The Black List

by Robin Burcell

  Had that been all there was, Donovan wouldn’t have worried.

  It was the other ten men, also armed, suddenly stepping out from between the buildings, that set the hairs prickling on the back of his neck.

  And then Lisette, saying, “I think the proper term is, ‘Oh shit.’ ”

  50

  Donovan held his hand up and out about waist high, thinking he might have a chance of taking out three or four, assuming he could get to his gun before they threw their knives. “You want money?” he asked.

  One of them yelled at him, pointing to the ground. He didn’t know Somali or Swahili, but knew enough Arabic to ask once again if they wanted his money. The men raised their knives higher.

  The sound of a revving engine caught their attention, and as one every person there turned to look. The little white pickup sped toward them, a large cloud of dirt flying out behind it like a demon from hell. The pirates stared momentarily, then scattered as they realized the truck was aiming straight for them. As Ali hit the brakes, the back end fishtailed out, spraying the men with gravel. Donovan grabbed Lisette’s hand, pulled her onto the tailgate and into the back as Ali hit the gas, racing out of there, honking every few feet until he was a safe distance away. He slowed then and looked back through the window, saying, “Like NASCAR!”

  “You, my friend, have earned a very, very large tip.”

  “No tip! Money, yes?”

  “Lots of money,” Donovan said as Ali sped out of there.

  When they reached safety, Donovan paid Ali, and then he and Lisette joined the others at the compound restaurant for a meal of goat and rice. Micah decided it was not one he was about to try again soon. “I don’t know how people live on this,” he said.

  “I’m not sure there’s much choice,” Eve said.

  “It’s too damned hot to eat.” Micah pushed his plate away. “I think I need a nap.”

  “I’ll walk you to your room,” Eve offered.

  Donovan drank from a bottle of Tusker beer, grateful to have it after the hellish adventure he and Lisette had been through. Though from what Tex had told them, his might have been a close second, having to follow a clueless Micah around while he played UN ambassador. Sure, the guy was right in that there wasn’t enough attention on the plight of the refugees, but offering the pipe dream to resettle the entire camp to America was doing no one any good. Plus, letting in the crooks and terrorists with them was even less incentive. Once Eve left with Micah, Donovan brought out the logbook pages. Lisette photographed them with her cell phone as he called McNiel to tell him what they’d found.

  “Nice work,” McNiel said. “But is there any way to connect the names to photos?”

  “We could run them against the records at reception,” Donovan said. “They have photographs of every person who’s come in.”

  “Sounds good,” McNiel said. “We also need to connect the names each of these men came into the camp with, and the names they left with. The more info we have, the better.”

  “We’ll get on it,” Donovan said, then repeated McNiel’s request as Eve returned and took a seat.

  “The repatriation records,” she suggested. “Someone there might be able to run it for us. We can check that, while you and Lisette check the other.”

  “But would they do it,” Lisette asked, “knowing what we’re looking for? Especially if one of them is guilty of assisting getting these illegals into the U.S.?”

  Tex said, “I’m going to guess that the corrupt individuals won’t be stepping forward. There was, however, a lovely young woman who was infatuated with Micah, and thinks what he is doing is nothing short of a miracle.”

  “Slow down,” Donovan said as Tex reached for the documents. “Let Lisette get confirmation that McNiel received her photos of the things before we go waving them around anywhere. We almost got mugged getting it. Don’t want to get mugged trying to figure out what’s on it.”

  Once Lisette received word, Eve and Tex walked out to get a ride back to the camp to find the woman they hoped would help them. Donovan thought about ordering another beer, but as they sat there in the shade of the gazebo, he noticed Hussein, the man who had driven them from the airstrip, talking to another man who seemed sketchy. An exchange of money went down, he was sure of it, then the pair left, walking after Tex and Eve.

  “Something’s up,” Donovan said, sliding his chair back. “I don’t like the way that looks.”

  When they got to the compound gate, Donovan saw Tex and Eve getting into a vehicle—not with the driver who had brought them here, but with the man he seemed to be paying off.

  “Is it just me,” Lisette said, “or does Hussein seem a bit too eager to leave?”

  “Exactly what I thought,” Donovan replied, and quickened his pace. He caught up with Hussein. “Hey!” he said as the man opened the door of another car.

  Hussein looked back at him and practically jumped into the vehicle.

  Donovan ran up, grabbed the door before he could close it. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you paying that man.”

  “Because your friend wanted a ride, nothing more.”

  “Good. Then give us a ride to where they’re going.”

  “I have someplace I need to be.”

  “Change your plans.”

  He looked from Donovan to Lisette. “As you wish.”

  “Take the front,” Donovan told Lisette as he climbed into the backseat, to keep a better eye on the road and Hussein, who started the car, then pulled out. Donovan was alarmed to see how much farther the other car had driven. “Faster.”

  “Too dusty. It is not safe,” Hussein replied, slowing even more, and hell if he didn’t look a little nervous. No, not nervous. Scared to death. Like it really wasn’t safe. But not because of any dust. More because of what was happening on the other side of the vast brown cloud. And then, surprising Donovan even more, Hussein abruptly stopped the vehicle, saying, “Something’s wrong with the car. The gas. I’ll check.”

  He reached down, pulled the hood release, popping it open, then got out of the car and walked toward the front end.

  Donovan casually reached into his camera bag and drew a pistol that had been hidden near the top. He passed it to Lisette, then jumped out of the Jeep.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Fuel line leak.”

  “Bullshit.” He walked up. “You’re stalling so we don’t meet up with the others. Why?”

  Hussein lunged at Donovan, fist first. Donovan tried to sidestep, but the blow glanced off his chin. He threw a punch in the man’s gut, his breath coming out in a loud gasp as Hussein fell forward into him. Donovan grabbed him by his arms, swung him around, then threw him against the side of the Jeep, bringing his arm up in a twist lock, forcing his face down until it was mere inches from the hot engine. “Listen very carefully. Where are they taking them?”

  “Please. They’ll kill me.”

  “I’ll kill you, and I’m a helluva lot closer. Now what the hell is going on?”

  He refused to talk.

  With one hand still holding Hussein in a wrist lock, Donovan reached up with the other, grasped his head and pressed it down toward the engine, feeling the heat singeing his fingers. Hussein screamed.

  “Talk.”

  “Please!”

  Donovan lifted him up just enough to keep from burning.

  “Kidnappers!” Hussein said. “They’re going to hold them for ransom. They won’t hurt the man. He is very famous. Valuable.”

  Except they had the wrong man. Micah might be valuable, but what would happen when they discovered Tex instead? He looked at Lisette before asking, “Where are they taking them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shoved the man’s face toward the engine again.

  “A village near the Somalian border.”

  “Which village?”

  “Liboi.”

  51

  The SUV kicked
up a mass of dust behind it. Tex glanced behind him, thinking they were heading in the wrong direction, but with three massive camps covering so much ground, he wasn’t sure. “Isn’t the camp we want the other way?”

  “No, no. This way. Shortcut.”

  Another vehicle was heading in their direction. White. Probably another UN worker. But when the two vehicles met up, stopped, the man who got out was not wearing the insignia of a UN worker. He did, however, have the universal sign of a pirate: an assault weapon pointed right at them.

  They were ordered out at gunpoint, and Tex looked around, hoping someone might notice, maybe a patrol in the area. No one. Next thing he knew, he and Eve were cuffed with plastic ties behind their backs and escorted into the other vehicle, placed in the backseat and ordered to lie down.

  He understood very little of the language, Somali, but it didn’t really matter. He knew what was going on. They were going to be held for ransom. The only problem was that the track record of Somali kidnappers letting their victims go alive was about nil.

  Donovan steered the Jeep he’d commandeered from Hussein down the two-lane road that cut through the sand and scrub stretching as far as the eye could see, while Lisette studied the satellite map in comparison to the coordinates sent to them. “How far?” he asked.

  She shuffled through some papers. “Maybe thirty-forty kilometers to go.”

  “Does that match where the phone signal was coming from?”

  “About.”

  The signal had stopped about thirty minutes before, and they figured someone must have discovered the phones and removed the batteries. Donovan looked at the gas gauge. If Hussein was telling the truth, and that was where they had taken them, they should have enough fuel to get there.

  McNiel called a few minutes later with an update. “Marco should be landing at Garissa any moment. He’ll extract Micah from Dadaab, get him on a plane back, then meet up with you if you haven’t secured Liboi. Have you met up with the Kenyan military?”

  “Not yet. We’re still several miles out. Tell me the list we sent is worth this.”

  “Griffin’s working on it.”

  “Get the bastard. I don’t want this to be for nothing.”

  Overhead, scattered cirrus clouds slipped across a cerulean sky, where just visible behind the trees of the dusty village, the setting sun tinged the horizon a burnt orange. It would be a while yet before they’d switch over to night vision, and Donovan adjusted the focus of his binoculars until he was able to see clearly, then scanned the area of the desert village that lay about eighteen kilometers west of the border of Somalia. Intel passed on to one of the Kenyan troops stationed in the area brought them to the outskirts of the town, such as it was, very close to the border, which was closed and guarded by troops. Stopping them before they got across was their only hope, and Donovan prayed they hadn’t been led astray. He was sprawled on the ground with the scrub and trees for cover, Lisette next to him. They’d been there for the last thirty minutes, sweating in the heat and dust, watching for some sign, while their Kenyan contact was off trying to get further information.

  “How I spent my Christmas vacation,” Lisette said. “Do you realize that Marco and I had actually planned a ski trip?”

  “You two are back together?” he asked.

  “Why? You can’t get a date for the prom?”

  He laughed. “Just glad to hear it. He sure was pissy while you two were broken up.”

  She lowered her camera, glanced over at him with a wry look. “Much like you were on our last assignment after you got dumped?”

  “That was different.”

  “Could have fooled me,” she said, returning her attention to the village in front of them to snap a few photos.

  “Can’t help it if I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

  “You’re a good catch, Donnie boy. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  He swung his binoculars to the left, scanning that area, then stopped when a man stepped out of one of the buildings, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. “Pretty heavy firepower for someone guarding a tin-roofed shack.”

  “Where?”

  “About ten o’clock.”

  She aimed her camera and he heard the snap of the lens as she shot. “That’s got to be where they’re holding them.”

  There was a rustle in the brush behind them. Donovan glanced over his shoulder and saw Robert Odoyo, the Kenyan military officer dressed in camouflage fatigues, crawling toward them. “What have you found?”

  Donovan pointed.

  “I would call in more troops, but we need to tread carefully,” Robert said. “They will not hesitate to kill them outright if they feel there is no escape.”

  “I’m all for small-scale operations—especially when we’re outgunned.”

  “Good, because that may be our only hope. If we fail and they get them over the border to Somalia . . .”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  Two women in colorful flowing skirts and head scarves walked past the front of the pirate house, carrying heavy pails of water from the well that was about a quarter of a mile away. Another woman in a drab gray gown with a niqab covering her face and head walked in the opposite direction, her bucket empty.

  Lisette, who seemed to be following the woman’s movements with the lens of her camera, snapped a photo, then showed the digital screen to Donovan. “That, my friend, is how we get closer.”

  “Not bad, Lisette. Not bad at all.”

  The clothing they eventually found smelled of the desert air, having been lifted from lines in the yards of some of the unfortunate Liboi households who had not yet brought in their laundry after washing. Donovan left ten times the value in money in its place.

  52

  The stifling heat even in the blacked-out room sapped all Tex’s strength, and several times he almost nodded off. His shoulders and neck were stiff, his gut sore from a kick, and his knees bruised when he was forced to the ground, but other than that he felt fortunate. He’d been in worse scrapes, and apparently their kidnappers were in a big hurry to hide them away, due to the troops guarding the roads. They’d be waiting for nightfall, undoubtedly, assuming they were going to attempt to get them across the Somalia border. And that, in Tex’s mind, beat the alternative, which was to simply kill them.

  Eve stirred beside him. They were propped up against the mud wall, their hands tied behind them. He wasn’t sure if she’d been napping, but neither of them had spoken while their captors were in the room, their one attempt resulting in the kick to Tex’s gut. Nor had they said a thing for several minutes after being left alone, out of worry that the man might return. The voices in the next room were loud as someone laughed, and then, eventually, all was quiet. He hoped that meant they’d left.

  Tex eyed their smashed cell phones, just visible in the dim light that filtered in through boards over what constituted windows on the exterior corrugated tin wall. The phones had at least survived until their arrival here, the kidnappers not bothering to look for them before tossing them into this room. He knew that Donovan would have tracked their cells the moment he noticed they were missing.

  Assuming he’d noticed in time, before the phones were smashed.

  It wasn’t like they’d discussed when they were to return. After all, the camps were large, and getting from one to the other was not the shortest of trips. Who knew how long it would take before Donovan or Lisette started to wonder what was going on.

  But with the fading light also went any hope of rescue. If their kidnappers managed to get them across the border, their chance of being rescued alive diminished considerably. That thought sent him back to the task of trying to loosen up the plastic ties at his wrists. Eve was apparently doing the same.

  “Any luck?” he finally whispered, when it seemed he was making no progress.

  “Not yet.” She gave a quiet, almost heartbreaking laugh. “Funny, but I didn’t think my career was going to end this way, never mind my
life.”

  “Gotta remember the rules. First one, don’t give up.”

  “What’s the second one?”

  “Don’t ever forget the first one.”

  “When you wrangled your way up to that stage when Barclay’s gunmen came after you? I thought, my God, you’re crazy. The guy’s got a gun and you’re running up onto the stage?”

  “Seemed like the thing to do.”

  “No stage to run up on here.”

  “Night’s not over, darlin’.”

  She gave a quiet, “Hm.” Then, after a moment, “When we get out of here, you want to go out? There’s this great little bar at this refugee camp down the road . . .”

  He looked over at her, certain she was merely bolstering her spirits. Girls like her didn’t date guys like him. Not with any success, at least, something he well knew from the experiences of every agent he worked with. Griffin, Marco, Donovan . . . But even though he knew it was just small talk, he said, “We get out of here, I’ll take you to any bar you want.”

  “Any bar?”

  “Any.”

  “You’re on.” She started scooting away from him.

  “Change your mind already?”

  “Are you kidding? Any bar? I know exactly where I want to go, and now that I have incentive to get out of here, I thought I’d do something about it. There was a little light coming in from that wall earlier. Made of metal, maybe it’ll cut through the ties.”

  He watched as Eve shifted closer to the outer wall and felt around with her fingers. But then she said, “No edge to the metal. It’s bending out, not in.”

  “It was worth a try.”

  She sat there for a moment, and he could tell from the slump of her shoulders she was disappointed. But then she shook her head. “No way. You are not getting off that easy. I was thinking of a bar in Paris. You realize I’ve never been?”

  “Paris? A little pricey for a first date.”

  “You know what else I’m thinking? There is no way whoever built this crappy little shack did a good enough job not to have a nail or piece of tin or something sticking out that we couldn’t use.”