“Maybe it was someone he knew.”
The three of them stood in thoughtful silence for a minute, digesting that possibility. Then Nicola turned toward Warren.
“What’s your professional opinion? Do we panic yet?”
“We should call the police,” Alex asserted with sudden conviction.
“What police? Those four guys with nightsticks who share a building with the post office?” Warren shook his head. “We’re on our own, at least for now. And while I’m not sure this is necessarily a red-alert situation, I think we’d do well to be on guard until Roger turns up.”
“Should we look for him?”
“Not without a clear idea of where to start. I’ll take a look at his cabin, but unless there are obvious signs he was kidnapped, I think the best thing to do tonight is batten down the hatches until morning.”
“I need to call my boss,” Nicola murmured, the last word obscured as the wind whipped up to flap the poorly secured tarp on a nearby earthmover.
“Looks like we’re in for a good old-fashioned Latadi downpour.” Alex squinted at the sky, which was filling with heavy clouds. “If you need to use your phones, do it now. The line infrastructure out here is terrible, and we lose signal when it rains.”
“Where’s Dan?” Nicola asked.
“Should be here any second. He was going to give me a lift back to the cabins, so we’ll run you two back.”
“I’d like a look at Roger’s cabin on the way.”
Alex nodded, and a second later a set of headlights swung around the corner of the office unit. Dan’s normally ruddy face was sallow and drawn, and he leapt out from behind the wheel of the golf cart with uncharacteristic agility.
“Thank God you two are safe,” he gushed, throwing up his hands. “I was so worried they were picking us off one by one.”
“Warren says Roger’s probably off drinking somewhere,” Alex fibbed. “We’ll take a quick look at his cabin, then let these two get to bed.”
“At your service.” Dan gestured to the golf cart, and they all piled in.
By the time they’d stopped off at Roger’s cabin and then proceeded to his and Nicola’s, the moon had been obscured by heavy black clouds and the trees bent in the charging wind. As the taillights of the golf cart receded into the distance, the first low boom of thunder rumbled distant and ominous.
Nicola’s voice was hushed, as if she was worried about being overheard. “What did you think of Roger’s cabin?”
“Hard to say. There are signs he left in a hurry, but not that he was forced.”
“What’s your theory, Sherlock?”
“I’m a tactical operative, not a detective. But if I had to guess, I’d say he had an unwelcome but not unexpected visitor. Maybe he owes someone money, and they came to collect. Remember all the unlicensed guns onsite? He had to buy them somewhere.”
“If I find out he’s brought all this trouble on this mine…” She shook her head. “Anyway. I need to call my boss.”
“And I’m going to call a couple friends in Cape Town. I’m starting to think we might need them.”
“Come next door when you’re ready. If you feel like it,” she added hastily.
He smiled, reaching for a lock of her hair and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Let me check out your cabin before you go inside. Then we’ll both make our calls, and I’ll be over as soon as I’m done.”
He preceded her into her cabin with his weapon raised, surveying the interior for any sign of disturbance. The windows were latched, the lights were off, and he exhaled in cautious relief when he noted the towel still heaped on her laptop case, in the same position he’d seen that morning.
“Looks all right, but make sure nothing’s missing.”
He remained in the doorway while she accounted for her passport and laptop.
“All good. Not that I have that much worth stealing.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he murmured, imagining all the proprietary information that must be stored in her computer. Even if their culprits didn’t have a financial interest in Hambani, they could sell that to someone who did.
Another, louder roll of thunder echoed in the small cabin. She glanced at her phone. “I’m already low on signal. Go make your call. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
He repeated the surveillance procedure in his own cabin, then locked the door and took out his phone. The lights flickered with the next clap of thunder and he hurried to scroll through his contacts to Bronnik Mason’s name, adding the South African country code—two-seven—before pressing the button to dial.
“Hello?” His colleague’s voice was gravelly and distracted.
“Sorry, bru, did I wake you?” Warren frowned at his watch. South Africa was an hour ahead of Latadi, but even so it was barely ten o’clock in Cape Town.
“No, you’re fine. I was just—nothing. What’s up?”
“What, were you—oh.” A snapshot of Lacey Cross, Bronnik’s pretty American fiancée, flashed in his mind. “Uh, should I call you back?”
“What is it, Copley?” The sharpening of Bronnik’s Afrikaans-speaking accent broadcast his growing impatience.
“If you’re going to have a tantrum about it, I’ll call Dassie instead.”
“Why didn’t you call him in the first place?”
“My contacts are ordered alphabetically. Your name comes up before his.”
“You realize I’m going to evaluate every request you make from now on in that context. Am I really the only one who can do this favor, or was he too lazy to keep scrolling down?”
Warren dropped into a chair and propped his feet on the flimsy desk. “The truth is everyone’s filed by last name, except you’re under B for beautiful. Because you’re a beautiful person, Mason. I mean that.”
“Please, stop, you’ll make me cry.” There was a sound of shifting, like Bronnik was settling in to give the call his full attention. “What’s the story? How’s life as a hired gun?”
“Not as easy and lucrative as I thought.” Lightning illuminated the curtains, followed by a crack of thunder. “Storm’s rolling in so I’ll make this quick. How much vacation time do you have?”
“You know I live for our romantic getaways, but—”
“I’m serious. There’s something wrong at this mine, and it’s a lot bigger than a bit of corporate sabotage or disgruntled workers. I think we’re dealing with guerrilla fighters left over from the civil conflict. I’m still figuring out what they want, but I’m pretty damn satisfied they’re a legitimate threat.”
That got his attention. “Matsulus? From the resistance movement?”
“Yeah.”
“What can we do?”
“Get authorization to fly up here. Spin it as a strategic extra-national maneuver to reduce the threat of Latadian instability to South African commerce.”
“Because the South African economy relies so heavily on those imported yams,” he replied dryly.
“I don’t know, say what you want. Matsulu terrorists may target South Africans given the government’s role in mediating the installation of the Kibangu regime?”
“I’ll tell the chief you need help. Dassie and I will take unpaid leave if we have to. You know he’s been trying to get hold of you for days, right?”
Warren frowned. “Who, Dassie? He texted me yesterday. Something about hiking up Table Mountain with stones in his rucksack and seeing a vision at the top. I didn’t read the whole thing.”
“No, the major. He says the line just rings. I think he must have the wrong number. Anyway, the investigation has been dropped. You’re fully reinstated, and he’s desperate to get you back.”
He stared at the fake-wood-paneled wall, but he saw the long corridor leading out of the major’s office, and then the insensitively bright sunshine as he crossed the parkin
g lot at the Special Task Force headquarters, climbed into his car and drove away, wondering whether he’d ever be welcomed back.
“Dropped?” he echoed dumbly. “Why?”
“Turns out the two guys you, uh, detained were big-time sex traffickers. They’re at the center of a ring that brings in thousands of underage girls from all over the continent. Apparently their names are flagged, so someone at Home Affairs spotted them on the bail hearing schedule. Some departmental big shot was straight on the phone to the major, gushing about pulling out the biggest blocks in the pyramid and wanting to shake your hand. Rumor is the major told him you were on vacation and the status of the conduct investigation mysteriously changed to withdrawn on the database.”
“That’s it?” Warren pulled his feet off the desk and dropped them on the floor, the thud of his boots on the plywood failing to dispel his sudden irritation. “All those referrals to the unit psychologist, the anger management courses, the lectures about professional conduct and self-control, then it turns out the bad guys I arrested with allegedly excessive force really were bad guys, so everything’s fine?”
“Isn’t that what usually happens?”
“I don’t usually get suspended. I’m not usually threatened with dismissal. Usually I don’t have to take private security consulting assignments at dysfunctional gold mines in the middle of nowhere because I don’t know if I’ll have a job from one day to the next.”
“I know the major came down harder than usual this time,” Bronnik sympathized. “You deserve to be pissed off. He owes you a huge apology when you get back.”
“At a minimum,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I’d better go. We’re on the brink of a Biblical rainstorm. You’ll speak to Dassie about taking a luxury break at a gold mine?”
“We’ll be there,” Bronnik replied decisively. “It’s been too quiet around here. We need some excitement.”
“We’ve got plenty of that.”
“Look after yourself.”
“Always.”
He hung up and leaned back in the flimsy chair. He’d been so preoccupied with the situation at Hambani that he’d barely thought about his career—or its uncertain future—back home in Cape Town. He should be relieved that the investigation had been dropped and his job was safe—he should be ecstatic.
Then why was he so disappointed?
Because of Nicola, he admitted to himself. She’d been occupying his thoughts far more thoroughly than the danger at the mine. He’d never met anyone like her, so smart, so confident, so flatly unthreatened by his line of work. He hadn’t dared to articulate it even in his mind, but some deeply buried part of him hoped they might have a shot at a relationship. Maybe it would be feasible to join her travels around the world, taking short-term contracts at the same sites where she assessing social responsibility, spending his days training indifferent security staff and spending his nights running his fingers through that red-gold hair.
He snorted at his absurd fantasy. Six weeks of that and he’d be so hungry for the action-packed lifestyle he’d left behind that he’d probably shoot himself in the leg just for a chance to fire his weapon. And Nicola would never fall for a man willing to chuck in his career and follow her around like a lovesick puppy. The clear-headed autonomy they both admired in each other was exactly what would keep them apart.
He shoved to his feet, bracing himself against a heavy sense of resignation. Never mind what lay ahead—they had tonight. He intended to make the most of it.
He tucked his phone in his pocket and was reaching for his flashlight when he froze. Had he heard a footstep outside? Was that a boot crushing a dry leaf? Or was it just the first few drops of rain hitting the flat leaves of the plants surrounding the cabin?
He crept across the room, alert to even the faintest sound. He put his hand on the knob, easing close to the door, straining for any hint as to what awaited him outside.
Rain started to fall in earnest, echoing on the tin roof until it was all he could hear. He unholstered his weapon and sucked in a bracing breath.
That was when the light in the cabin flickered and went out, plunging the room into total darkness.
Chapter Eleven
Nicola looked forlornly at her silent phone, watching the little staircase of signal bars decrease one step at a time. She’d left an explicit message for her boss, but unless he called in the next five seconds she doubted he’d be able to get through.
She sighed, glancing around the room. The low murmur of Warren’s voice was audible through the thin wall, so she knew he was still on his call. She felt too edgy to sit and read. She changed into her camisole and boxer-style pajama shorts but wasn’t any more relaxed as a result. A drizzling rain had commenced outside, accompanied by the occasional crack of thunder.
She flopped back on the bed with a frustrated sigh. It had been a long day, and it was going to be an even longer night.
She thought of Warren, the way his silent, enigmatic presence had given way to charm and humor over dinner. He’d showered and shaved before they left the site, and his slick, scrubbed appearance on the other side of the table had provided a thrilling contrast to the scruffy, slightly disheveled look he’d sported only a couple of hours earlier.
Damn, he’d looked sexy today. She draped her forearm over her eyes. That black hair temptingly tousled, the shadow of dark stubble across his jaw, the lack of hesitation as he sent Roger sprawling across the floor…
Groaning, she rolled onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow. She’d gone over and over the reasons why it could never work out with Warren, but although her brain seemed able to summon up the rationales, her body insisted otherwise.
She’d watched him in the office that evening, so absorbed in filling the safe that he hadn’t realized she was there. His expression was troubled, brow furrowed in contemplation. She’d wanted so badly to pry open his arms and slip into his embrace, to brush the dark hair from his creased forehead and kiss the worry from his face.
She pulled herself to a sitting position and blinked several times, trying to clear her head of these persistent fantasies. She had to focus on something constructive. She squinted at her toenails. Maybe fuchsia wasn’t her color. Maybe she should redo them in purple.
Just as she swung her legs over the side of the bed there was a clap of thunder so loud it rattled the lamp on the bedside table. The lights wavered and went out. Except for the flash of lightning visible through the curtains, the cabin was pitch black.
She leapt to her feet and stood motionless in the center of the room, heart thudding. Her mind raced with questions. Was it the guy with the green eyes? Had he cut the power to the mine? Were the cabins surrounded? She had to get to Warren—should she run outside? Or was this their pursuers’ attempt to flush everyone out and then set off another bomb, like the one in the shed?
She was paralyzed by terror and indecision. She wanted to go to the window to see if anyone was outside, but at the same time she had an irrational fear of what she might see out there. What if the green-eyed man was standing outside, staring straight back at her?
The knock on her door was soft, yet it startled a frightened squeak from her throat. She glanced around the room for a weapon, but there was nothing she could imagine using with any effectiveness. Out of utter desperation she picked up a thick paperback, moved toward the door and called, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Warren.”
Her knees weakened with relief. She swung open the door, book still in hand. By the light of the flashlight he held aloft, she could see his expression change from concern to amusement.
“Interesting choice of weapon. Were you planning to footnote me to death?”
“Keep smirking and I will. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Just a power cut from the storm.” He pushed past her into the room and dug in the desk drawer, producing a thick candle,
a dented tin candlestick and a box of matches. He lit the candle and set it on the desk, and it cast a warm, flickering amber glow across the walls. “I did a quick sweep outside. No one’s been here but us, and I can’t see any lights from Dan and Alex’s cabins either.”
“The central site has a backup generator, but it’s really inefficient so the cabins aren’t hooked up to it.”
“Looks like we’re settling in for a dark night, then. Do you want me to—”
“Stay,” she urged. “Please.”
“Of course.” He leaned over to unlace his muddy boots, which he left by the door before crossing to sit in the chair beside the bed. “Did you get hold of your boss?”
She shook her head. “Left a message. Did you talk to your friends?”
“They’ll try to fly out and join us.”
“You think we need them?”
“I think it couldn’t hurt.”
She shifted her weight, feeling uncharacteristically awkward and uncertain.
“I freaked out when the lights went off,” she confessed. “It’s not like I’ve never been through a power cut in Africa before. I don’t know when I became such a wimp.”
“Just a guess, but I’d say it might be when you were chased down a dark road by men with guns.”
“Maybe.” She sat on the end of the bed, shoving aside the embarrassment of her panicked reaction. Warren was silent in the chair, idly rubbing the thumb of one hand over the knuckles of the other.
She indicated the movement. “Roger has a hard head. How’s your hand?”
“Fine.”
“Show me.”
Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 Page 13
