While everyone chowed down on their meal of hash browns with bacon, Mitchell stood up. He used a map stapled to the side of their hut and quickly outlined their plan for getting in and out of Liberia.
Sam followed up with an update on the fighting in the country. Using the intel provided by Fahimah, she explained that the struggle so far seemed to be confined to the major cities, but it was too early to tell if it would spread outside and engulf the remainder of the country.
Aside from Jackson comparing Mitchell’s plan to George Custer’s before the battle of the Little Bighorn, no one voiced any concerns. Mitchell knew his people; they were all professionals and wouldn’t complain or question anything, unless they felt there was a danger to the mission. With the briefing complete, Mitchell made sure that Jackson phoned home to his wife and son. He had gotten into a lot of trouble over the past few missions when he hadn’t checked in with his family prior to heading out. As for Mitchell, he gave General O’Reilly a quick call to let him know that they were about to step off. When he was done, he called Jen and told her not to worry. He’d be home safe and sound in a couple days’ time. Jen knew better but didn’t say a word. She knew the routine all too well. Worrying wouldn’t change a thing. After he promised to take her on holiday when he got back, Mitchell ended the call.
A young female constable named Hannah Bright volunteered to keep watch over their gear while they were gone, as well as act as liaison between the team and the local police detachment. With all of their loose ends tied up, everyone jumped onto a loaned army jeep, and then headed out into the early-morning mist surrounding their helicopter.
11
Military compound
Belle Yella, Liberia
A dark shadow, like a massive bird of prey, raced past the sun, blocking out the light. A blast of cool air surged through the camp. Emily’s saw something coming for her. Her heart started to pound wildly in her chest. The world all around her grew dark. She had to run, to find safety, but she couldn’t move. Emily looked down and saw her legs were stuck in the thick, red mud that covered the ground as far as the eye could see. The sound of monstrous wings beating filled her ears . . . louder and louder as the cold, unearthly shadow wrapped around and then consumed her whole.
A with a loud, piercing scream, Emily shot straight up in bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Sweat covered her body. She pulled up a blanket for cover and security. Emily turned to see Cristoval standing over her, concern written all over his face.
“Are you all right?” asked Cristoval as he sat down on the edge of the military cot and placed his arms around his wife, pulling her in close to his body. Soothingly, he ran her hands through Emily’s disheveled hair while he rocked her in his arms.
“I . . . I had an awful nightmare,” said Emily, struggling to control her racing heart. “I thought I was a mouse, and a huge bird of some kind was swooping down from the sky to kill and eat me.”
Cristoval let go of Emily and gently turned her face. Her eyes were red, teary, and filled with fear.
“Don’t worry, it was all some horrid nightmare, that’s all. You’re safe here with me,” said Cristoval reassuringly. “You’ve just been under a lot of stress. We’re both tired. Trust me, it will all be over soon enough, and then we can have a drink and a couple of laughs about it when we are back with our friends in a few days’ time.”
“It just seemed so real. I could hear the thing flapping its wings as it got closer.”
“Oh, you probably just heard the helicopter as it came into land inside the compound, and your exhausted mind took over,” said Cristoval as he stood up and looked out their window at the dark black helicopter sitting in the center of the compound.
An unexpected loud knock at the door startled them both.
“Yes?” said Cristoval guardedly.
“I need you to follow me,” said a deep voice outside the door. Emily recognized Gray’s voice.
“One minute,” replied Emily as she tried to make herself presentable in her rumpled, two-day-old clothing.
Cristoval opened the door and saw Gray. On either side of him were two soldiers, who leered at Emily as she stepped out from the safety of their room.
“Follow me,” ordered Gray. He led them across the compound to an official-looking, white-painted, wooden building that Emily suspected was an office. They were ushered inside, and then made their way down a long corridor until they came to a room guarded by another well-armed soldier. When he saw them approach, the soldier quickly opened the door and stepped aside as Gray led Emily and Cristoval inside a spacious, well-lit room. A table covered with food and beverages was located at the far end of the room. Gray smiled at Emily, waved his hand at the food before stepping out of the room, leaving the Martinezes alone.
“Do you think it’s safe?” asked Cristoval, eyeing the food hungrily.
Emily shrugged, picked up a croissant, and took a bite. “I doubt they would poison us when they clearly have something else in mind for us,” said Emily, handing her husband a croissant.
Cristoval wolfed his food down and then went in search of something more filling.
Emily poured them both a cup of black coffee and then took a seat on the red leather couch in front of a highly polished coffee table made from an old tree stump. Her mind went to her friends, both American and Liberian. She tried to keep herself calm, but deep down she was worried sick about them. Emily hoped that they would get some news on them today. Cristoval joined her on the couch, happily devouring a large piece of pineapple.
“The accommodations suck, but the food is quite acceptable. I wouldn’t give them more than one star out of five,” joked Cristoval.
A smile broke on Emily’s face for the first time since they had been accosted.
The door flung open.
Gray entered, followed by a tall woman in her late fifties with short blonde hair and cool-blue eyes, carrying a leather briefcase in her right hand. She was dressed oddly in a loosely fitting green jumpsuit, with a pair of suede combat boots on her feet. Behind her, was a man in military-style camouflage fatigues. He had broad shoulders and a thick neck. His brown hair was cut very short. His wide face bore the scars from innumerable fights. The man’s dark brown, almost black, eyes fixed on Emily, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. He stopped at the door and then stood there with his hand on his holster, suspiciously eyeing the Martinezes.
Emily and Cristoval stood up to face the new people.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Martinez,” said the blonde-haired woman. Her accent was Parisian French. “My name is Sarah DuFour. The man at the door is Marius.”
“Good morning,” Emily and Cristoval said in unison.
“Please sit down,” said DuFour.
A few seconds later, everyone but Marius was sitting around the oval coffee table.
“My specialty is finding artifacts thought lost to time. I hate to be blunt, but as I am sure you are aware, time is of the essence,” said DuFour as she dug into her briefcase. She placed a map of northern Liberia on the table, grabbed a small cassette recorder, turned it on, and set it down beside the map.
“Please show me on the map where you found the diamonds and the other relics,” said DuFour.
Emily looked over at Cristoval, who shrugged his shoulders. Pointing to Weasua on the map, Emily said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Your people took us from there. They know exactly where we were building our school.”
A look of confusion flashed across DuFour’s face. “I beg your pardon, please say that again?”
“My husband is a schoolteacher. We were building a new school in Weasua with the help of some friends from home and the local community when your men stormed in there like a bunch of jackbooted Nazis and took us hostage.”
“You weren’t conducting an archaeological dig?”
“Ma’am, my wife and I were digging the foundation for our new school when we found the diamonds and the other relics. It was p
ure happenstance that we came across those relics in the first place,” said Cristoval.
DuFour turned her head and looked over at Gray. “You said that they had found James Lucifer’s remains.”
“I said no such thing,” replied Gray angrily. “My job is to ensure that no one interferes with you while you dig up the treasure. The decision to go ahead came from Mademoiselle Seras, not I.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what is going on,” said Emily. “Who is James Lucifer, and what does he have to do with what’s going on?”
“Be quiet,” snapped Gray.
“This is a disaster,” muttered DuFour.
Gray immediately ordered his men to escort Emily and Cristoval back to their room.
With puzzled looks on their faces, the Martinezes were hurried out of the room. The instant the door closed, Marius started to chuckle out loud.
“Someone has really screwed the pooch on this one,” said Marius, with a smirk on his rough-looking face. “Mademoiselle Seras will lose it when I tell her that someone on her staff connected a series of unconnected dots and came up with the precise answer that she was hoping to hear.”
“He’ll pay with his life I suspect,” said DuFour coldly.
“She, more like,” said Marius, thinking of Seras’ personal assistant.
Gray took a deep breath and then said, “I spent a year planning this operation. Tens of millions have been spent to overthrow the Liberian Government. And now we learn that it was all for naught.”
“Perhaps not,” mused DuFour. “If Mademoiselle Seras can be convinced to spend a little bit more money, we may be able to get back on track.”
“What are you proposing?” asked Marius.
“A journal was purported to have been written by the sole survivor of James Lucifer’s cursed crew, Thomas Gordon, a young sailor who claimed to have walked out of the jungle in 1715 and was picked up by a passing Spanish vessel. According to the legend, he was barely alive when the Spanish found him. Riddled with disease, he was lucky to survive the trip back to Spain. After selling a couple of diamonds, Gordon returned to England where he lived out the rest of his life in comfort under the assumed name of Rodger Samuelson. Never married, on his deathbed he disclosed to his solicitor his real name and the source of his wealth, a sack of gems and diamonds along with a pink diamond the size of a grown man’s fist.”
“Lucifer’s Fire,” said Gray. “I’ve seen it on display in Amsterdam.”
“Precisely.”
“Where are you going with this?” said Marius.
“If we can get our hands on the journal, perhaps we can locate the precise location of Lucifer’s treasure.”
“I thought Madame Seras already had the journal,” said Marius.
“She has snippets from the journal,” explained DuFour. “Without the entire journal, she is really just wasting her time. That is why finding relics, such as the ones found in Weasua, were key to this entire operation. Without them, we would be stumbling around in the dark, which I feel is exactly what we are now doing.”
Marius clenched his fists together tightly. Whoever had given his mistress such bad advice was either deliberately leading her astray or incompetent. As soon as their meeting was over, he intended to call her and let her know what was going on.
“Do you know where the journal is, Madame DuFour?” asked Marius, trying to keep his volcanic temper in check.
“According to my sources, it was last seen in the hands of a private collector in New Haven, Connecticut,” replied DuFour.
“Why didn’t we lay our hands on this journal before we started this operation?”
“I told Gao that it would speed things up, but she dismissed my concerns and said that they would be able to pinpoint the treasure without the journal.”
Marius stood in silence for a minute while he digested everything that had been said. Looking over at Gray, he said, “I’m going to call Mademoiselle Seras and tell her that the plan needs to be radically altered. I will leave here within the hour and then fly to New Haven, to personally retrieve the journal while you continue with the operation from this end.”
Gray shook his head. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
Marius grabbed Gray by the collar and effortlessly hauled him up into the air. “I want you to keep looking for Lucifer’s treasure,” snarled Marius.
“How?”
“Use your Liberian cronies to draft more locals and put them to work digging for clues up and down the Lofa River. There have to be more relics buried in the ground than what has been found to date. Is that simple enough for you to understand?”
Gray quickly nodded his head.
Marius let go of Gray and stormed out of the room to make his call.
Gray sat back down in his chair. He looked over at DuFour, a look of fear etched on his face. He was used to orchestrating things from the sidelines. Ordering people to do things was far different from having to do it.
“Marius maybe loyal to Seras, but he is nothing more than a blunt instrument. He lacks the sophistication for this kind of work,” said DuFour dryly.
“That may be so, but our lives are in now in his hands,” said Gray.
“What will you do now?”
“Our window of opportunity fades with each passing hour. I suspect that we have four or five days at best before our activities draw the attention of the either the U.S. or British intelligence services. Therefore, we will have to get to work immediately if we wish to find Lucifer’s treasure and get it out of the country unnoticed.”
“I can go through my notes to see if there is anything that mentions Weasua. I could really use the Martinezes to help me scour through my stacks of notes.”
Gray smiled. “I have a better idea. Mrs. Martinez will remain here with you while Mr. Martinez can join his friends digging for clues. I’m sure being separated will inspire them both to work harder to find the final resting place of James Lucifer and his diamonds.”
DuFour nodded her head. Some help was better than none.
It was done.
Gray stood and straightened out his clothes. “I had best pay an office call to Lieutenant Colonel Taylor. He and his men have a lot of work ahead of them if they are going to round up the hundreds of people we will need before the sun sets today.”
With that, Gray left the room, leaving DuFour alone. Looking down at the map, DuFour tried to imagine the last days of James Lucifer and his men. Legend said that he died defending an Arab fort. However, none still stood anywhere in Liberia. All had been lost to the ravages of time. Nervously biting her lip, she started to tap her fingers on the table. She was growing nervous. She had expected to arrive in time to oversee the final excavations, not start from scratch. DuFour stood and called out. A soldier came to the door. She ordered him to bring in all of her luggage from the back of the helicopter. DuFour cleared off the table and readied herself for a couple sleepless nights. The sooner they found the treasure, the sooner they could leave Liberia. The thought of spending the rest of her days in a squalid West African jail was a fate that was too horrible to contemplate.
12
Landing Zone
Northwestern Liberia
Mitchell felt the helicopter begin a quick descent toward a small clearing in the thick, green jungle below them. Looking into the faces of his comrades, he saw the same steely determination in their eyes that he had come to count on to get the job done. They were all dressed in multi-cam uniforms and wore an assortment of chest-rigs, tailored to meet the needs of the individual. Everyone carried a small combat radio in their rigs. Cardinal and Jackson both carried satphones, for keeping in touch with the outside world. They all carried only what they needed, not a scrap more. Mitchell wanted his people to be able to fight and move fast when need be.
The plan briefed back in Sierra Leone was simple enough; Mitchell, Jackson, Sam, and Cardinal would walk the five kilometers from their LZ to a hilltop overlooking the Liberian Army compound. Onc
e there, Sam and Cardinal would set up an observation post while Mitchell and Jackson moved down to take a look around the camp. If anything went wrong, Sam and Cardinal could cover them back to their observation post. Yuri was to head straight back to Sierra Leone to refuel their helicopter. He would then wait patiently for the coordinates for the extraction point to be radioed to him once they had all the people they had come for.
It wasn’t a plan that Mitchell would have tried pushing before his superiors while he was still serving; it was lacking in detail, and a million things could go wrong the instant their feet hit the ground, but there was no way around it. A good plan executed on the fly is always better than waiting for a perfect plan to emerge sometime later when it would be too late to help their people trapped in Liberia, thought Mitchell as he checked his throat-mic one last time before they landed.
Mitchell may have been a veteran of dozens of aerial insertions into hostile territory, but his stomach always knotted and his pulse quickened the instant Yuri announced over the headset that they were less than thirty seconds out. Mitchell welcomed the unease, as it meant he wasn’t growing sloppy and complacent, a surefire recipe to get people killed.
The MI-8 hovered for a moment in the air like a giant bird coming in to land in its nest, and then in the blink of an eye, Yuri smoothly brought the helicopter down onto the grassy field.
Nate Jackson was already on his feet. Throwing the side door open, with his AK jammed into his shoulder, he stepped out of the helicopter, dropped to one knee, scanning the area around the helicopter for any sign of hostile activity.
They were alone.
With a wave of his hand, Mitchell, Sam, and Cardinal sprinted from the chopper. Led by Jackson, they headed straight for the cover of the dense jungle.
Yuri wasted no time getting airborne with a whirling downburst from the MI-8’s powerful engines. Sending grass and dirt flying up into the air, the chopper leapt up into the sky. Rapidly gaining speed and altitude, the helicopter started to bank over, heading back to Sierra Leone and safety, when automatic gunfire erupted from the far side of the jungle.
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