and figures. And our whole fucking existence – yours, mine, and that of every other human being on this planet – consists of endless files of numbers and figures; nothing else. That body you’re in, that brain that does the thinking for it – they’re absolutely inconsequential. Numbers are more important than anything fucking else in this world. Anything. Numbers and records on computer databases are God incarnate. And my superiors and I own them. I can do whatever I want to them. I have that power, the kind of power a brutish oaf like you can only dream of. Your life, your savings, your retirement fund, your insurance, your money, your records, everything you are consists of numbers and words in data files. And I have access to every single last digit and letter of it. And if anything happens to me – anything whatsoever, you ugly, shit-reeking caveman – your entire existence will be flushed down the fucking toilet. Forever. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Fuck you. Fuck you!’ Rudd hissed through clenched teeth, as every inch of his body trembled with sheer and unadulterated rage in his chair.

  Ms Hutton’s eyes were ablaze with raw malice.

  ‘You’re my bitch, Colonel Rudd,’ she said coldly. ‘I want you to know that. In fact, I want you to say it. Come on, big man. Say it. Say, “Ms Hutton, I’m your bitch”. Say it.’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  The words were vocalised vibrations of an ancient darkness, passed down through innumerable vessels of DNA over tens of thousands of years, now crystallised in their primeval intensity in this moment, this slice of time in which the balance of power teetered on a scalpel-edge.

  ‘I’ll make everything about you cease to exist, Colonel. I’ll take your whole life away with one tap on my keyboard. You won’t physically die, but you’ll wish you were dead, you’ll ache and hurt to the depths of your ugly soul f
or death, you’ll fucking crave it like a heroin junkie sick for a fix. You’ll be nothing more than a penniless street bum in two seconds. Now say the fucking words. Say, “I’m your bitch, Ms Hutton”. Fucking say it, you primitive piece of shit.’

  Rudd’s fists were balled tight, clenched with the bitter rage of absolute frustration and helplessness, and his huge jaw jutted out, quivering with impotent fury as the veins in his neck and forehead pulsed like writhing, heat-agitated worms beneath his skin. But he could not speak, he could not respond; he knew that he was defeated, and that there was absolutely nothing that he could do about it.

  ‘I’m … your … RRRAAGGHHH!’

  Colonel Rudd screamed out a hoarse, sonorous howl that was the aural embodiment of the raw wrath and caustic hatred boiling and frothing in every molecule of his body. He jumped up and slammed a fury-charged fist onto the table, knocking everything off it and almost snapping it in half. Ms Hutton remained completely impassive and cold.

  ‘Say it. Say it Rudd, say it,’ she repeated flatly.

  ‘I’m, I’m … I’m your bitch, you fucking shit-eating carpet-munching cunt-licker! Fuck you! FUCK YOU! Fuck you an’ your whole fucking family an’ everything about you!’

  Ms Hutton grinned abruptly with smug satisfaction and then leaned back in her chair, as coolly and calmly as if she were relaxing next to a pool at a five-star Seychelles resort.

  ‘Relax, Colonel, relax,’ she purred, basking unashamedly in her triumph. ‘I just wanted to make sure you properly understood the power dynamic in this little relationship of ours. Listen, I’m a fair woman and I believe in giving credit where credit is due; do the job we’ve commissioned you to do and do it well, and you have my personal guarantee that you’ll be rewarded very handsomely. I’ll personally provide you with a very generous bonus. All I want you to understand, though, is that you never, ever fuck with me. Ever.’

  ‘Give me some more details about the mission, goddammit,’ Rudd growled through tight-clenched teeth, his face a tempestuous, wrath-soaked mess of stormy crimson.

  ‘Of course; more details are certainly what you’re going to need. I promise you, this mission is going to be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced in your military career. I’m telling you that much; it will be completely unlike anything you’ve ever remotely considered in the realm of possibilities.’

  ‘In the last four decades I’ve fought on every continent, against every type a’ enemy you can imagine, Hutton. I don’t think there’s nothin’ new ‘bout what we’re gon’ be doing in th’ jungle here.’

  Ms Hutton smiled cryptically.

  ‘Oh, I beg to differ. Let me ask you this, Colonel Rudd: Do you believe in werewolves?’

  ‘What the fuck kinda question is that? Is that a joke? Are you out a’ your fuckin’ mind?’

  ‘Do you or do you not?’

  ‘Are you serious? Do I look like I’m some fuckin’ fourteen-year-old Dungeons an’ Dragons-playin’ cheesedick? Of course I don’t fuckin’ believe in werewolves!’

  The unsettling grin on her face intensified.

  ‘After what I’m about to show you, I think that’s going to change.’

  ***

  Ms Hutton took a tentative sip on her coffee, and then without changing the cool expression on her face she extended her arm out horizontally and poured the steaming liquid out onto the ground. Her PA, a chubby Congolese girl with large, soulful eyes that dominated her plump face, looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

  ‘That is revolting,’ Hutton snarled, her voice cold with contempt. ‘Make me a decent cup of coffee Beatrice; it’s not that hard, is it, even for an imbecile like you, surely? I wrote down the instructions on exactly how to make it, yet you still managed to fuck it up. Well done. Well fucking done. Now bring me another cup, and if it’s not done exactly to spec this time, I’ll throw it in your fucking face. Oh, and I’ll fire you too.’

  The girl nodded, biting her quivering lower lip, and scurried out of the office. As Ms Hutton was about to get back to her laptop, though, her satellite phone started buzzing. She rolled her eyes with frustration and let it ring for a while, hoping that it was a call that she could ignore, but had a look at the number nonetheless. As soon as she saw who it was, however, she dropped her pen and scrambled to answer the call.

  ‘Hutton, you there?’

  ‘Mr Deveraux, sir, I apologise for the delay in answering. I—’

  ‘Never mind. Listen, are the colonel and his men there? Have you debriefed them?’

  ‘I have, sir. Everything is on track.’

  ‘Good, good. They’ve been primed on how paramount the need for absolute secrecy is, have they not?’

  ‘I made that extremely clear to them, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. I’m handling the situation on this end as well. If this all pans out right, things will work out very well for the both of us. I can tell you that with absolute certainty.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that, sir.’

  ‘Remember how high the stakes are here, Hutton. None of the rest of the Huntsmen Board knows about this situation, not even the Big Man himself. Mr Ma is totally in the dark with regards to what’s happening out there, and I aim to keep it that way. And I know you will too, sugar, ain’t that right?’

  ‘You know how seriously I’m taking this, sir; the complete secrecy of everything here is guaranteed. I’ve got the colonel and every one of his men securely in my pocket. They know that we’ve got them all by the, er, by the balls, sir.’

  Deveraux chuckled lightly on the other end of the line.

  ‘By the balls indeed, Hutton! You’re one stellar fuckin’ Yankee, I’ll give you that. And you know that if we can pull this off, everything changes. Everything. I’m excited as all hell – but also nervous, I’ll admit.’

  ‘As am I, sir.’

  ‘I know how badly you want a spot on the board, Hutton, trust me. I was once where you are. And I proved myself, and that’s how I got to where I am now. But getting onto the board was only one more rung up the ladder for me; there’s still a higher spot I’m aiming for. Once I’m Head, once I’m the man with the plan, you’ll be on that board in a New York minute, I promise you that. You’ve served me well, and you deserve a substantial reward.’

  Ms Hutton’s palms were clammy, and her pulse was racing with excitement.

  ‘I’ll – we’ll, we’ll – we’ll get there, sir. You don’t know how much I want this.’

  ‘Oh I think I do know, Hutton, because I want what’s coming to me just as bad. So make sure you keep me totally updated on the situation; I need to know every detail, every minor thing, however microscopic it may seem. We’re playing this chess game, with you and I on one side and the rest of the board on the other … and we’re about to pull a checkmate manoeuvre. We just have to play it cool and maintain absolute secrecy, and hold back the pieces until the time is just right.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘I know you do. Now keep ‘em lips sealed nice and tight, yes, nice and tight. Oh and don’t call me for the next three hours unless it’s a genuine emergency. I’ll be front row at my granddaughter’s ballet troupe performance. They’re doing Swan Lake, and that’s not something I care to be interrupted during, for both my lovely granddaughter’s sake and mine. I enjoy Swan Lake quite immensely, I say.’

  ‘Yes sir, anything you say. Relax and enjoy the performance sir; you can rest assured that I have everything under complete control here.’

  ‘Good. When do the troops head into the jungle?’

  ‘Tomorrow, an hour before dawn, sir.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent. Listen sweetie, I know you’re putting up with some horrendous conditions over there, and I know how much of a personal sacrifice you’re making for the sake of this company. Your loyalty and dedication will be rewarded appropriately. They will, I assure you, so don’t you fret too much over there, you hear? All right anyway, that’s it Hutton, the limo is pulling up to the theatre so I gotta go
. Speak soon, and take care out there.’

  ‘Thank you sir, I will. Enjoy Swan Lake.’

  ‘Damn straight, damn straight!’ the old man said, his voice thick with genuine enthusiasm. ‘I love it, I say, I sure as hell do! And my granddaughter is gonna shine tonight, shine with the brilliance of the Evening Star itself, I just know it, oh I do, I do. Goodbye for now, Hutton.’

  ‘Goodbye sir.’

  Ms Hutton hung up the call and smiled. Everything was falling into place quite nicely, despite the recent setbacks at the mines. She brought up a picture of a man’s face on her computer and blew it up to full screen. The resolution was grainy and pixellated, but his features were clear enough to be distinguishable. She then brought up a hi-resolution photograph of an old sixteenth century portrait by Peter Paul Rubens, intricately detailed in light and shadow. She clicked between the two pictures again and again, noting the identical facial features.

  ‘N’Jalabenadou, the General,’ she whispered to herself. ‘The fabled Elephant, one of the most powerful – if not the most powerful – living members of your filthy kind. History thought that you perished a long time ago. You did an excellent job of faking your own death, General. Outstanding, in fact. You had our intelligence fooled for so, so long. But now, you idiot, we know. Just the two of us, of course, Mr Deveraux and I. The rest soon will too, though, when we annihilate your army and capture you. And then … oh God, oh fucking Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t even begin to imagine the power I’ll have, the raw, godlike power. We’re coming for you, General … we’re coming.’

  57

  MARGARET

  6th October 2020. CZ-17H2 Coltan Mine

  ‘Cohen!’