Unfortunately, wishing it wouldn’t make it so for Mitchell and his team.
Ten kilometers to the north, hidden off the road under the canopy of the jungle, Chang’s team was busy preparing a defensive position for the night. Tripwires connected to claymore anti-personnel mines and flares ringed their camp.
Emily Martinez had not left Grace’s side. Everywhere she went, so did Emily. After a few minutes setting up her communications equipment, Grace finally dug into her pack and dug out a ration pack for her and Emily to share.
“Thanks,” said Emily, catching the pack out of the air. She saw that she would be eating vegetable lasagna for dinner.
“Mrs. Martinez, do you mind if I join you?” said Chang politely.
“No, of course not, please take a seat,” answered Emily.
“I hope that Grace is taking good care of you.”
Emily smiled. “Yes, of course. She doesn’t say much, though.”
“She is a not a great conversationalist, but a fine soldier.”
“Sir, I haven’t thanked you yet for rescuing me from those horrid people. I thought I was going to die back there.”
“Mrs. Martinez, I feel that it is only fair that I am as forthright as possible with you. We did not come to rescue you per se. I need answers and I thought you could provide them; that is why I brought you with us.”
“What kind of answers?” asked Emily, already dreading the response.
“I need to know all that you know about the dig that was going on at Weasua and the last resting place of James Lucifer and his fortune in diamonds.”
“Not you, too,” croaked Emily. “Like I told the other people, we were building a school when we came across some artifacts buried in the ground. Until the other day, I had never heard of Lucifer and his bloody hidden treasure. You have to believe me, this is all some huge misunderstanding.”
Chang sat there for a moment, studying Emily’s face. Everything about it told him that she was telling him the truth. Sorrowfully shaking his head, Chang stood. “Mrs. Martinez, I will have your notes brought over to you. Perhaps you can dig a little deeper into the mystery and help me find these diamonds.”
“Sir, I already told you back at the camp, those notes aren’t mine, they belong to Madame DuFour.”
Chang’s eyes lit up. “Sarah DuFour?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Well, if Sarah DuFour is here, so is her boss, Braxton Gray.”
“He was in the camp earlier in the day. He took my husband with him and drove off with some soldiers to a new dig site. He didn’t say where, but I suspect it is somewhere along the Lofa River.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Martinez, you have been quite helpful,” said Chang, smiling. “I know they aren’t your notes, but I would like you to keep reading through them for a few more hours tonight before you put your head down. It may help us determine where your husband is being held.”
“And if I do find the last resting place of James Lucifer, then what?”
“I’ll decide that once I have the diamonds in my possession,” replied Chang bluntly. “Until then, you are my guest. If you want anything, other than to be let go, just ask Grace and she will see to it.”
With that, Chang turned around and walked away, leaving Emily to wonder if she had just leapt from the frying pan into the fire.
21
The smell of death hung heavy in the still night air. The vehicle headlights shone brightly over the field of death inside the camp, sending macabre shadows reaching across the ground and out into the dark.
Gray walked past the corpses, clinically studying them with no more care for the men at his feet than he had for an animal found dead on the side of the road. Slowly making his way inside, Gray walked straight to the office where he had last seen DuFour and Emily. Seeing the dead soldiers’ bodies lying outside of an open door, he felt himself begin to panic. The key to finding the treasure lay with the two women. He stepped inside the room, flicked on the lights and was surprised by what he saw: absolutely nothing. The women were gone, along with all of DuFour’s files. Empty casings littered the floor, but there were no telltale signs of death. Clenching his jaw, Gray turned and left the room. Whoever had attacked the camp most likely came for the women, thought Gray. He needed them back, no matter the cost.
Gray moved back outside into the cool night air. He tried to take stock of what had happened. The attack had been sudden and swift. Most of the men spread out on the ground looked as if they had been running for cover when they were cut down.
“Who could have done such a thing?” said Lieutenant Colonel Taylor, as he numbly walked through the wreckage of his old garrison.
Gray bent down, picked up a spent casing, and examined it. It was 5.56mm, whereas the Liberian soldiers’ weapons fired 7.62mm. “Well, I can assure you that this isn’t the work of some rebel group,” replied Gray matter-of-factly.
“How can you say that?”
Gray handed him the casing and then looked over at the truckload of soldiers hurriedly jumping down from their vehicle to begin the gruesome task of accounting for all of their dead comrades before burying them.
“What does this mean?” Taylor asked, staring down at the casing in his hand.
“It means, my dear Colonel, that your camp was attacked by a group of well-trained mercenaries who slaughtered everyone here and took the only means available to me to find the diamonds. Without those diamonds, you won’t be paid. If you aren’t paid, then you will have to remain here in this malaria-ridden cesspool of yours instead of living out the rest of your life in unbelievable luxury in the Riviera. I need not remind you what is going to happen to you once the coup sputters out and dies. The government will be looking for people to blame, and you will undoubtedly be on the top of their hit list.”
“Why would I be? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Colonel, you’re working for me,” explained Gray. “When the news gets out that instead of helping your government to suppress the rebels you were busy looking for diamonds, they will know that you were part of this revolution. Now, quit asking such asinine questions.”
Taylor’s eyes bristled at Gray’s impertinence. The man needed to learn some manners.
Gray dug out his phone and saw that there was a text message for him. He opened it and smiled. Waiting on his laptop were the satellite images he had asked Seras to purchase. For only one million dollars, a Russian satellite looking for oil had been repositioned over Liberia with orders to photograph every inch of the area around the Lofa River. At last, something good was happening for him.
Gray closed his eyes and visualized the attack, from the destruction of the bunker on the road until the last mercenary jeep pulled out of the front gate. A smile slowly emerged on his face. There was only one man who could have pulled off such a strike. Knowing whom he was up against was half the battle.
Quickly striding back to his SUV, Gray dug out his hard-case laptop, turned it on, and then waited for the images to download into his inbox.
Two images had been sent.
He opened the first one and was amazed at the clarity of the image; it was not what he had been expecting. He studied the picture. He could clearly see the long, rectangular outline of what had once been an Arab fort nestled against the Lofa River. Gray checked the grid coordinates provided by the satellite company and saw that the first location was about ten kilometers north of where he had the press-ganged Liberians and Americans digging right now. When he studied the second picture, he saw that it was of a smaller, box-like structure a good thirty kilometers farther up the Lofa River. Gray pondered the problem for a moment. He reached over, grabbed a map, and marked the two positions on it.
He called Taylor over. “Colonel, move the people from their current site to a new one ten kilometers farther north. They are to dig all night. No one is to rest until I arrive in the morning to inspect the dig.”
“It is late, and after all that has happened today, do you thin
k it wise to be driving around in the dark?” protested Taylor.
Gray stepped close to the officer, his voice turned hard. “Do as you’re told, or I will find someone who will. Do you understand me?”
Taylor nodded. He didn’t need to be told what Gray had meant by his not-so-subtle threat.
“Also send your best captain to me. Make sure he handpicks a well-armed platoon with plenty of RPGs and machine guns. I have a task for him,” said Gray.
Taylor said nothing. He turned about and went to find Captain King. He needed to place some distance between himself and Gray. Taylor decided to leave and supervise the new dig personally. The farther he was away from the arrogant Brit, the better he would feel.
“Coffee?” said Jackson, as he dropped his large frame down beside Mitchell.
“Love some,” replied Mitchell, taking the canteen cup of hot coffee from his friend. Taking a sip, he was surprised how good coffee from a ration pack could taste.
“Today was a bit of a mess, wasn’t it?”
“You can say that again. Not since Afghanistan has a day gone so spectacularly badly. The only thing in our favor is that aside from a few cuts and bruises, we’re all still on our feet.”
“Amen to that, brother,” said Jackson, toasting Mitchell with his cup.
“Well, one thing is for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“We can’t keep traipsing around the jungle on foot. We need wheels.”
“I was thinking the same thing. I saw an old jeep in the maintenance shop. I could borrow it for us.”
“You may have to. Come first light, we’ll reassess our situation and see what is in the art of the possible.”
Jackson chuckled. “Ryan, has anyone ever told you that sometimes, when you get tired, you still talk like an officer?”
“I can’t help it; my brain is just hardwired that way.”
“Whatever, Captain.”
Mitchell decided to change topics. “How is Daniel doing after all he went through in Texas?” A few months back, Jackson’s teenage son had been kidnapped and held in an underground cavern by a group intent on destroying America’s oil reserve with a tectonic device.
“He’s doing okay. In fact, his grades have improved. You might say the whole gangster lifestyle he once bragged about has been scared right out of his system. He’s even talking about joining the police force when he graduates from school.”
“Good for him,” said Mitchell, impressed at the turnaround of Jackson’s once-troublesome son.
“What about you and Jen? How are things going at home?”
“Fine; in fact, just to show you how domesticated I have become, last weekend we went shopping for a new fridge and stove because the old ones in the apartment don’t match the cupboards, or so Jen says.”
Jackson brought a hand up to his ear as if listening for something in the distance. “What’s that I hear? Could it be wedding bells?”
“That’s not even funny,” protested Mitchell. “We’re going to take it slow and see how things go before we even talk marriage.”
“Yeah, whatever, a new fridge and stove; I hate to tell you buddy, but you’re already doomed. Just get it over with and marry her. You do know that Jen is the best thing that will ever happen to you. So don’t be a fool and wait too long; the ladies, they don’t like that.”
“When did you become an expert on marriage?”
“I’ve been married for over twenty years now. I consider myself a bit of an expert on the subject. You, however, are still fumbling around in the dark, for all your supposed smarts.”
“Enough of this,” said Mitchell. “When am I on shift?”
“As per your routine, you’re on sentry from three to five.”
“Well then, I had better get some rest. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a really long day.”
He wasn’t wrong.
22
Emily Martinez woke to the sounds of people moving about in the early-morning light, stowing away their gear while others checked and cleaned their weapons. She shuddered. Mornings in West Africa, she found, were usually cool and damp. Taking a deep breath of fresh air to clear the haze in her mind, Emily looked down at her watch and saw that it was a couple of minutes past five in the morning. Emily asked Grace where she could go to the bathroom; Grace shook her head and pointed to a tree a few meters outside of the camp. With a less-than-pleased look on her face, Emily grabbed some toilet paper and strolled out of the camp, hoping that there wasn’t anything poisonous or creepy-looking lurking around the tree she had been told to use.
Aside from the poisonous snakes and insects, Emily had read that West Africa had once been called the White Man’s Grave. Disease and sickness caused by malaria, yellow and dengue fever killed or debilitated most of the Europeans who first tried colonizing this part of Africa. She and her husband had received the necessary inoculations before leaving the States, but the threat of disease was never far below the surface.
After finishing her business, Emily practically sprinted back to Grace’s vehicle. Emily was handed was a warmed-up ration pack and a cup of coffee. She thanked Grace for both, sat down inside the vehicle, and began to devour her breakfast of apple oatmeal.
A couple of vehicles away, Chang listened to the report coming in over the radio and decided that the team he had left observing the Liberian camp could stay there for another hour before making their way to join up with their comrades. They had reported that a group of trucks had left the camp and driven north just before midnight and that the remainder of the troops were preparing the rest of their vehicles to leave. Chang told them he wanted to be informed the instant they left. He suspected that they were heading to a new dig site, and he wanted to follow them there.
Saafi walked over to his boss and handed him a cup of tea. Chang rarely ate breakfast. He thanked his deputy and outlined his plan for the day.
“What did our employer say when you called him?” asked Saafi.
“He was less than impressed,” replied Chang with a shrug.
“I hope you told that Russian SOB that his intelligence was useless and that we’re being forced to make this up as we go along.”
Chang grinned. He always appreciated Saafi’s candor. “He agreed to double our already substantial fee to keep us in Liberia for another forty-eight hours. After that, if we haven’t found these diamonds, I’m pulling the team out and the Russians can hire someone new to do their dirty work.”
Saafi smiled; a former enforcer in a Somali drug lord’s gang, he had been recruited into Chang’s organization for his experience and unswerving loyalty. Rising rapidly through the organization, Saafi was one of a few men whom Chang trusted to oversee a mission when he was not around.
Grace joined them. “The American woman is up. I left her eating her breakfast.”
“Very good. Did she learn anything new last night?” said Chang.
“I canna say. She fell asleep reading some notes. I haven’t spoken to her yet this morning.”
“Well, once she’s done with her meal, have her get back to work. It may be a waste of time, but I want her digging through those notes just in case she stumbles upon something we can use. I suspect that we will be leaving here in about an hour,” said Chang, looking down at his watch.
A cool fog blanketed the hill, covering everything with dew.
Mitchell made the rounds, waking his friends from their slumber. Jackson rolled over, pulled his thin, camouflage Ranger blanket over his head and grumpily complained that he had just gone to bed. After handing each person their breakfast, Mitchell moved back to his position overlooking the Liberian camp.
Less than a minute later, Jackson, with his camouflage blanket still wrapped around his meaty shoulders to keep warm, joined him. “What’s going on down below?” he asked between bites of his breakfast.
“Looks like they’re getting ready to abandon the camp,” replied Mitchell, handing Jackson his binoculars. “Looks like they wo
rked through the night. They’ve buried the dead, loaded up their vehicles, and now it looks like they are getting ready to burn the place to the ground.”
“Yeah, looks that way,” said Jackson as he watched a handful of soldiers move through the camp, splashing gasoline on the walls of wooden buildings. “So much for our ride if they torch the maintenance shop . . . too late, it’s on fire.”
Mitchell swore and then said, “Well, I guess we had better get moving if we want to find a new mode of transport.”
“Ryan, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think there’s a car rental place anywhere near here.”
“No, but I know where we left one.”
Jackson groaned. “That’s five klicks out of our way.”
“You can work off breakfast.”
“What about our friend, is she coming with us?”
“No, she’ll only slow us down,” replied Mitchell bluntly.
Mitchell joined the rest of his friends and told them his plan to head back to yesterday’s LZ and see if the Liberian Army Jeep was still there.
When he looked at DuFour, his expression turned hard and serious. “This is where we part ways, Madame DuFour. We’ll give you one ration pack, and that’s it. I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to give you anything else. Sam will give you some painkillers for your leg. I suggest that you make your way down to the Liberian camp before they leave and see if they’ll look after you. However, if you no longer trust your former employer, when you hit the dirt road turn left, and start walking south.”
Five minutes later, with a crushed look on her face, DuFour painfully stood up, thanked Sam for her medicine, and then slowly started to hobble through the thick jungle to the road.
Lucifer's Fire Page 13
