Lucifer's Fire

by Richard Turner

  Chang had been in the business far too long not to spot when someone was hiding the truth form him. He could feel anger slowly building inside him.

  “Why don’t you know where they went? You were here when all of this went down . . . weren’t you?”

  The soldier looked up and saw the malice growing in Chang’s eyes. Cold fear gripped his insides. It was like looking into the eyes of the Devil himself. He wanted to run. Stepping back with all his might, he found it was futile; the men holding him were far too strong.

  “What is your name?” asked Chang, trying to compose himself. He needed answers. His instincts told him that the man knew more than he was letting on.

  “Kenneh . . . my name is Kenneh,” mumbled the soldier.

  “Okay then, Kenneh,” said Chang, placing his hand firmly on the soldier’s left shoulder. “I want you to think hard because your life will depend upon your next answer. Where are the people that were taken away from here? I know they were loaded into some trucks and driven north.”

  The sudden look of panic in the soldier’s eyes told Chang he was right.

  Roberts didn’t need to be told what to do next. Pulling his 9mm Glock from its holster, he placed it against the man’s head, and then with his thumb, he changed it from safe to fire.

  The feel of cold steel against his skin made the soldier recoil in horror.

  “Kenneh, I’m going to count to three; if you haven’t told me where the people are and why they were taken away, my associate is going to blow your brains out,” said Chang.

  The soldier stared disbelievingly at Chang.

  “One . . . two . . .” counted Chang.

  “I swear to God that I don’t know where everyone went. All I know is that they took two Americans to our camp at Belle Yella,” blurted out the soldier as quickly as he could.

  “Grace,” called out Chang. “Dig out your laptop and see if you can find Belle Yella on it.”

  “On it,” replied Grace, running back to her Rover.

  Roberts, with a maniacal gleam in his eye, jammed the pistol harder into the soldier’s head. “Describe the Americans.”

  “They were a husband and wife. One was white, the other was Mexican, I think.”

  “Why did they take them, and what were their names?” asked Chang.

  “I don’t know. I swear to God that I don’t know who they were or why he wanted them,” said Kenneh.

  “Who wanted them?”

  “A black British man wanted them. That’s all I know. Now, please don’t shoot me,” pleaded Kenneh.

  Chang stepped back, smiled, and then let out a chuckle.

  “Colonel, do you know what he’s going on about?” asked Roberts, looking over at his boss.

  “Gray. Braxton Gray is the man he’s talking about. He’s a shady character that, for the right amount of money, facilitates things, like this bloody revolution,” explained Chang.

  Saafi walked over and stood by his boss. “Sir, did I hear you say that Gray is somewhere around here?”

  “Yes, my old friend, it would appear that the rival organization we are up against is led by Gray.”

  Saafi spat on the ground. “He’s a two-faced coward.”

  “Maybe so, but that means the opposition has very deep pockets. He doesn’t come cheap,” observed Chang.

  Grace walked over and said, “Found it. Belle Yella is about fifty kilometers east of here.”

  Chang thanked her. He knew that he was wasting time. Chang needed to make up his mind on what to do next. He looked over at their captive. “Tell me one thing before we leave you here, Kenneh,” said Chang. “Why are you here?”

  The soldier turned his head and looked at the ground.

  “Answer the Colonel,” snarled Roberts, twisting his pistol barrel into the soldier’s head.

  “I deserted,” said Kenneh dejectedly. “I don’t like my officers, and with the rebels fighting the government in Monrovia, I took the opportunity to run away. I remembered all the expensive things that I had seen here and decided to come back and grab something to sell on the black market.”

  “Where are your friends; surely others came with you?”

  “No, I came alone,” said the terrified soldier, vigorously shaking his head.

  Chang smiled; the man had tripped himself up. “Well, no one likes a deserter; they can’t be trusted. Three,” said Chang.

  Roberts pulled the trigger. The soldier’s head snapped to one side. Blood and brains flew from the hole blasted through the side of his head. A second later, his lifeless body tumbled to the ground, spilling blood and gore all over the grass.

  “More for the hyenas,” said Saafi, with a grisly smile on his narrow face.

  Chang walked back to Grace’s vehicle and looked down at the map on the screen. He knew from experience that on the bad roads running through the jungle it would take them some time to get to their objective.

  Grace took Chang’s GPS and plugged in the new coordinates.

  Chang thanked her. He knew what he had to do next. With a loud whistle, he ordered everyone to get back into their vehicles. A familiar, almost welcome calm descended on Chang; he was in his element.

  They were going to war.

  18

  Military compound

  Belle Yella, Liberia

  Mitchell was starting to grow restless. He had been lying underneath the rusted remains of a truck for the past hour. No sooner had the five-ton trucks packed with soldiers driven out of the camp, when several jeeps filled with other soldiers drove in. Jackson had a better view of them and told Mitchell that they looked like a patrol coming back from the field. All this waiting for the camp to quiet down grated on Mitchell’s nerves. He wanted to get moving.

  Mitchell keyed his throat-mic. “Nate, what’s going on out there?”

  “Wait,” said Jackson, taking a quick look around. “All clear; aside from a couple really bored-looking soldiers on gate duty, the camp looks quiet. I suspect the soldiers, or what’s left of them, are in their barracks taking it easy while they can.”

  “Thank God for that. Something just crawled over my leg.”

  “I hope it wasn’t one of those nasty, great big spiders they’ve got in this part of the world. I hate spiders, they give me the creeps.”

  “I don’t know what it was, I just know that I want to get out from under the truck and get to work.”

  “I hear you,” said Jackson cheerfully. “The mechanics have taken a break. So while you’re gone, I’ll take a quick look for a working set of wheels.”

  “Okay, I’m on the move,” said Mitchell, crawling out from under the truck. He brushed the dirt from his clothes. Mitchell felt his skin crawl when he thought of a tarantula, or something worse, crawling over his legs.

  “I can see you,” said Cardinal into Mitchell’s earpiece.

  “Roger that, I’m going to try looking around inside. Cover me,” said Mitchell as he stealthily made his way over to the nearest door and tried the doorknob.

  It wasn’t locked.

  Mitchell slung his rifle over his back, drew his pistol and then screwed on a silencer. If he had to fire on someone, he didn’t want the world to know about it.

  Quickly peering inside, Mitchell saw that he was looking down a long corridor, with offices on either side of the hallway. He listened for a second but didn’t hear a sound coming from any of the offices. Carefully, he slid inside, his pistol held out in front of him. His heart was racing. Taking a deep breath, Mitchell slowly began to move down the hallway looking for any sign of the hostages.

  With a heavy sigh, Sarah DuFour removed her reading glasses, rubbed her eyes, and then stretched her arms over her head. She was growing tired and needed a break. She looked at Emily. “I’m stepping outside for a minute to clear my head, do you want to come?”

  Emily ignored DuFour and kept working. She had no desire to step outside and pretend to make pleasantries with the evil woman. Although tired, she knew she couldn’t afford to take a
break while her husband was God knows where.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” said DuFour curtly, as she left the room.

  Emily snatched up a new batch of notes and read them while she paced the room.

  Mitchell heard voices and then the sound of a door opening at the far end of the building. Quickly reaching over, he opened the nearest door and stepped inside. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a Liberian officer passed out on his desk, an empty bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand. Quietly closing the door behind him, Mitchell crouched down and waited. The sound of combat boots coming down the hallway grew with each passing second. He held his pistol tight in his hand and prayed that they weren’t coming for the drunken officer. A second later, a couple of soldiers walked past the office, loudly talking to one another. He let out his breath. Mitchell was about to step out of the room, when he heard more footsteps coming down the hallway. They were lighter, most definitely not combat boots. He opened the door slightly and peered out just as a woman walked past the door. He knew it wasn’t Emily Martinez. This woman was older, with blonde hair, and wearing a green jumpsuit. He thought about grabbing her, but she opened the door leading to outside and was gone.

  Sam ended the call, placed the satphone away in her tac-vest, and carefully crawled back over beside Cardinal. He was busy using a small handheld monitor to look at images sent to him by a portable surveillance camera that he had set up in a tall tree with an unobstructed view of the installation. Cardinal had a panoramic view of the camp at the base of the hill.

  “See anything new?” asked Sam inquisitively, as she peered down at the screen.

  “No,” replied Cardinal, “absolutely nothing new in the last five minutes. What did Fahimah have to pass on?”

  “She just wanted us to know that the fighting in the capital seems to be getting worse and that our government has authorized the deployment of a Marine Expeditionary Unit to Liberia.”

  “Well, that will bring some added punch should they need it during the evacuation of civilians from Monrovia.”

  “She also said that Yuri has confirmed that his shot-up helicopter is going nowhere fast. They are trying to find him a new one, posthaste.”

  “That’s good news. I don’t fancy the idea of hiking out of here.”

  “Neither do I,” said Sam as she leaned forward and gently kissed Cardinal on the cheek.

  “How about some food? I’m starved,” said Cardinal.

  Sam smiled; Cardinal was always hungry. She took his ration pack and moved back under the cover of the trees to cook their meal. She was about to dig out her own meal, when she heard an odd buzzing sound. Freezing in place, Sam knew the noise was definitely out of place with the normal sounds of the jungle. Ever so slowly, she turned her head and looked up. Her eyes widened when she saw that the noise was coming from a small, almost invisible, UAV hovering like a bird just above the trees. It looked like some kind of giant, prehistoric insect. Painted dark green to blend in with the jungle, the UAV had four small propellers mounted on it, with a small, rotating camera located underneath of the device.

  Sam glacially reached up and keyed her mic. Barely above a whisper, she said, “Cardinal, don’t move a muscle. We’ve got unwanted company.”

  “What do you see?” asked Cardinal.

  “I have a mini-UAV hovering right above me. I don’t think it’s looking for us. Someone else is scoping out the camp.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Cardinal. “Who do you think they are?”

  “No idea; perhaps it’s from those mercenaries that Yuri saw. Regardless, the instant it’s gone, we need to warn Nate and Ryan.”

  The image on Grace’s computer screen showed the entire Liberian compound. She quickly counted no more than a dozen or so men idly standing around. No one seemed to be paying too much attention to the world outside of the camp. Grace moved her finger delicately along the mouse pad, rotating the camera on the UAV around so she could better see the road leading into the camp. Aside from a couple of bored-looking soldiers sitting on a sandbagged machine gun position built on the side of the road, it was smooth sailing all the way into the camp.

  “What do you think?” said a voice from behind her.

  Grace looked over her shoulder and saw Saafi looking intently at the screen.

  “If you ask me,” said Grace, “we’ve stumbled across the most complacent people I have ever seen in my life. It’s as if they don’t care that they left the front door wide open for us.”

  “Excellent; bring your toy back and pack it up right away,” said Saafi, smiling. “I’ll tell the boss.”

  Saafi walked down the column of vehicles tucked just off the narrow jungle path leading to the Liberian compound. He stopped at Chang’s Rover and passed on the news.

  With a smile, Chang nodded, and then gave his orders to his men. His orders were simple enough. Anyone wearing a uniform and carrying a gun was to be killed on sight. Everyone else was to be taken alive. Barely a minute later, with his team ready, Chang’s Rover pulled out from under the cover of the trees. Calmly, he made ready his TAR-21 Israeli-built assault rifle. With a wave of his hand, he led his team toward the unsuspecting Liberians.

  “What did you say?” whispered Mitchell.

  “We’ve got company,” explained Sam. “I saw a UAV scouting out the camp.”

  “Is it still there?”

  “No, it flew away a minute ago.”

  Jackson chimed in, “I told you we’d bump into those other guys. Rebels don’t use UAVs.”

  Mitchell tried to ignore Jackson’s comments. They were so close. He didn’t want to turn back. He cracked open the door to the office and peered out just as the back door to the building opened. A second later, he spied the blonde-haired woman walking back down the hallway. Like a trap being sprung, Mitchell threw his door open, grabbed the woman by her wrist, and then pulled her back inside the office with him. He closed the door with his foot and aimed his pistol straight at the stunned woman’s head.

  “Scream and I’ll shoot,” warned Mitchell. “Nod your head if you understand me.”

  Staring wide-eyed down the barrel of the pistol, DuFour nodded.

  “Good; now, what is your name, and where are they holding the American hostages?”

  “My name is Sarah DuFour, and there’s only one hostage here in this camp.”

  “Who?”

  “Her name is Emily Martinez, and why do you care, Mister . . . ?”

  “I care because she is being held against her will, and my name is of no consequence to you. Now, where are the other hostages being held?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Madame DuFour. I haven’t the time or the patience today.”

  DuFour smiled. “I am telling you the truth. With a gun pointed at my head, it is not in my best interests to lie to you. Mr. Martinez was taken to join his friends at a dig site somewhere to the northwest of here on the Lofa River.”

  “Okay then, where is Mrs. Martinez being held?”

  “She is in a room down the hall. You’ll never make it, though. The room is guarded.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Mitchell. He opened the door slightly and took a quick look to see if they were still alone. “After you!”

  When she saw the determined look in Mitchell’s eyes, DuFour reluctantly stepped out into the hallway. With a pistol jammed in her back, she began to walk.

  19

  With his rusting AK resting on his lap, Private Monibah dug into his shirt pocket and brought out his cigarettes. Lighting one, he took a long drag while he looked up at the same stretch of red-dirt road that he had been watching for hours. He was bored. His partner was fast asleep on the floor of their sandbag bunker. Both men had been out all afternoon under the hot sun. Their shift wasn’t to end for another two hours. After that, Monibah was looking forward to a cold beer or two.

  A light glistened in the distance.

  He reached down for the binoculars resting o
n top of the sandbags and brought them up to his eyes and focused the eyepieces. What he saw surprised him; coming quickly down the road was a small convoy of Land Rovers, churning up a thick cloud of dust that hung heavy in the air behind the vehicles.

  Monibah jumped down and stood in the middle of the road, watching the vehicles as they sped at him. His gut told him that something was wrong. He hadn’t been told about a patrol coming back this afternoon. He was about to turn and go wake up his sleeping friend when he observed a puff of smoke coming from the lead Rover. A second later, the bunker exploded. Struck by a 40mm, high-explosive grenade, the poorly built defensive position flew apart. Monibah was flung to the ground by the blast while his partner died the instant the grenade exploded.

  Chang smiled; his grenade had landed precisely where he wanted it. Handing the grenade launcher back to the man sitting behind him, Chang gripped his assault rifle tight in his hands. In another few seconds, all hell was about to be unleashed. An expert at attacking targets hundreds of kilometers behind enemy lines, Chang knew the first few seconds would decide everything. No matter the number of opponents waiting for them, if Chang and his people could overwhelm them before they knew what was going on, then the battle was his.

  With a loud burst of machine gun fire, the gunner standing behind Chang opened up. The first man to fall was Monibah, cut down as he struggled to his feet. Turning his attention to the front gate, the gunner let loose a long burst, killing both guards.

  They sped past the smoldering remains of the bunker. Chang’s vehicle closed in on the front gate. Behind him, his people let loose with all they had. Bullets tore through the air, killing or maiming every soldier caught out in the open.