As soon as Mitchell and Jackson disappeared from sight, Cardinal and Sam crawled forward until they could see the camp. Cardinal brought his Dragunov sniper rifle to his shoulder. He looked through the scope, identifying possible targets to engage, while Sam brought up her binos and scanned the camp, looking for any sign of the hostages.
Fifty kilometers away, on a narrow trail barely wide enough for a man to walk down, the small column of Land Rovers relentlessly pushed their way through the dense jungle all around them.
A horribly out-of-date map is more of a hazard than an aid, compared to a GPS, thought Chang as he double-checked their location before calling the column to a halt in a small clearing. A brightly colored parrot squawked loudly at them from the top of a nearby palm tree. One by one, the mercenaries got out of their Rovers, weapons in hand, and made their way to Chang’s vehicle.
Quickly looking down at his watch, Chang saw that in spite of the atrocious path they were following, they were actually making good time. If everything went according to plan, they would be back in Sierra Leone in less than twelve hours.
Colonel Ji-Hun Chang, a former North Korean Special Operative, had turned his back on North Korea after learning out that his parents had starved to death during one of the nation’s worst crop famines, while the leadership of his country continued to grow fat. After killing his superior in bed with a knife, Chang had made his way across the Chinese border. Soon he found employment working for a ruthless warlord in Burma, whom he killed, and took over his business. Moving on, Chang soon became one of the most sought-after mercenary team leaders in the world. Governments of all stripes and business leaders alike paid top dollar for his ruthlessly efficient services. After being double-crossed and left to die on an island off Iceland, Chang had steadily rebuilt his operation from the ground up. Some of the people with him were a known commodity, while others had only joined his organization in the past few months. He had mixed the newer people with his small cadre of veterans so they could learn from them.
A slender, dark-skinned man with Somali features made his way over beside Chang. “Sir, my GPS says we’re well inside Liberia,” said Saafi, Chang’s handpicked deputy for this mission.
“So does mine,” replied Chang, with a smile.
Saafi took a quick look around and then told Chang that everyone, less a couple of men guarding the vehicles, was present.
Chang looked into the eyes of his people. “All right, people, listen up. I have always shared the bounties of my work with people who are willing to take the risks with me. I have never lied to my people before an operation and I won’t this time, either. We are in Liberia to obtain a fortune in diamonds. According to the man who hired us, a rival organization is behind the fighting raging all across Liberia. It is a diversion to allow them to find and extract the diamonds from a dig site in the vicinity of Weasua, a village perhaps no more than ten minutes’ drive from here,” said Chang confidently.
“Opposition?” asked a red-haired woman with a thick Scottish accent.
“Unknown,” said Chang bluntly. “There are several small Liberian Army garrisons around here. It is safe to assume that they are all most likely in the back pocket of our competition, so be alert.”
“Escape route?” asked a broad-chested man with an American accent.
“This shouldn’t be a difficult mission,” said Chang, “so for the moment, I plan to head back the way we came. There is a plane waiting for us in Freetown. However, if things should become too hot, or you become separated from the main body, then you are to make your way north into Guinea and head for the town of Macenta. A helicopter will be on standby there from noon tomorrow for two days. If you arrive after that, I hope you like walking,” said Chang, eliciting a chuckle from his team.
“All right then, no more questions,” said Saafi, telling them more than asking.
“Okay, people, there is no point pussyfooting around anymore. If we bump into anyone who gets in our way, kill them,” said Chang firmly. “Now, go back to your Rovers, mount your weapons, and get ready to earn your pay.”
Five minutes later, with weapons bristling from each Land Rover, Chang gave the signal to carry on. Like a deadly anaconda, the column snaked its way through the jungle before breaking out onto a dirt road. With a loud rev from their engines, the Rovers leapt forward. Chang was confident that the mission would be wrapped up in a couple of hours and a fortune in diamonds would be in his possession.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
16
Emily rubbed her tired, aching eyes and then reached down for another pile of papers to read. She looked over at DuFour, she felt like screaming out loud. She hadn’t found a shred of information that could help her. To Emily, most of what she read seemed like disjointed ramblings. She wasn’t used to the way people wrote in the 1700s. A horrible migraine headache was brewing in her head. Before too long she would need to lie down. Knowing that every second that went by threatened her husband’s life, Emily clenched her jaw in frustration and then got back to work. Pain or not, she had to keep going.
Emily reached over for one of the maps and drew it close. Looking down, she stared at the crudely drawn river meandering its way through the Liberian countryside. Placing it beside a modern road map, she tried to see if the old map bore any resemblance to the one newer one. Emily shook her head, she could see that they weren’t even close.
A feeling of desperation washed over her. It was pointless; there was nothing here that could help. She was about to break down crying when a thought hit her. Looking up at DuFour, she said, “Have you considered the fact that the river isn’t flowing where it used to in the 1700s?”
DuFour stopped what she was doing and looked over at Emily. “The thought had crossed my mind. That’s why it is important to get our hands on the remainder of the journal.”
“Assume for a minute that you don’t obtain the journal, what will you do?”
“Keep digging until we find some more clues that might lead us to the diamonds.”
“That’s your plan?” blurted out an exasperated Emily. “You’re going to dig up all of northwest Liberia until you find the treasure. My God, woman, have you considered how long that would take?”
DuFour’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t used to people speaking to her like that. Resisting the urge to reach out and slap Emily hard across the face, DuFour said, “It is all we have to go on right now. Unless you wish your husband and your friends to die a horrible death, I suggest you shut up and get back to work.”
“No, I will not be quiet,” said Emily. “This is a nightmare. Did any of you people think to look for the Arab fort using a satellite?”
“What did you say?” said DuFour.
“A satellite, did you even think to use one?”
“How will that help?”
“God help me. You do realize that this is the twenty-first century. Don’t you read anything online?”
DuFour just sat there, staring over at Emily.
“Recently, geologists looking for oil in the deserts of Saudi Arabia were using a satellite to try to detect deposits below the surface; however, what they found was a city that had been lost for centuries. All over the world right now, archaeologists are using satellites instead of digging. They use the satellite’s infrared scanners to see beneath the earth. Look for a manmade object, like a square or a rectangle somewhere along the river, and that will guide you to your bloody fort.”
DuFour looked like a light switch had just been turned on in her mind. Quickly walking over to a side table, she picked up a cell phone and called Gray. A couple of minutes later, she took her seat with a smug look on her face.
“Well?” said Emily.
“Get back to work,” replied DuFour coldly.
With her jaw clenched tight, Emily pushed the maps away from her and grabbed the pile of papers she had been working on before. She had never wished ill of a person in her life. Now, however, she couldn’t think of a person
on the entire planet she would have liked to see dead more than Sarah DuFour.
On the outskirts of the camp, Mitchell and Jackson crawled out from the cover of the jungle canopy, through the tall grass covering the muddy ground, until they came to the edge of a fence running the length of the army compound. It had seen better days. Held together in places with rusting pieces of barbed wire, the fence was clearly for show; anyone wishing to could easily crawl through the many gaps in the wire. Rather than cut a new hole in the fence, Mitchell indicated to Jackson that they were going to go under the wire at a spot a few meters away. Slithering along like a pair of snakes in the underbrush, Mitchell and Jackson effortlessly slid under the fence and came up inside the compound. They took cover behind several rusting forty-five-gallon drums. Mitchell popped his head up and took a quick look around. There were several old dilapidated barracks on the far side of the compound. Bored-looking Liberian soldiers stood around smoking and joking with one another in front of the barracks. He turned his attention to the nearest wooden buildings and saw several men in oil-stained coveralls working on an ancient-looking, two-and-a-half ton truck covered in rust. Mitchell smiled to himself; wherever mechanics were, so was a possible ride. He looked past the maintenance buildings and spied a long, official-looking structure.
“Bingo,” muttered Mitchell under his breath. This is where we’ll find the Martinezes, if they’re still here, thought Mitchell. Ducking back down, Mitchell quickly described the layout of the camp to Jackson.
“Okay now, what to do?” whispered Jackson, knowing full well what his friend was thinking. “Wait, let me guess: I’ll get us some wheels while you go looking for Mr. and Mrs. Martinez and the others.”
“Am I that transparent?” said Mitchell, feigning insult.
“That, and then some. Now quit flapping your gums, Mister Mitchell, and get moving,” said Jackson with a wink.
Mitchell quickly shook Jackson’s hand for luck, ducked down, and then made his way around the side of the maintenance building, using it for cover.
On top of the hill, covered by a camouflage net, Cardinal followed Mitchell through his sniper scope as soon as he turned the corner of the rickety-looking shack and then carefully crept forward to the office building.
“What’s going on down below?” said Sam, barely above a whisper, into Cardinal’s ear.
“Looks like they are on the move,” answered Cardinal, without ever taking his concentration from his weapon sight.
“Do you think they need us?”
“Not yet.”
Sam stood a full foot shorter than her boyfriend, Gordon. She was a high-strung Asian-American, born in California and raised near the water. An avid athlete, she reveled in being the team’s medic and only full-time female member. Gordon Cardinal came from the Canadian Rockies and was as cool and calm as a glacier. He was a former sniper team leader. They may have been polar opposites, but Sam and Cardinal were only happy when they were together.
Sam fidgeted with pent-up energy. “This isn’t fair. I hate being left behind.”
“It seems to be our lot in life, but someone has to save their bacon when the crap hits the fan.”
A smile emerged on Sam’s face. “Say, that’s right . . . those two do owe us, big-time.” She picked up her binos and focused on the soldiers patrolling outside the camp and started identifying possible targets for Cardinal to engage, should he need to in a hurry.
Mitchell peered around the corner of the building and saw that there was little cover between it and the office complex. Cursing his bad luck, Mitchell debated what to do, when he saw of a group of Liberian soldiers walk out of the office block and head to several jeeps and the Mercedes SUVs parked out in the open. They started the vehicles’ engines, and then quickly brought them over beside the office complex. Seeing that no one was looking in his direction, Mitchell tensed up and then dashed over to the other building. He took cover behind a pile of old wooden pallets. Mitchell waited a couple of seconds before slowly raising his head to look around. It was still quiet; luckily, no one had seen him move.
A couple of seconds later, Mitchell spotted two men leave the building and make their way over to an all-black Mercedes SUV. He saw that one was very fit-looking and was dressed in fashionable clothing that looked as if it had been bought from a chic safari store. The other was a Liberian army officer. Fat to the point of being morbidly obese, the officer carried a small swagger stick in his hand that he waved about in the air while he spoke with the other man.
Mitchell was too far away to hear what was being said, but by the pissed look on the officer’s face, he clearly wasn’t happy with the other man. Still berating his accomplice, the officer climbed into the back of the waiting SUV while the other man jumped in the next vehicle in line. Joined by a platoon of soldiers, the small column of vehicles made their way out of the camp’s front gate and onto the dirt road. Turning north, they drove away.
Mitchell keyed his throat mic. “Nate, looks like a couple of bigwigs have left camp with a platoon of well-armed men.”
“Roger that,” replied Jackson. “I’ll see what I can do for a ride.”
“Sounds good, but wait for my signal before you borrow one.”
“Roger that,” said Jackson, watching another group of soldiers walk out of their barracks and load their gear into the back of a pair of five-ton trucks. “Ryan, I recommend that we both go to ground at least until things quieten down around here.”
“Sounds good,” replied Mitchell, moving back along the wall of the office building until he came to a rusted, old truck. He crawled underneath and prayed that there weren’t any poisonous snakes nearby.
17
Campsite
Weasua, Liberia
A sharp crack split the air.
A spotted hyena, its muzzle covered in blood, fell over with a hole shot straight through its neck.
A second later, another shot rang out.
Another hyena fell.
Fear gripped the remainder of the pack, causing them to snarl and yelp loudly into the air at the unseen killer as they ran for the safety of the nearby thick brush.
Chang lowered his rifle and stepped away from his Rover. The rancid smell from the bloated corpses, or more accurately, what was left of them, wafted through the warm air. Making sure he didn’t breathe through his nose, Chang stepped warily over to the nearest corpse and looked down. The man’s midsection had been chewed away and bits of flesh and intestines littered the ground. Insects crawled about in the open wounds. By his clothing, Chang could tell that the body belonged to a Liberian, probably a local who had been working on the site. Chang quickly rummaged through the dead man’s pockets, but found nothing to tell him who the man at his feet was. He stood up and looked around. There were signs of recent digging, but nothing that would have made him believe that a major dig to find a treasure trove of diamonds had taken place.
He was beginning to wonder if they were even in the right place. Perhaps the intelligence provided to him by their employers was wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life that it had come up short.
With a growing feeling of unease, Chang turned on his heel and looked around at the empty tents. The missing occupants’ looted personal effects were strewn haphazardly throughout the camp.
“There’s no one here, boss,” said the red-haired Scottish mercenary from behind Chang. “Looks like we missed whatever went down here.”
Chang looked back. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Grace . . . we’re late,” said Chang bitterly.
“Saafi had the men comb the countryside and the nearby village for clues, but aside from these poor dead bastards it looks like everyone else either hightailed it into the jungle or was taken from the camp by the army. Their tracks are everywhere,” explained Grace. Digging out her scarf, she placed it over her nose and mouth to block out the stomach-turning odor.
Chang nodded and then, without saying another word, walked in the direction of the red-dirt ro
ad. He looked down the path and saw the telltale indentations in the ground that could only be caused by heavy truck traffic. A smile slowly emerged on his stoic features. Whoever had been here recently had traveled down the road leading to the north.
An excited voice called out, “Colonel . . . Colonel Chang, we got one.”
Chang ran over to a small cluster of men. At their feet was a battered and beaten Liberian soldier. He gritted his teeth. These new men weren’t disciplined enough for his liking. He would have to talk with Saafi about controlling the newest members of his organization. Chang was thankful that they hadn’t killed the man. He needed a prisoner to interrogate.
When he saw Chang approaching, Roberts, a tough-looking black mercenary from Nigeria, bent down and hauled the terrified soldier to his feet.
“Well, what have we here?” said Chang, looking into the terrified soldier’s eyes.
The soldier stood there vibrating in fear. The smell of urine wafted up into the air. The man had soiled himself.
Roberts shook the man and snarled, “Speak, or I’ll blow your balls off and feed them to you one by one.”
“I would do what he says,” said Chang calmly. “My friend here, he’s not known for his patience.”
“What do you want to know?” said the soldier.
Chang stepped forward until he was eye to eye with the frightened soldier, his gaze boring deep into the man’s soul. “Tell me what happened here. Where are the people who were digging here?”
“We took ’em away,” mumbled the soldier.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Chang with a smile on his face. “Why, and most importantly, where did you take them?”
“I’m just a soldier, I do as I am told,” muttered the man. “We were ordered to come here, round up everyone from the dig site, and take them away. I don’t know where they went.”
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