As planned, it was the beginning of a massacre.
The dull boom of the grenade exploding made Mitchell stop in his tracks. He keyed his throat-mic. “Somebody tell me what’s going on out there.”
“I can see six Land Rovers packed with bad guys racing toward the camp,” reported Cardinal.
“Nate, forget the ride,” said Mitchell, changing his plan on the fly. “Make your way to the hole in the fence and wait for me there.”
“On my way,” replied Jackson.
The sound of automatic gunfire filled the air.
Mitchell pushed DuFour forward. “We’re out of time. Where is Mrs. Martinez?”
Du Four turned her head to speak when the world exploded around them. A couple of Liberian soldiers had been running for the front door of the building when they were hit by a high explosive grenade that shattered the door, sending sharp slivers of wood flying through the air.
With a pained cry, DuFour fell to the floor with a long splinter of wood embedded in her right thigh.
Mitchell reached down to grab her just as a couple of soldiers burst in from a nearby room with weapons held in their hands. They spotted Mitchell standing over DuFour, turned and raised their weapons.
Dropping to one knee, Mitchell brought up his pistol and fired off two rounds. Both men tumbled to the floor, shot in the chest. Machine gun fire from outside raked the side to the building, easily tearing holes through the thin wooden walls.
It was too late.
Mitchell knew that he had to escape or become a casualty in a fight that wasn’t his.
He grabbed DuFour by her jumpsuit’s collar and pulled her with him as he threw himself against the door of the nearest office. With a loud crash of shattering wood, the door flew open. Mitchell and DuFour fell inside.
Emily’s heart was beating so hard she thought it was going to jump right out of her chest. The din of battle outside the building was terrifying.
The soldiers who had been guarding her had left the room the instant the firing started. She never heard the silenced shots that had killed them. Standing alone, she looked around, trying to find a place to hide.
Fear gripped her body.
She crawled under the table, covered her head with her hands and began to pray. She had never been so terrified in her entire life. The image of Cristoval standing beside her flashed into her mind. He told her to lie still and that it would all be over soon. With tears in her eyes, Emily Martinez did as she was told and lay there as quiet as a church mouse, hoping that whatever was happening would pass her by.
Like a charging beast, the lead Rover smashed through the flimsy front gate. Chang’s Rover raced at the white-painted, wooden building located in the middle of the camp. Chang gave the order to stop. His vehicle was momentarily blanketed in a cloud of dust thrown up by its tires as it came to a sliding halt.
In a flash, Chang jumped out of his Rover. Accompanied by two of his men, he ran for the shattered front door of the building.
A shot rang out.
Chang brought up his rifle and fired off a quick burst into a soldier trying to stop them from entering the building.
He paid with his life.
Chang sprinted up the stairs and into the building. His two accomplices followed close behind and took up fire positions covering their boss. Chang saw two bodies lying prostrate on the floor, blood pooling underneath them. His gut told him that the blast, which had shattered the door, hadn’t killed them.
Someone else was here.
Outside, the remainder of Chang’s people were quickly mopping up any resistance they found. Anyone foolish enough to fire on them died in a hail of bullets.
Chang saw an open door. He pointed to it. Accompanied by one of his men, he raised his hand and flashed three fingers. His partner nodded. He lowered his fingers one by one, until he had closed his fist, Chang stepped into the room and let off a quick burst that would have dropped anyone who would have been standing in the room.
The man with him raced past him and took up a fire position in the corner of the room. Taking a deep breath, Chang lowered his weapon slightly and then walked over to a long, wooden table in the middle of the room covered by open boxes and papers strewn about. He picked up a page of hand-scribbled notes and studied what was written on it. Smiling to himself, he placed the paper down.
“You can come out from under there,” said Chang calmly.
“You won’t shoot me, will you?” asked Emily, her voice trembling in fear.
“As long as you’re unarmed, no harm will come to you.”
Emily, shaking like a leaf in the wind, slowly crawled out from under the table. When she saw Chang and one of his men standing there in their battle gear, she said, “Are you here to help me?”
Chang smiled. “Are you one of the Americans who was abducted?”
“Yes, I am. Do you have my husband with you?”
Chang shook his head. “What is your name?”
“Martinez, Emily Martinez,” she replied proudly.
“Very good, Mrs. Martinez, you’re going to need to come with me. My men will bring your work with us.”
“That’s not my work. It belongs to another woman.”
Chang’s eyes narrowed. “Which other woman?”
The sound of firing began to diminish. Mitchell knew that could only mean one thing. Whoever had attacked the camp would soon begin a room-by-room search for survivors, and he didn’t relish the prospect of being trapped in an office with Sarah DuFour and her injured leg when they arrived.
Quickly looking around the room, Mitchell saw a window on the far side of the room. Carefully edging over to it, he peered outside. He could see the maintenance building Jackson had been hiding behind. Littered on the ground were several bodies. He moved back over beside DuFour and quickly decided what he had to do. Mitchell took out two field dressings from his chest-rig. He opened one and laid it on DuFour’s leg near her wound.
After handing the other one to her, he said, “Bite down on this.”
With a look of disbelief in her eyes, she did as she was told. The instant Mitchell saw her bite down, he smoothly pulled the splinter from her leg and then quickly placed the other field dressing overtop to staunch the bleeding.
With a muffled cry, DuFour tried to pull her leg back, but Mitchell was too strong for her. He held her tightly and applied the bandage.
“Normally, I wouldn’t have done that, but we have to go,” said Mitchell.
DuFour looked over at Mitchell with tears in her eyes. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but at this moment, with the camp under attack, what choice did she have?
Mitchell placed an arm around her waist and helped her up onto her feet. “I hate to tell you, but the only way out is through that window and then we have to make it over to a hole in the fence, perhaps fifty meters or so away from here.”
“I’ll never make it,” moaned DuFour.
“Come with me, or stay and be found by the people attacking this camp. Those are your options.”
“Let’s go,” muttered DuFour.
They moved over to the window. Mitchell opened it and then slid it up high enough for them to climb out. “You first,” he said to DuFour.
DuFour grimaced in agony. She brought up her injured leg and then carefully climbed out of the window and down onto the ground. She crouched down in pain and waited for Mitchell to join her.
Keying his throat-mic, Mitchell contacted his team. “Okay, folks, I’m on the move to Nate’s position. I have a wounded civilian with me.”
He was about to step out of the window, when the door to the room was kicked wide open, and a man with an assault rifle burst in. He moved to raise his rifle to fire, but was a split second too slow. Mitchell fired off two quick shots, hitting the man in the forehead with one of his bullets, killing him.
Even before the body hit the floor, another man was charging into the room, firing his weapon wildly.
Mitchell threw himself backward and hit the glass
, shattering it as he flew out of the window. He landed hard on the ground outside of the building. Mitchell felt a sharp stabbing pain in his side; ignoring the pain, he brought up his pistol just as his attacker stuck his head out of the window, trying to see where he had gone.
Mitchell fired.
The man’s head snapped up as the bullet traveled through his jaw and out of the side of his head.
DuFour screamed as the dead man tumbled out of the window, landing right beside her.
Mitchell scrambled to his feet, grabbed his prisoner by the hand and ran as fast as he could for the fence and freedom. A few seconds later, with his heart pounding in his ears, Mitchell spotted Jackson waiting by the fence.
“Crawl,” said Jackson firmly to DuFour as he helped hold up the fence for her to get under.
Mitchell went next, closely followed by Jackson.
For close to a minute they ran, only coming to a halt in the jungle when DuFour collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
“Did you see who they were?” asked Jackson.
“They had to be Yuri’s mercenaries,” said Mitchell. He reached over to his side and felt a piece of glass sticking out of his skin.
“Let me see that,” said Jackson. He moved over beside his friend and spotted the bloody glass. Jackson didn’t give a warning before he reached over and yanked the shard of glass out.
“Damn it!” cried Mitchell, through clenched teeth.
“Quit being a baby. Let me clean that up while our new friend catches her breath.”
“She’s not our friend,” said Mitchell bluntly. “She’s working with the opposition. If she doesn’t want her leg to get infected, I suggest that she tells us everything she knows.”
DuFour glanced up at Mitchell; she looked as if she was going to pass out from the pain at any second. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, just don’t leave me out here all alone.”
Jackson wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got a bit of a hike ahead of us.”
Mitchell turned his head to look at the plumes of black smoke creeping skyward from the camp. Mitchell swore. He had come so close, only to be turned back. Now Mrs. Martinez was in the clutches of another crew of thugs. He didn’t know how, but he knew that they had to try to get her back, along with all the other hostages, before anyone else died.
20
Chang looked dispassionately down at the bodies of his men that were killed trying to stop someone from escaping. They weren’t killed by a frightened Liberian soldier on the run. The shots were too precise. It was the work of a professional. If he had the time he would have sent one of his men to track down whoever was responsible for the deaths of two of his men, but time wasn’t on his side. He had attacked and destroyed a Liberian Army outpost. Rogue soldiers or not, there would be repercussions.
He walked through the corridor, past the dead bodies of the Liberians, and made his way outside. The ground in front of the building was littered with dead soldiers. Most had been cut down before they knew what was going on. Aside from two dead and one lightly wounded man, his team had killed over forty Liberian soldiers in less than one minute. They may have been an untested team, but so far they had exceeded Chang’s expectations. He saw Emily, sitting in Grace’s Rover with a perplexed look on her face. It was obvious that she had no idea what was going on around her. Roberts was supervising the collection of all the boxes and papers from the office, while Saafi and a handful of men guarded the six Liberian soldiers they had taken prisoner.
Chang called Saafi over.
“Yes, sir?” said Saafi.
“We’re going to leave here shortly and hole up for the night in a defensive position overlooking the main road. Grace has the grid coordinates. Make sure they are given to all the Rover crews before departing. Also, have the bodies of our men collected for burial.”
“Yes, sir. I will see to it personally.”
“Saafi, I want you to leave a team behind to keep watch on the camp. Have them give hourly reports and make sure that they rejoin us no later than 0600 hours tomorrow morning.”
Saafi nodded and then looked over at the men under guard. “Sir, the prisoners—what do you want to do about them?”
Chang looked over at the battered Liberians sitting on the ground with their hands on their heads. “Let them go.”
“Sir, is that wise? They’ve seen who we are.”
With a smile on his face, Chang said, “It doesn’t matter. Those that don’t desert won’t come out of hiding for fear of retribution until this all blows over. There is no need to murder these men in cold blood. Walk them to the front gate, take their boots, point them south, and then tell them to run.”
Saafi nodded and went to see that Chang’s orders were carried out.
Walking over to his vehicle, Chang stowed his weapon and then grabbed his canteen. He took a long, refreshing drink. He knew that things were not going as his employer had anticipated. There clearly wasn’t a major dig for diamonds underway, and the person in his custody most assuredly knew nothing about a mythical fortune in diamonds. As soon as his camp was secure, Chang intended to call Alexander Bashilov and tell him that if he wanted Chang and his people to keep looking that it was going to cost considerably more than they were being paid right now.
Chang took a seat and waited for Saafi. He looked up into the sky and watched several birds circling the camp, floating on the warm updrafts, waiting for them to leave so they could swoop down from the sky to feast.
Such was life, pondered Chang. Someone’s misfortune was another’s reward.
By the time they arrived back at Sam and Cardinal’s observation post, Sarah DuFour was nearing total exhaustion. She wasn’t used to the heat or the physical exertion. Jackson had to cradle her in his arms for the last kilometer through the jungle. As soon as they arrived, Sam took over caring for DuFour. She grabbed a saline IV from her medical pack and gently inserted it into DuFour’s arm before looking after the wound in her leg.
“What the hell happened down there?” asked Cardinal.
“It would appear that Yuri’s other mercenary team came in, guns blazing, killing everything that got in their way,” said Mitchell, digging out his canteen.
“By the looks of it, they were searching for Mr. and Mrs. Martinez as well. They took her with them when they drove out of the camp, heading north,” reported Cardinal.
“Now, why would they do that? Well, I know one person who knows, and I intend to find out in fairly short order just what the hell is going on around here,” said Mitchell, looking over his shoulder at DuFour.
“What are we going to do with our guest?” asked Jackson, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I don’t rightly know. I suppose what happens next will depend on how honest she is with us,” replied Mitchell.
They left Cardinal on sentry. Mitchell and Jackson joined Sam under the cover of the jungle trees. With fluids flowing back into her body, Sarah DuFour was looking less fatigued than when she had arrived. After Sam had finished cleaning up DuFour’s wound, she turned her head and saw the determined look burning in Mitchell’s eyes while he stared down at the woman. Taking it as her cue to leave, Sam moved to join Cardinal, who was still on sentry.
“Now, Madame DuFour,” said Mitchell, taking a seat on the ground beside her. “I want you to tell me who you are, and why Mr. and Mrs. Martinez were taken hostage by you and your people. I want you to tell me anything and everything; no matter how inconsequential you may feel it is, I want to hear about it.”
“Who is he?” said DuFour, looking up at Jackson towering over her.
“I’ll give you the same answer I gave you earlier; he is of no consequence to you. Now start talking; your quality of care from this second onward depends on the quality of your answers. Understand?”
DuFour took a deep breath and began. An hour later, with her strength fading, Mitchell ended the interrogation and then asked Sam to take a look at her before it g
ot too dark out.
“Jesus, Ryan, do you honestly believe all that cockamamie stuff about pirates and a fortune in diamonds buried somewhere around here waiting to be found?” said Jackson, shaking his head.
“We can’t afford not to,” replied Mitchell. “Besides, it’s the only thing that makes sense. What else would drive people to overthrow a government but plain old greed? I suspect that Yuri’s rival team is also searching for the diamonds; that’s why they took Mrs. Martinez with them.”
“Now what?”
“I’ve got to call General O’Reilly. He needs to know what is really happening on the ground. After that, I need to speak with Fahimah and Mike Donaldson. I need everything they can find out about our missing pirate friend, and someone needs to find this private collector in New Haven, ASAP, before someone arrives to steal this centuries-old journal and then puts a bullet between the poor soul’s eyes for good measure.”
While he waited for O’Reilly to pick up the phone, he thought about Jen. He hoped that she was safe and that everything was going well at home, when an idea flashed in his mind. She had been instrumental in tracking down information about a secret Second World War weapon lost for decades in a base hidden under an island off the coast of Japan. Perhaps with her innate ability to run old mysteries down, she could help them out now.
“Ryan, how are things going?” said O’Reilly, his voice booming through the phone’s earpiece.
“General, things are a real gong show over here,” replied Mitchell. “Sir, I need you to listen.” For the next ten minutes, he filled his mentor in on their predicament. After O’Reilly said that he would call the principal staff in early, Mitchell thanked him and then placed a call to Donaldson.
Mitchell looked at his watch. He knew that in a few hours his friends would have something for him to run with. Until then, they might as well rest and take stock of the day. It had started badly when they bumped into a Liberian patrol and then ended just as badly when they failed to stop Mrs. Martinez from being carried off by another team of well-equipped mercenaries. Mitchell looked up into the sky and spotted Venus on the horizon. With a grin on his tired face, he made a wish that tomorrow would go better than today.
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