by Kyle Mills
Flannary dialed the number for Josh's sat phone and listened to the familiar recording in its entirety before hanging up.
Chapter 30.
A barrage of machine-gun fire tore the limbs from the trees just ahead and sent Annika sprawling to the ground. Josh managed to get a hand under her arm and jerked her to her feet before she'd even stopped sliding.
A glance back placed Gideon in the middle of the narrow dirt road about seventy-five yards away. He was motionless, taking careful aim this time. He wouldn't miss again.
Still gripping Annika's arm, Josh made a sudden left turn, crashing into the jungle at a full sprint. Rounds pulverized the wide leaves above them, turning the air to a hazy green as they searched for cover.
They stopped behind the broad trunk of a tree, both breathing hard and Annika wiping at the spiderweb of blood covering her face.
Josh held her head steady, examining the gash across the bridge of her nose. It didn't look all that serious, but her eyes were a little cloudy. Her impact with the ground must have been harder than he'd thought.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded as Gideon's shouts penetrated the dense foliage. They were in Xhisa, but no translation was necessary. The African wanted to tear them apart.
"We can't stay in the jungle," Josh said. "We've got to get to the car. Can you still run?"
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, and when she opened them again, they had cleared. "Faster than you."
They burst back out onto the road, partially crouched and going hard. No shots this time, but Gideon had closed to fifty yards in the time they'd been stopped.
The heat and exertion were making Josh increasingly lightheaded. It had been a long time since those high school football practices beneath the Kentucky sun. Annika, on the other hand, hadn't spent the last six years lounging around in air-conditioned libraries, and she was already ten feet ahead, giving him something to focus on as he stumbled down the steep track toward the Land Cruiser. Even with that carrot, though, she was steadily pulling away.
"Annika!"
She looked back, and he threw the ignition keys to her. It wasn't until she caught them that he realized she'd been holding back. In less than a minute she was disappearing into the failing light.
Gideon obviously didn't want to lose sight of her, and more shots rang out, but they went wide. It seemed that the African was unwilling to stop running in order to line up his shot, and Josh knew that reluctance was the only thing keeping them alive.
By the time he made it through a hard right bend that briefly obscured him from Gideon's view, he wasn't running so much as lurching down the road trying not to throw up. The adrenaline and horror that had fueled his escape so far were running out, and he could barely keep his legs moving. The darkness had become deep enough that his footing was obscured, and every pebble he stepped on conspired to rip his feet out from under him.
The crunch of Gideon's boots was now audible, but even that failed to give him the strength to go faster. The gloom stretched out forever, and his death suddenly seemed inevitable. He wondered if this was how Dan Ordman had felt and if it was Gideon who'd actually done the killing.
Thoughts of death cleared his mind, and he decided that if he couldn't get away, maybe he could tie Gideon up long enough to help Annika. The question was, how?
The darkness ahead was suddenly pierced by two red dots suspended in space. It took a moment for him to decipher what they meant, but when he did, he felt a burst of adrenaline that he didn't know he had left. The Land Cruiser's brake lights.
Josh put his head down and forced himself forward. The lights were probably no more than a hundred yards away, but the sound of Gideon's footfalls was getting louder every second. A hundred yards might as well have been a hundred miles.
The lights were replaced by the sound of the engine and spinning tires, but instead of fading, the noise got louder. A moment later, the outline of the vehicle became visible, as did the shape of the open passenger door.
He aimed for it, nearly falling beneath the wheels as his right arm stabbed through the open window. He hung there, coughing and gasping as Annika shifted into drive and slammed the pedal to the floor. The force of the acceleration caused the door to swing closed, and he was slammed painfully between it and the jamb.
Behind him, Gideon dove, but with most of Josh's body protected by the door, all the African could get hold of was the collar of his shirt. It immediately tore away, and Gideon hit the ground, rolling uncontrollably until he finally came to a stop at the edge of the jungle.
Annika used her free hand to pull Josh inside, and he lay across the seats trying to gulp enough air to keep him conscious. He barely reacted when Gideon shot out the rear window, managing only to look up at Annika as she hunched over the wheel.
A second volley missed entirely, and Josh was nearly thrown to the floor when Annika skidded the vehicle into a turn. A moment later he could feel himself being pressed deeper into the seat as she accelerated.
They were going to make it.
"There! I see him."
Josh was on his knees in the passenger seat, pointing to a distant glow visible through the shattered rear window.
"How far back?" Annika said, unable to look for herself. She had the Land Cruiser's headlights turned off and was navigating by the light of a three-quarter moon.
"I don't know. A few miles? But he's closing on us quick."
"I can't go any faster."
She was right. They couldn't afford a flat tire or broken axle, but at the rate Gideon was gaining, it would only be a few minutes before he was leaning out his window shooting at them with that goddamn machine gun.
They could turn on their headlights and floor it, but what if Gideon had people in the area? The arrogance that had made him wait in that clearing alone was probably gone now.
"Is there anywhere to turn off?"
"I've seen a few places we could squeeze into," she said. "They've all been pretty steep and narrow, though, and I don't know if we'd ever get back out."
Josh laid his head in her lap and used the penlight on his keychain to search through the fuse box. Her legs were covered with a thick film of sweat, and he had a hard time not slipping off them as he worked.
"What are you doing?"
"Killing the brake lights," he said, pulling the appropriate fuse. "Next time you see somewhere we can get into, do it."
It took a few minutes of vetting every break in the foliage, but they finally found something workable. She pulled in carefully, making it no more than fifteen feet before a series of boulders stopped their progress. They immediately jumped out and began bending thick fronds in front of the opening to camouflage it.
After a few minutes, the strengthening glow of Gideon's headlights forced them back into the Land Cruiser. Annika put a shaking hand on the key, ready to ram the side of Gideon's truck if he stopped.
But he didn't. He careened past at a barely controllable speed, his vehicle making a metallic grinding sound that Josh recognized well from his years working in auto shops. The African had pushed too hard. He'd be broken down by the side of the road within the hour.
They sat in silence for a good ten minutes before Annika eased out onto the road and headed back the way they'd come.
"Where are we going?" she said.
"I don't know. I was hoping you'd have an idea."
"Back to my village?"
"It seems like that's the first place they'd look."
"Do you have any money?"
He shook his head. "A few bucks. I used most of it last time we gassed up. You?" "No."
It was a situation that seemed almost laughably absurd that a lack of cash in hand could become a death sentence. Where would they get food? Shelter? Fuel? How would they stay hidden from Mtiti's soldiers when their white skin was basically a neon sign blinking over their heads?
"That's the first time I've seen Gideon, and I'm sure it's the first time he's seen me,"
Annika said. "How would he know who I am and where I live?"
"Are you kidding? How many six-foot-tall blond women are there wandering around in this country? And you were at the compound with me a few days ago. All he'd have to do is ask."
"Why would he? There still may be time."
Josh thought about it for a few moments, but the truth was that having absolutely no alternatives made the decision easy.
"Fine."
He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it back on, disabling the GPS function while it acquired satellites. There were four messages -- all from JB, he discovered as he listened to them.
"Josh. Call me."
"Hey, Josh. I haven't heard from you. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? It's important."
"Josh, I'm starting to get worried. Where are you?"
"Goddamnit, Josh. If you're working for these sons of bitches and anything's happened to Annika, I'm going to cut you up and throw you to a pack of wild dogs. I swear I will."
"Who was it?" Annika asked, concentrating on the dark road ahead.
"JB, JB, JB, and JB."
Josh dialed and listened to the phone on the other end ring, enjoying the relative clarity of it after dealing with the local land-lines.
"Hello?"
"JB, it's Josh."
"Where the hell have you been? Why haven't you been returning my calls?"
"I've been doing what you told me to, which, as it turns out, involved dodging fucking machine-gun bullets."
"Is Annika all right?"
"She's fine. And I am, too, thanks for asking."
"What happened?"
"We went to the project you had the most information on, but it looks like it was abandoned before it was even half done."
"I knew it!"
"There's more. They picked up the people from my project to relocate them to one that was supposedly finished." "And?"
"They're all dead, JB. Gideon and his people used a bulldozer to bury them in the middle of the jungle, and then he waited there for us. It's pretty much just luck that we're still breathing."
Silence.
"JB? Are you still there?"
"You've got to get out of there, Josh. Find a border and drive over it. No, wait. If Gideon's involved, so is Mtiti. The first thing he'll do is cover the borders and consulates."
"I'm looking for ideas, JB."
There was another long silence before Flannary spoke again. "I'm working on this, Josh. Once it blows open, Mtiti and Stephen Trent are going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about than you. Until then, though, there isn't anything they wouldn't do to shut you up."
Josh sank back into his seat and looked at Annika. The light from the gauges gleamed off her hair as it blew around her face.
"How long?"
"I'm not going to lie to you, Josh. I found out that Stephen Trent is a former con man, but that's not proof of anything. And getting information out of Africa is damn near impossible. I'm trying to figure out who's pulling NewAfrica's strings, but they don't exactly advertise, you know? And then there's the magazine's publishing schedule
"The magazine's publishing schedule? Are you kidding me?"
"Calm down, Josh, I -"
"We're on the run in the middle of Africa, JB. Don't tell me to calm down. Tell me you've figured out a way to get us out of here and back to the States."
"Why would that help? NewAfrica's based here."
Josh fell silent, suddenly thinking about Stephen Trent's interest in Laura and his insistence that they get together to discuss her.
"Shit!"
"What?" Flannary said. "What's wrong?"
Josh hung up without responding and immediately dialed his sister. "Come on," he said, tapping his hand nervously on his thigh. "Pick up the goddamn phone."
"Hello?"
"Laura!"
"Josh! I'm so glad to hear from you! I'm sorry about --"
"You've got to get out of there right now."
"What about Mom? I thought you were
"Shut up, Laura! You're going to do exactly what I tell you. Do you hear me? Exactly."
Chapter 31.
JB Flannary walked unsteadily into the office, barely feeling the coffee cup burning his hand and ignoring the greetings of the people around him. The good news was that his brother's wedding was finally over. The bad news was that he'd used it as an excuse to see if he could still drink himself into oblivion. The answer turned out to be no, and now he was paying for the attempt with a hangover that might actually prove terminal.
"JB!"
He winced and kept walking as Tracy ran up to him.
"Why haven't you been answering your phone? I've been trying to call you all morning!"
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, unable to turn his head without it feeling like someone was driving an ice pick into it. Her cheeks were rosy. Honest-to-
God rosy.
"Gosh, you look awful, JB."
"What did I tell you about saying 'gosh'?" he managed to get out as he entered the cubicle Robert Page had set him up in and eased into a chair.
"To always replace it with 'fuck.' But --"
He put a finger to his lips, silencing her. "Not now, okay? I just need to sit here in complete silence for a while."
The truth was that he'd skipped his brother's wedding ceremony and stayed at the reception only until the band launched into "The Wind Beneath My Wings." Improbably, things had gotten progressively worse after that. He'd returned to his hotel and ended up spending the night with a bottle of tequila obsessing over his involvement in putting Josh and Annika in danger.
Another failure in a long line of failures. If he had any gift at all, it was escaping unscathed from things that killed people more worthy than him.
"But, JB, I need to --"
He waved a hand, silencing her again, and concentrated on taking the top off his coffee.
While he'd never say it aloud, he'd originally gone to Africa for the same reason as so many others before him to save the noble African. Then, also like so many before him, he'd discovered that the noble African didn't want to be saved. Most people who had that particular epiphany went home, told stories about their adventure, and buffed the memory until the tarnish faded. Not him, though. He'd stayed. Why? What had he hoped to accomplish? It was a question he'd never been able to answer but that always resurfaced when he drank Western booze.
"Seriously," Tracy said, "we need to talk."
He finally got the lid off his coffee and peered down at the dark fluid. "No cream. There are a hundred different coffee drinks on the menu, and you can't get cream. Tracy, would you mind --"
"I'm not getting you any damn cream!" she shouted.
He jerked back in surprise, snagging the wheels of his chair in the carpet and nearly tipping over backward. The entire office went silent.
"Now, you're going to just sit there and listen to me, JB."
He opened his mouth to protest but didn't manage to get any sound out before she jabbed a finger in his face. "Shut it!"
He did, and she slapped an eight-by-ten photo on the desk in front of him. It depicted a man in a long wool coat glancing back over hunched shoulders. The background had been erased, so there was no context. Just the man.
Flannary leaned in a little closer, examining the slightly blurry features of the face. The eyes had a subtle slope that suggested Eastern Europe to him. The skin was pale and the expression angry, but not at anything specific as much as life in general.
"This came in from the camera we set up," Tracy said. "He went into the New-Africa building last night."
"So?"
"He's not an employee --"
"Maybe he's a donor. Or a delivery man.
Or he was lost and needed directions."
"It was after hours, and he was in there for quite a while."
"Can't say I know him."
"Me either. So I posted his picture to some of the Internet crime forums."
"
You did what?"
"Don't worry, I did it in a way that no one can trace the post back to us. And I took out the background so there's no way to locate it."
"I'm not sure that was a great idea, Tracy.
We --"
"It was a great idea," she protested. "In fact, it was a fantastic idea. If two heads are better than one, then a thousand heads are better than two, right?"
It depended on how hard they were pounding. "And what did your thousand heads tell you?"
She grinned and slapped a copy of a newspaper article on top of the picture. The accompanying photo was a grainy copy of a bad original, but there was no doubt it was the same man. A little younger, perhaps, but the same tilted eyes and pissed-off expression. Flannary squinted at the text but couldn't make anything of it.
"It's in Czech," Tracy said. "The translation's on the back."
It was in her handwriting, with numerous scratch-outs and notes written in the margins. Obviously, she'd done the work herself.
"His name is Aleksei Fedorov," she said, saving him from having to decipher her writing. "He's a Russian businessman who everyone thinks was heavily connected to international drug and weapons trafficking. The Czech government thought they had him on a tax-evasion charge, but he managed to get out of it. After that the Europeans really turned the heat up on him. One prosecutor basically said he was going to make it his life's work to see Fedorov behind bars."
"This article is over ten years old. How'd it go?"
"Not so well. They found the prosecutor hanging from a tree."
"Suicide?" Flannary said hopefully.
"Only if he also managed to set himself on fire before he died."
"Great."
"After that Fedorov pretty much disappeared."
"But now you've found him."
She nodded. "I think you'll find this interesting: There was a lot of speculation that he was routing cocaine through African countries with corrupt governments. The idea was that law enforcement and the military would work for him instead of against him, and most of the people in those countries wouldn't know a bag of cocaine from a hole in the ground."
"So we have our connection to Africa," he said, feeling his hangover subside a bit.
