Blood Diamonds - [Kamal and Barnea 05]

by By Jon Land

  “You’re not working for the government, are you, Doctor?”

  “You’re . . . hurting me, General.”

  Matabu held her iron grip firm. “You wouldn’t be getting any ideas of what an easy task it would be to kill me right now, would you?”

  Sowahy’s face puckered with pain. Sweat rolled down his cheeks. He shook his head.

  “That’s good, because you have relatives, too, just as General Treest did. I didn’t stop with his wife and son, you know. There were his two brothers and their families—all dead now, too. But I enjoyed killing his son most of all. The look on the general’s face when I started the blade into the boy’s throat—the terror, shock, but most of all the helplessness.”

  Her grip slackened slightly.

  “So do I need to have the contents of that needle checked? Do you want to think twice about giving it to me?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Good,” Matabu said and let Sowahy inject the clear liquid into her vein.

  “General.”

  The voice touched the distant reaches of her consciousness.

  “General?”

  A hand grasped her shoulder. Her eyes burst open.

  “I’m sorry, General,” a man said, standing before her. “You fell asleep.”

  Latisse Matabu gazed about her. She was seated behind the rattan desk in her command headquarters, dressed in her uniform.

  How had she gotten there? What time was it? Where had Dr. Sowahy gone?

  The sun burned hot beyond the ramshackle building. It must have been afternoon, yet she had no memory of the hours between morning and now. The right sleeve of her top was rolled up to reveal a small bandage, and she remembered the injections Dr. Sowahy had given her.

  “Are you all right, General?” the man before her asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Latisse Matabu’s mind slowly cleared. The man before her was bent at the knees, staring at her in great concern.

  Joseph Tupelo, foreign minister of Nigeria—she remembered now. They had been speaking when she suddenly dozed off. She remembered the diamonds he had come for, and pulled the tightly wrapped pouch from one of the side pockets of her fatigue trousers.

  “You have something to report to me about the two battalions the Americans are training in your country,” she managed.

  Tupelo accepted the pouch gratefully. “They will never arrive in Sierra Leone, I can assure you of that,” he said, and started for the door. “I’ll see you in Freetown, General.”

  As soon as Joseph Tupelo had left with his diamonds, Latisse Matabu descended from her headquarters into the vast underground storage bunker where the weapons of the Revolutionary United Front were secretly stored, safe from government raiding parties and the limited aerial surveillance the cursed mercenary forces had begun. The largest of the rooms was empty now, the powerful generators quiet and the crates that had occupied it until just a few days before gone. They had already been shipped to their final destination to await her arrival.

  Her bugs journeying, just as Orhan’s rats had. Because of the original Black Death, there had been a future for the Ottoman Empire. Thanks to the current Black Death, there would be a future for Sierra Leone.

  “You wanted to see me, General?”

  Matabu turned toward the doorway to find her unofficial second-in-command General Yancy Lananga standing there. “Yes, we have some additional matters to discuss, you and I.”

  “Your meeting with the Nigerian?” Lananga posed, concerned.

  “He will be cooperating fully, just as we expected. It is something else we must discuss, General,” Matabu explained. “I’m afraid things aren’t going to proceed exactly as we planned. . . .”

  * * * *

  Chapter 82

  D

  anielle had moved her pushcart to the center of the sidewalk on Allenby Street in front of Sheik al-Akbar’s fortress, making sure she was far enough away so as not to attract attention from the guards posted near the gate. She sat with her back against the pushcart, watching, when a white Mercedes sedan approached, its windows blacked out and undoubtedly bulletproof to protect its occupants from scrutiny as well as ambush. The uniformed Hezbollah soldier at the gate checked an item off on his clipboard and waved the Mercedes through.

  Danielle left her pushcart against the curb as near the compound as she dared, and walked along the side of Allenby Street, pretending to be begging for money from the drivers as she drifted back toward the corner. She had wedged half her bricks of plastique explosives in amongst the cart’s contents and wired their triggers to a single ultra-sonic detonator tucked in her pocket. The blast wave created upon detonation was certain to shatter windows and shake the structure of the fortress, hopefully enough to lead Sheik al-Akbar’s forces to believe they were under attack and order an evacuation.

  Back near the entrance to the tunnels beneath the complex, Danielle readied her weapons, strapped her remaining mounds of C-4 beneath her shabby dress, and then armed the cell phone-sized detonator. It had been thirty minutes since the first car had entered the grounds, certainly long enough for the others to have arrived. There was no reason to delay the process any longer.

  Danielle touched her finger to the keypad beneath the single translucent light.

  A series of blasts erupted instantly from the front of the compound. From her vantage point behind the cover of the lavish grounds featuring walnut and flowering apricot trees, she could see flames leaping up in the air trailed by black smoke that thickened in the aftermath of a series of secondary explosions.

  In her mind, Danielle could picture the windshields of the cars parked inside the gate blowing first, broken shards turned into deadly projectiles that would further confuse the sheik’s forces inside and out. They could not be sure of what was happening and would have to assume an all-out attack was underway.

  Meaning the escape tunnel was almost certain to be used.

  Danielle lifted the grated hatch open once more. She climbed down the ladder into the storm drain and retraced her steps rapidly toward the drain’s end, where it was met by the escape tunnel above.

  The rumble of numerous additional blasts reached her from the grounds beyond. Gas tanks or engine blocks igniting, Danielle judged, taking the entire remains of the vehicles with them.

  She brought the Uzi submachine gun round into her grasp and sprinted down the length of the drain. Minutes passed. Her chest tightened. She slowed to steady her breath, had lowered her hands to her knees to compose herself when the pounding of footsteps, sloshing through an occasional puddle, thundered toward her, converging.

  * * * *

  Chapter 83

  D

  anielle rushed straight toward the pounding footsteps, reaching an intersection in the storm drain just as the first shadows appeared. She ducked to her right and pressed herself tightly against the wall, lost enough to the darkness, she hoped, to escape detection.

  Just for a few seconds. That’s all she needed.

  The first white-clad shapes surged through the storm drain’s main route. Danielle’s mouth had gone bone dry but her vision had sharpened, her focus narrowed on the faces as they rushed by.

  She edged forward, still pressed against the wall, Uzi ready.

  She glimpsed the sheik surrounded by a quartet of guards at the rear of the pack, his age and infirmity accounting for the lag. Danielle stepped out an instant after they were past her and fired single shots from her Uzi into the backs of the guards bringing up the absolute rear.

  The echoes of the silenced shots sounded like firecrackers fizzing through the air. The two guards collapsed. The pair on either side of the sheik swung round to see what had happened.

  Danielle shot them as well, two shots for each this time to be sure. Four targets downed without a single bullet fired in return.

  The guard on the right slammed into the sheik as he crumpled, taking Hussein al-Akbar to the floor. He landed with a thud. His head smacked the wet
concrete and recoiled.

  Danielle lunged toward him, the sound of footsteps rushing back toward her now. She grabbed the sheik by the shoulder and hoisted him effortlessly to his feet. He looked at her in terror, his lips trembling, one of his eyes glazed over by a milky film like a giant cataract.

  “You’re coming with me!”

  Her words emerged with a sneer. Danielle couldn’t tell whether the sheik heard her or not. He started to collapse again, his knees buckling, but she thrust an arm under his shoulder for support before she half led and half dragged him back down the storm drain.

  She twisted sideways when the thump of pursuing footsteps was almost upon her, Uzi held in her free hand aimed dead center down the concrete corridor. She started shooting when the first shadow turned the corner, but kept her fire restrained to conserve the Uzi’s bullets. There would be no time to reload, or perhaps even draw a fresh weapon, under these conditions. If she ran out of ammo too early, she was finished, Danielle thought, as the end of the storm drain came into view. A rope ladder dangled through the ceiling hatch she had spotted earlier, left thankfully in place.

  Danielle shoved the sheik behind her and emptied the last of her clip into a pair of guards who fired wildly as they ran.

  “Climb!” she ordered, discarding the Uzi and drawing a nine-millimeter Glock pistol in its place.

  “No!” the sheik retorted. “I won’t!”

  She jammed the pistol under his throat and used her other hand to strip a grenade from her belt, then yanked out the pin with her teeth.

  “Climb, or we’re both dead!” she rasped, her eyes furious.

  Then Danielle tossed the grenade and watched it roll awkwardly along the floor, not even flinching when the explosion rocked the corridor and sent chunks of the storm drain ceiling raining down. A jagged shard struck her in the forehead and opened a nasty gash. Danielle felt blood oozing toward her eyes, as she steadied her pistol back down the tunnel and capped off a half dozen shots.

  “Last chance,” she said calmly, swinging back to Sheik Hussein al-Akbar and jamming her pistol under his throat again. “Climb.”

  The sheik pulled his flabby neck away from the barrel lodged against it and reached up for the rope ladder.

  He had managed three rungs when gunfire erupted from behind the last curve. Danielle could feel the heat of the bullets surging past her, finished the clip on that Glock, and drew her second at the same time she flung her second grenade and heard it thumping out of her line of vision.

  The final gunmen ducked for cover before the blast erupted. But Danielle had bought the time she needed and started to climb in the sheik’s wake.

  Almost to the top, he lashed a foot down wildly toward her, smacking her in the forehead where the blood from her gash had just begun to slow. Danielle fired five more shots down the storm drain with her fresh Glock, then rammed the barrel hard into the testicles floating beneath the sheik’s robes.

  The sheik gasped, nearly fell.

  “Climb!” Danielle ordered, prodding him with the gun.

  He clambered up the last stretch, Danielle trailing just behind when gunfire smacked the wall just under her feet. She stuck the Glock in her mouth and scrabbled upward using both hands to propel herself. She surged through the open hatchway a mere moment behind the sheik, ignoring him long enough to draw the rope ladder up and slam the hatch down.

  Hussein al-Akbar cowered against the wall, his eyes darting desperately sideways in search of help that wasn’t going to come, facing the fact that it was just the two of them now.

  Danielle grabbed him by the robes and stared into his eyes. “The crates you stole from the freighter, the Peter the Great! Take me to them! Now!”

  * * * *

  Chapter 84

  H

  e was no longer fighting her, terror having trumped all his resistance.

  “Where are they?” Danielle demanded, slamming the sheik hard into the wall when he didn’t respond quickly enough. The blood from the gash on her forehead seeped into her eyes. She could smell it now, taste the first coppery bits on the edge of her lips.

  “Already gone.”

  Danielle steadied her pistol and shot him in the fleshy part of the shoulder. He screamed and clutched his arm.

  “Then you’re useless to me! I might as well kill youhere!” she said, as he stared at the wound in shock, the color draining from his face.

  He shook his head madly, fighting for breath. “Loaded in trucks!” Hussein al-Akbar gasped. “In the garage!”

  “Take me there!”

  Lips trembling violently, Hussein al-Akbar squeezed his shoulder with his free hand, trying to stem the blood flow, but it soaked his robes anyway. He stumbled at first, nearly doubling over, but then found the semblance of a pace. He chose a doorway on the right, then up a slight incline toward the smell of rubber and gasoline.

  “Rear entrance,” he mumbled, shaking now, his face whitening. “Almost there.”

  Danielle didn’t bother responding; the sheik had conceded, she could tell. The entrance to the garage was a warehouse-style sliding door. She jerked it open and dragged the sheik through with her, before sliding it closed and latching it from the inside.

  The garage was a warehouse. Cars everywhere, classics every one of them, some of them priceless. Three heavy refrigerated cargo trucks were parked in the middle, one behind another, compressors rumbling loudly to keep the crates lifted from the Peter the Great chilled.

  Sheik Hussein al-Akbar collapsed to his knees, then pitched over to the floor, unconscious.

  Danielle moved on toward the trucks, focused on the task at hand. She stripped off her baggy rag of a dress, exposing the remaining bricks of plastic explosives she wore strapped to her torso. Then she worked fast, removing one charge at a time and affixing them along the bodies of the refrigerated trucks. The tape-glue backing made the C-4 adhere easily once she slapped each in place.

  She covered all three trucks with six mounds ofplastique each in under three minutes. The press of a single button now would destroy the crates stored in the trucks’ holds. At the third truck, though, Danielle couldn’t resist jerking the rear door upward along its runner to peer at what lay within.

  A burst of frigid air struck her, chilling the sweat that had soaked her shirt. She backed up slightly and what looked like an ordinary portfolio case tumbled out, smacking the garage floor. Danielle had started to lean over to inspect it when a loud metallic echo in the rear of the garage made her spin on her heels.

  Nothing.

  But Sheik Hussein al-Akbar was gone, a thin trail of blood leading back out the way they had come in. Letting him escape didn’t really concern her. As soon as she set off the explosives, her mission this time would be complete. She had to find her way out first, though. Trigger theplastique as soon as she was on the grounds with the front gate in view.

  Danielle had just opened the portfolio when the garage bay door started upward, revealing a short sloped tunnel that led back to ground level. Instinctively, she grabbed the contents of the portfolio and stuffed them under her shirt before ducking between the nearest cars.

  Five of the uniformed guards Danielle recognized from the front of the fortress surged in, sweeping assault rifles in all directions. They spoke heatedly in Arabic, exchanging angry shouts and recriminations. The guards ignored the trucks for the time being and continued to probe about. Danielle knew it was only a matter of time, though, before they noticed the explosives she had set in place. She needed to distract them, and at the same time to find a means to escape.

  Danielle slid behind the last row of classic cars and eyed the nearest one, a brilliantly restored Bugatti. Hesitating only slightly, she climbed agilely behind the right-hand wheel and felt along the dashboard for the ignition. Not surprisingly, since the engines had to be started on a regular basis, the key was waiting for her. She held her breath in the next instant before twisting it, clinging to the hope that the sheik maintained his cars in perfect wo
rking order.

  The Bugatti’s engine caught and purred instantly to life. Danielle shoved the transmission into gear and pressed down on the gas pedal.

  The ancient car shot forward, screeching across the polished pavement, drawing the instant attention of the sheik’s guards. Danielle kept one hand on the wheel, the other on her detonator, as bullets blazed toward her. She ducked low beneath the dashboard, feeling the windshield explode over her, spraying glass in all directions.

  Danielle hit the sloped ramp with a thud that coughed sparks from the car’s underside and pressed the detonator. She imagined she could feel the incredible heat of the blast before the reverberating roar bubbled in her ears and deafened her to anything else. The car buckled, almost seeming to bounce upward. The air burst chased her up the ramp, the world ahead aglow from the light of the flames charging outward, as bright as a flashbulb.