by Vanessa Kier
“Shh. I’m okay, Max. The rebels didn’t get me. I’m here.” She kissed him quickly, then pulled back. “I might not be an expert like you, but I do know how to move quietly through the woods. Father made us practice, in case some day we have to sneak past guards who want to keep us prisoner.”
He rested his forehead against hers, enjoying the warmth of her breath against his chin. “You scared me,” he said quietly.
“I know.” She pulled away and her lips curved in a small smile. “That makes us even, huh?”
He gave a shaky laugh. “Don’t do that to me again.”
She just shrugged and started the vehicle. “This is actually a lucky break for us. The rebels had only one truck on this side of the road when they blew up the intersection. Since that truck just passed us, it should be safe to use the road.”
Max settled back into his seat. “No. Stay off the road. We’re too vulnerable.”
“But—”
“What if the rebels turn around and come back this way? We’ve already seen that they’ll shoot first.”
Emily gave a heavy sigh, then nodded and steered the Jeep between a couple of trees.
“Are you getting tired already? Let me drive.”
“No. I’m fine. It’s just going to take a really long time to get to the way station if we have to stay on this uneven terrain.”
“We won’t get to the way station at all if we’re dead.”
Emily just sighed again.
Ten minutes later, Max pointed to their right where the trees gave way to tall grasses and a field of maize. “Looks like there’s a farmer’s path along that field. It should be easier going.”
Without a word, Emily followed his directions and eased the Jeep out of the trees and onto the small lane. Tires had worn the grass down to packed dirt, and she gave the Jeep some gas.
God, it felt good to see the world move past at a decent clip again. Made him feel less like a failure. More like he might actually be able to carry out this mission. Stop the upcoming attack.
Which reminded him, he needed to notify Rene and Kris that the rebels had destroyed the crossroads. Rene would arrange for medical assistance. And Kris would have the contacts to notify reliable people in law enforcement and the military about the damage done to the country’s infrastructure.
He checked that there weren’t any overhanging branches, then pulled out his sat phone.
As he hit send on the last text, Max yawned. He wanted to stay alert to any signs of danger, but the only thing keeping him from dozing off was the constant jarring of his wounds. His ribs had started throbbing a counterpoint beat to the pain in his thigh. The knife wound at his back was a constant, low ache. Even his head hurt.
But he was alive. More importantly, Emily was alive and unhurt. If they could just avoid any more encounters with the rebels, they’d be fine.
“How far until the way station?” Emily asked.
Max reached for the map and did a rough calculation of distance. Then he checked the speedometer. “At this rate, another two hours. But we don’t know how far this lane extends, so if we have to drive through the jungle again we’ve probably got three or four more hours to go.”
“Are we going to make it before nightfall?”
“I don’t know. It’s almost three now and sunset is around six.” He glanced down at the map. “And that’s assuming that the way station hasn’t been turned into a temporary base for Ziegler or the rebels.”
Up ahead, the lane curved out of sight around a grove of trees. “Ease to a stop,” Max told her. “Then go check that the way is clear.”
She nodded. This time he was prepared for the spurt of anxiety while she walked away from him. As he watched her, he had to admit that she was right. She moved gracefully through the underbrush, causing minimal disturbance. Perhaps due to a combination of survival training and dance training.
His attention was so focused on Emily that the buzzing of his phone startled him.
My friend, you just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you? Rene’s text made him smile. Medical and other assistance is on the way to the people affected by the rebel attacks. Do you or Emily need medical attention?
Nah, we’re good, Max texted back. He’d save the story of his latest wound and how Emily had doctored him for when he next saw Rene.
Emily returned and slid into her seat. “The lane continues to our right, but I think it’s going to dead-end at a village, because I heard chickens squawking.”
“Okay, we’ll have to cross to the other side of the main road to avoid being spotted by any nearby villagers on foot.”
Emily did a few neck and arm circles, then resumed driving. The next few hours were spent alternating between driving in the jungle, along fields, and crisscrossing the road to detour around villages.
Max monitored their progress by using the GPS tracker on his watch and comparing it to the map. The sun was almost down when they reached the small turn off for Sulaiman’s village.
“Turn here.”
“Why?”
“I want to check if anyone has returned to my friend’s village. If yes, he might be able to hide us for the night.”
Emily shrugged and followed his instructions. Unfortunately, the village was just as deserted as before. Max got out of the car and did a quick reconnaissance, then Emily helped him search the village for useful supplies. They ended up with two cans of gas, a couple of jars of groundnut paste—the local equivalent of peanut butter—and a few rolls of digestive biscuits. Not exactly a feast, but it would supplement their meagre food supply.
Worried about Sulaiman, Max texted Kris and asked him to look into his friend’s whereabouts.
He refused to acknowledge how easily he’d slipped back into the habit of thinking of Kris as a partner, rather than someone to be protected.
“Do you really think we’ll be able to find someone at the way station willing to take me over the border?” Emily asked once they’d returned to driving alongside the main road.
“Honestly? No. With the rebels in the area, I doubt anyone will risk their life by taking on a white passenger.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think, too.”
“So we’ll keep going to the border.”
“But Max, what about the plane?”
He rubbed the base of his neck. “I’ll check again with my friends in the underground. See if they can’t spare someone to take over the search. If not, I’ll turn around and come back as soon as you’re safe.”
“That’s all very heroic and whatnot.” She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. “But you seem to be forgetting about your leg wound. You don’t even know if you can drive.”
“I can drive,” he grumbled. It didn’t matter how much pain he was in, he’d do what needed to be done.
“Yes, but why? Maybe I should stay as your driver.”
“No. It’s not safe.”
Emily shrugged. “It makes more sense, though.”
He started to protest, but she waved him silent. “Let’s not argue over it. We should almost be to the way station, right?”
He nodded.
“Are we gong to spend the night there?”
“No. We’ll find a place to camp in the jungle.”
“Fine. We’ll revisit this topic tomorrow.”
“Like I said, bossy,” he muttered. But he couldn’t help but smile.
CHAPTER NINE
INSIDE THE TENT that served as his command center, Dietrich studied the topographical maps spread across his desk. Areas that had already been searched for the plane’s debris had been shaded faintly with a red pencil. The difficulty was that no one knew where the plane had gone down. Only the second-hand accounts of locals in this region suggested that the plane’s remains were likely nearby. Yet when directly questioned, the locals proved to be remarkably unconcerned about the potential loss of life involved in a plane crash.
When asked why they hadn’t investigated, the man Dietrich had
personally questioned had shrugged. “Not my business. We keep to ourselves and want no trouble.” He had gestured toward the thick jungle area. “Why should we waste our time searching for some mechanical bird that fell out of the sky? No one could survive.”
Dietrich had figured the man was part of the area’s smuggling network and that he had been lying about finding the plane. So he had offered the man an exorbitant amount of money to help him recover the contents of the plane. The man had agreed to help with the search, but so far there had been no sign of the debris.
With only eight days until the meet with the buyer, Dietrich was getting nervous. Worse, Ziegler still had not managed to recapture Max. Instead, Ziegler had reported that Max had eluded the rebels’ attempts to corral him at the capital. Max had last been spotted heading north. Toward this area.
Dietrich could not allow Max to find the plane first. He—
His satellite phone rang, the signal boosted by the expensive transceiver he travelled with. “Yes?”
“I am still waiting for a report that all has been taken care of as discussed.” The scrambled voice of Dietrich’s sponsor was barely understandable over the weak satellite connection. “Need I remind you that you are disposable? Perhaps I need to send in a new team to take care of the problem.”
“No, sir. I expect success well within our time limit.” Dietrich could not afford to lose this deal. Failure would destroy his newly restored reputation. After the havoc caused by Max’s team, it had taken him too many years to earn back the trust and respect of the players in the international arms market. Any additional harm to his reputation was unacceptable. “Both issues will be resolved to your complete satisfaction,” he promised.
“Good. I look forward to hearing that all has been handled. It would be a pity if I had to eliminate you now that the deal is so close to fruition.” With that, the man ended the call.
Dietrich stared at the phone. He did not truly believe that his men would be able to locate the plane and recover the briefcase with the plans and the prototype before the deadline. The jungle was too dense. It grew back too quickly. Even with the help of advanced detection equipment, his men still had to search the thickest jungle on foot.
Dietrich pressed his palms against the map. Liver spots marred the backs of his hands, the skin no longer as taut as it once had been. It was a fine balance keeping the men he worked for in a proper state of respect for a man old enough to be their father. He knew that in the coming years he would be attacked by those wanting to take over his business. He was prepared for that. Over the past two decades, he had accumulated a significant reserve of cash and purchased a house on a private island to which he would retire. But he was not ready to hand over the reins just yet.
He enjoyed too much the thrill of working under the radar of the authorities, and he found deep satisfaction in the manipulation and calculation involved in negotiating the best possible deal. So he would hold on to his empire as long as possible. Which, at this moment, involved following through on his promise to fulfill the upcoming deal.
Picking up the phone, he made another call. “Execute plan B,” he said to the person who answered. He had not made it this far without learning to always create a backup plan. “Notify me when all is ready.” He hung up.
No matter what it took, he would not show up empty-handed to the meet with the buyer.
WAR Headquarters
The Democratic Republic of the Ivory Coast
West Africa
“GIVE ME DETAILS about the crossroads,” Kris demanded that evening when Max finally checked in. He’d been waiting impatiently for Max’s call, worried that he’d have to tell Wil that something bad had happened to his brother.
“The rebels used their trucks to block access to the intersection,” Max said. “They fired on the waiting vehicles, then blasted a crater in the road with dynamite. No one is getting past the crossroads without detouring through the jungle, and most of the passenger cars don’t have the muscle for jungle driving.”
“Casualties?”
“Not as bad as expected. Word got out and people on our side had already started to move out of range before the rebels opened fire. Although a few rebels died because they didn’t move out of the blast zone fast enough.”
Kris rubbed the bridge of his nose. The leaders of the rebellion encouraged vicious, senseless violence as a way to keep people living in terror, too afraid to fight back. That allowed the rebels to hold more territory than their mostly inexperienced and undisciplined fighters warranted. Add to that a core of well-trained, well-equipped fighters who were scattered throughout the various rebel groups, and it became increasingly difficult to keep them from implementing their destructive goals.
He sighed and glanced over at the report on his desk. The rebels had emerged two years ago in West Guinea. A mercenary force had been encouraged by a shadowy group of Africans to stir up anti-government resentment and hostility left over from the civil war. Those angry locals had become the original AFA rebels. They’d quickly been augmented by a corps of African fighters who’d been trained in some of the most brutal terrorist camps in the world. These fighters had given the rebels the strength and leadership to make immediate progress toward wrestling control of the country away from the government. They’d attacked government facilities, religious institutions, and any businesses associated with foreigners until West Guinea erupted into a new civil war. The rebels had also taken control of several key resources such as oil wells, guaranteeing they had sufficient funds to keep fighting.
Eventually, the government had toppled and was replaced by a rebel-led dictatorship. Their power secure, the core force of disciplined rebel fighters had moved into the Democratic Republic of the Ivory Coast and began the same process of igniting old anger. The size and strength of the rebel forces grew, allowing them to control increasing swathes of territory.
One of the reasons Kris and his teammates from Unit 3 had joined WAR was that they’d suspected that the men who’d initiated the rebellion had more in mind than creating a unified West African state. Rumors suggested that this mystery group intended to turn the region into the newest staging ground for terrorist attacks against the United States and other Western powers.
Yet with the recent flare-ups in the Middle East and other hotspots, the U.S. and its allies had their attention elsewhere. Leaving this fight to WAR.
“Okay,” Kris said, forcing his attention back to his conversation with Max. “Are you still on mission?”
“Yes. We skirted the crater. We’re heading north as we speak.”
“Good. Any other news?”
Max explained about the photos Emily had taken that seemed to show pieces of the downed plane. “Finally, a break,” Kris said.
“Yeah.”
“How far are you from the area?” He had to assume that the original timing for the sale was still in effect, leaving Max only eight more days.
“I have to get Emily over the border first. That’s why I’m calling. Can you send someone else to look for the plane?”
Shit. “No. Max, I already explained. We’re—”
Max cursed. Told someone to pull over. “Sorry. Gotta go. Firefight up ahead.”
The line went dead. Great.
Kris set his phone back on the cradle. He was glad Wil had returned to his office in the Greater Niger Republic. The last thing the man needed was a reminder of how much danger Max was in. And Kris hadn’t missed the increased tension in Max’s voice. Some of it was probably due to the stress of navigating through terrain partially controlled by the rebels. But Kris suspected Max’s injuries were bothering him. Hell, for all he knew, Max had been hurt again.
Yeah, much better for Wil to be back at work, no matter how dull life seemed without his presence.
With a sigh, he pulled up the current list of team assignments. He had a bad feeling that Max was going to need help sooner rather than later.
The Republic of the Volta
W
est Africa
MAX ENDED THE call with Kristoff and stuck his phone back in its holder. From the location of the gunfire, he figured the way station was under attack.
“You didn’t tell your friend about your leg,” Emily chided. She steered the vehicle deeper into the trees and parked it in the shadows underneath a wide palm.
Max shrugged. “What’s the point? Kristoff doesn’t have any medics to send to my aid. Rene is busy taking care of the wounded down south. No one else is working nearby.” He opened his door and gingerly climbed out. “Wait here. I want to see who’s fighting at the way station—if it’s just the rebels and the locals, or if the government has gotten involved.”
Emily scowled at him, but he ignored her as he walked around the front of the Jeep. When he saw her open her door, he shook his head. Gripping the edge of the door so she couldn’t get past his extended arm, he leaned forward. “Promise me you’ll stay here.”
A new burst of gunfire shattered the evening’s calm and she flinched. “Okay. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
Because he understood how much courage it took for her to stay put, he bent down and kissed her. Damn, he loved how her lips cushioned his. How she tasted so sweet. He had to force himself to pull away immediately, because he really wanted to undertake a long, thorough exploration of her mouth.
Wrong time. Wrong place.
Instead, he gave her his most reassuring smile, then turned and walked closer to the fighting.
He had to push his way through tall grass and bushes, but he made decent time. Up ahead, the gunfire continued in sporadic bursts. When the vegetation began to thin, he stopped. If he hadn’t been wounded, he’d have crawled forward from here. As it was, he used the binoculars to focus in on the action.
