Blood Ransom

by Lisa Harris

  “Where’d you learn to juggle?” she asked him.

  “When I worked a few months in the children’s ward back in Portland, I decided that I should add a few tricks to my bedside manner.”

  “I’m sure the kids loved it.”

  “I like to think it took their minds off their situation for a while.”

  He stopped in front of one of the stalls where an old, toothless woman sat over piles of food wrapped neatly in green forest leaves.

  Natalie frowned. “What is that?”

  He adjusted the strap of the backpack he carried for her across his shoulder. “You’re telling me that you’ve lived here eighteen months and never tried mandazis?”

  “Let me put it this way.” She looked up at him. “When you work in my field and are trying to stop a cholera epidemic, you tend to avoid food bought on the side of the road or off crowded boats with absolutely no sanitation rules.”

  “I don’t know how you’ve survived living here.” He shook his head. “Come on. It’s time you lived it up a bit. I used to eat these all the time as a child, and I’m still around and kicking.”

  Natalie laughed. “So what are they, exactly?”

  He opened up the corner of one. “Balls of dough fried in hot oil. Add a dollop of peanut butter and voilà—you’ve got a bit of heaven.”

  Heaven? Natalie squinted down her nose at the bucket of peanut butter. Looked more like a great glob of brown goo in a dirty plastic container to her.

  “Come on.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated at the offered snack, then took a bite. Her taste buds watered. “Mmm. This is good.”

  “So you concede?”

  She grabbed a second one and shot him a grin. “You could say that.”

  Something clattered above the persistent roar on the boat. Natalie glanced at the guilty party, a squawking chicken that’d escaped from its cage and knocked over a row of pots. She was about to turn back to Chad when she saw them again. The same two men she’d noticed earlier. They stood a dozen yards away in the shadows of the riverboat’s two-story wheelhouse, watching her and Chad.

  Natalie licked her lips. “Tell me I’m just paranoid after all that’s happened?”

  “Paranoid about what?” Chad popped another bite of fried donut into his mouth as the boat shuddered beneath them.

  “I think those men are following us.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, you’re being paranoid. While I’d assume the government and military use radios that work even when the cell phone towers are out, we’re talking third-world here. They don’t exactly have the resources of the CIA, so I’d think it’s highly unlikely.”

  “I suppose.” She wanted to think she was wrong. That fear had taken over her instincts, making two ordinary passengers into the enemy. But she shivered as one of the men flicked his cigarette into the water, his gaze never leaving her face. Something wasn’t right.

  She shot a glance behind her, and Joseph waved as he wove his way toward them across the deck. If the men had been told to look for two Americans, she and Chad stood out like snowcapped mountains in the middle of the Sahara. How hard would it be for whoever was behind this to turn them into wanted fugitives?

  Chad gripped her elbow as she turned around and looked again at the soldiers. “What’s wrong, Natalie?”

  She jutted her chin at the two men just as the taller man pulled back his shirt, exposing the butt of a gun. She swallowed hard. Now she had Chad’s attention.

  There was no time to react as the men surrounded them and raised their weapons.

  TWENTY-ONE

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 8:56 A.M.

  NEAR THE VILLAGE OF DZAKAN

  “Natalie?” The boat shuddered again, causing both Chad and Natalie to momentarily lose their balance. Natalie slammed into a wooden crate. And then Chad was pulling her behind a stack of barrels, widening the barrier between them and the thugs and the weapons they now held in plain sight.

  Blood seeped from a nasty gash down her left arm.

  “What happened?”

  Natalie glanced at her shoulder. “I gouged it on a something, but I’m okay. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Chad took her right hand and pulled her through the crowd. Dodging goats and chickens through the overcrowded vessel suddenly seemed trivial compared to the possibility of dodging bullets. Surely only a complete idiot would fire shots with hundreds of people milling around.

  He groaned, knowing their options were few. And the two men were closing in behind them. He surveyed their surroundings. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the boat had edged its way to the shore and was in the process of docking. This must be Dzakan, the one major village between Kasili and Bogama. Already a crowd waited to board the boat at the bottom of the ramp, while others stood poised to disembark. The sight of weapons had added a layer of confusion to the chaotic scene, but that and the surge of passengers could work to their advantage.

  They’d just been given their one way out.

  Chad shouted to Joseph, who was maneuvering though the thick wall of people ahead of them. If they could get off, they might have a chance to lose the thugs. Pushing their way around a 4x4 jeep being transported down the river, Chad tightened his grip on Natalie’s hand. He glanced back as they pressed their way down the wooden ramp. One of the men was trapped somewhere in a sea of people, but the second had managed to jump the railing and now scurried down the edge of the ramp less than twenty feet behind them.

  Chad quickened his pace, praying Natalie could keep up. He heard her labored breathing beside him as Joseph’s head bobbed ahead of them. A busy marketplace spread out fifty feet from the shore. The boy had the right idea—the market would be the best place to hide. While not as big as either Kasili or Bogama, it was crowded with dozens of small wooden stalls and packed with people.

  Chad and Natalie followed Joseph as the boy wound his way down narrow dirt paths deep into the heart of the market, past fish vendors, vegetable sellers, and piles of used car parts. The stench from the trash pit along the edge of the market filled his nostrils, but his only concern was for Natalie.

  They finally stopped to catch their breath behind a merchant selling shoes, hopeful they’d lost their pursuers. Natalie let go of his hand and grasped her shoulder below the wound. Blood smeared down her arm and across her left hand.

  He had her sit on a stump, then examined the wound. For now he needed to concentrate on stopping the bleeding. He’d clean it properly once they found somewhere safe to stop. He glanced at the six-inch ruffle at the bottom of her skirt. He was going to have to make do with what they had. “Do you mind? We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

  She shook her head, and he bent down to rip off the piece along the seam.

  Natalie eyed the backpack he’d set behind him. “Do you think those guys are after the photos?”

  “That and a guarantee we don’t leak anything before the election.” He ripped the center of the strip with his teeth, then tore it into a thinner band, saving the other piece in his back pocket in case he needed it later. It should be enough to stop the bleeding. “They’re not getting us or the photos.”

  Natalie flinched as he wrapped the wound. “But this isn’t just about Stephen and Patrick anymore. If they can find us in the middle of nowhere so quickly, that means their communications are beyond normal civilian communication of this country.”

  Chad tied off the ends, not liking the obvious conclusion. “Which points to some kind of government involvement.”

  “And which also means we’ve got to find another way to the capital before they find us again.”

  Joseph stood hunched over, the palms of his hands resting against his thighs. “We could hire a small boat and try to outrun them.”

  Chad nodded. “That’s a good option.”

  And from the looks of things at the moment, their only option.

  The boat Joseph hired was nothing more than a hollowed-out log, barely three feet wide. With the
imposing walls of the jungle on either side of the rapidly moving water, their two pilots paddled the pirogue in unison down the Congo. Gurgles and yowls echoed from the massive trees looming along the banks of the river. Chad glanced back. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t been followed.

  For the first time, he was able to focus his attention on Natalie. The bruise on her head had turned a bright blue, and the purple makeshift bandage on her arm was caked with dried blood. “How are you feeling?”

  “Happy to be alive.” She shot him a weak smile. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I had no idea—”

  He pressed his finger against her lips. “If you remember correctly, I volunteered.”

  “Then you obviously didn’t know what you were getting into.”

  “Neither of us did.” He shrugged. “Look at it this way. We’re all alive.”

  “True.”

  “And we have the photos.”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s just count our blessings.” He eyed the covered wound again. “Do you have a first-aid kit in your bag?”

  She grabbed the bag from the floor of the boat, unzipped it, then pulled out a smaller, clear bag. Perfect. It contained latex gloves, disinfectant, bandages, and a few other miscellaneous supplies he could use.

  Gingerly, he tugged off the bandage, then poured on some antiseptic. “We could almost set up our own roving clinic between this and the pirogue.”

  She winced at his touch. “Sorry, but I’ve had enough of boats for a long time.”

  “Does it hurt bad?”

  “Burns like it’s on fire.”

  He tossed her a packet of painkillers from the bag. “Why don’t you take these as well? It will at least help to ease the pain.”

  She swallowed the pills with a swig of water and turned back to him. “What if Patrick has something to do with this. He’s the only person I know of that has both the connections and the resources.”

  “From what you’ve said, I guess I thought of him as more of a nuisance than a viable threat.” He put on a layer of antibiotic cream. “Of course, maybe I’m wrong. Someone obviously doesn’t want us getting to the capital with these photos.”

  Natalie shook her head. “But even if he is involved, I can’t see him trying to kidnap us.”

  Chad ripped off a piece of adhesive to secure the gauze in place. “People aren’t always what they appear to be on the outside.”

  He looked up at the clouds. The sky roiled in the distance, darkening by the minute. Great. The last thing they needed now was to get caught in a storm. Boat accidents along the Congo were frequent, particularly when the vessels were overloaded with passengers on the swollen river.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the rhythmic sounds of the water lapping against the side of the pirogue, thankful that for now, they were safe.

  TWENTY-TWO

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 10:03 A.M.

  NEAR TAGALA VILLAGE

  Nick loosened the cowling with a screwdriver, praying that he’d finally found the problem. If it was the fuel line, though, his life had just gotten a lot more complicated—as if that were even possible. He didn’t have time to be stuck in the middle of the jungle with nowhere to go for parts and no radio access on the eve of a presidential election that, according to Chad and Natalie, had a good chance of ending in disaster.

  He glanced back at the plane. Not that he couldn’t fix the problem. Three years flying bush planes through the jungle had prepared him for just about anything, but clogged fuel lines always meant more complications, something he wasn’t in the mood for. It had already taken one miracle to land the plane. It was going to take a second to get it out of here.

  With the cowling off, he cut the safety wire and shot up a prayer as he checked to see if the fuel was still getting to the filter.

  Bingo. He’d been right.

  Forty-five minutes later the plane was good to go. He grabbed his logbook from the cockpit and scribbled a few notes in the margin for the mechanic back in Kasili. As he wrote, an envelope slid out from the back of the logbook and landed on the floor.

  Nick picked up the letter, staring at the return address, then shoved the envelope back into the logbook. At twenty-one, his reaction had been to run away. Some days it seemed as if he was still running.

  Still looking for a way to buy your redemption, Nicholas Gilbert?

  Shoving away the thought, he jumped down from the cockpit, focusing instead on a swarm of luminous butterflies hovering over the tail of the plane. Beyond them the trees, in a stunning array of greens and browns, were covered with orchids and creeping vines. The jungle never ceased to amaze him.

  He took a swig of the small water bottle Natalie had left him. It was here, among the familiar noises of the jungle, that he’d made his peace with God. For the most part. Amy’s letter managed to dredge up those doubts and drag him back to a time he wasn’t sure he was ready to revisit.

  The roar of a vehicle yanked him from his thoughts. He certainly wasn’t expecting company, and whoever it was probably meant more trouble than a blocked fuel line ever would be. He moved away from the plane.

  He was right. A jeep pulled up with three men carrying rifles.

  Nick frowned. Apparently there was one thing he wasn’t prepared for: a vehicle full of government soldiers and automatic weapons.

  Setting the water bottle on the tail flap, he decided to take the friendly approach, a diplomatic tactic that had saved him more than a time or two when dealing with the authorities. “Morning, fellows. Hope you’re not looking for a ride, because I’ve been having a bit of engine trouble.”

  The three men, wearing military garb, jumped from the vehicle, quickly bridging the distance between them in long, booted strides.

  The tallest took an extra step toward him. “Where are they?”

  Nick held up his hand. “Now wait a minute, fellows. No hellos, or how are you—”

  He was cut off with a sharp blow to the jaw. He hit the ground with a hard thud, air whooshing from his lungs. Okay. So they didn’t appreciate his sense of humor.

  Struggling to catch his breath, he rubbed his jaw and forced himself to stand back up. He hadn’t survived four years as an Air Force pilot to be taken out by a bunch of bullies in some godforsaken jungle. And while three rifles might put him at a disadvantage, he wasn’t ready to surrender.

  “I’ll ask you one more time: where are they?”

  Nick folded his arms across his chest and tried to look confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The two Americans traveling from Kasili to Bogama on a private plane that never made it to Bogama.”

  “I don’t—”

  The soldier hit him again. This time on the left temple. Stars exploded in his head, and he blinked his eyes and tried to refocus. He decided to play it straight. “I was with a couple who left from here for the capital a few hours ago, but I haven’t heard from them since. My radio’s down, and I don’t have any way to contact them.”

  Nick ducked as the man swung the butt of his rifle. He felt the deafening crack against his temple…then nothing.

  TWENTY-THREE

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 10:54 A.M.

  NEAR TAGALA VILLAGE

  Nick opened his eyes, then squeezed them shut again. The blaring sunlight shot a stabbing pain through his temple. His skull—his entire body, for that matter—felt as if it had been run over by a tank. He struggled to clear the fog that enveloped his head. His plane had gone down…Crashed…No…A mechanical problem. The fuel filter was clogged. He’d fixed the plane. Three men with weapons showed up—

  “Mr. Gilbert?”

  Nick jerked his head up at the sound of his name, wincing at the sudden movement. His head pounded. He reached up to find the source of the pain and found a rising lump on his forehead.

  A familiar face hovered over him. Brown skin, yellow T-shirt, tan shorts. Bell…Mel? Mbella. That was his name. One of Joseph’s fr
iends who had helped him this morning before Chad and Natalie headed for the river.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Gilbert?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nick looked around from where he sat on the ground, his vision still blurry. He rubbed his eyes, then tried to assess any other physical damage the soldiers had done. His limbs tingled, and his head and jaw were killing him, but he’d live. At least he hoped so.

  An ant crawled up his pant leg and he swatted at it, knocking it onto the dusty red earth. Above him, vines twisted around a tree until the trunk disappeared into the thick vegetation. The three roughnecks must have dragged him away from the plane after knocking him out. He glanced at his watch. He didn’t think he’d been out for more than a couple minutes, but if the lump on his forehead was any indication of the force they’d used, he’d be lucky if he didn’t have a concussion.

  His stomach roiled as he glanced at the plane. At least it was still there, but if they’d done any damage he was sunk. No tools, no radio, few resources…Walking to the capital on foot was an additional nightmare he hoped to avoid.

  Mbella squatted in front of him. “Don’t worry. They’re gone now.”

  Nick tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Where had he put his water bottle? He managed to stand. “Did you see the soldiers who attacked me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mbella shrugged. “I heard them talking. There is a reward for your friends.”

  “A reward?” Nick stopped at the open door of the plane and spun around. Surely the boy had heard wrong.

  “Everyone will be looking for your friends. The army, police, maybe even the taxi drivers in the city.”

  Great. If what Mbella said was true, he was stuck in the middle of the jungle with no way to warn Chad and Natalie. He turned back toward the plane. This news didn’t put any of them in a good situation. And it proved Chad’s theory that something big was about to happen. Why else would someone care about a handful of photos taken in the middle of nowhere?

  A wave of dizziness passed over him. “How long was I out?”