by Tony Lavely
“Well, are these the guys that raided the deVeel’s home, do you think? ‘Cause they won’t be coming back.”
“While it is certainly possible, I doubt it. It seems more likely that the purchasers here were attempting to acquire a spot for the smugglers to use, perhaps as a way to sweeten the deal, or because the smugglers asked for or demanded the facility.” He tipped his head. “I am uncertain which is more likely.”
“Well, I don’t think we’re gonna gain any more insights tonight. Unless you have another idea?”
“I do not. We should return and determine our next move.”
Beckie strode through the undergrowth a few steps before taking Ian’s arm. “No. I’ll stay here and wait for them. I can keep back far enough to not get noticed, and I can let you know how many there are and where they head. That way you can start with the police or whomever looks after these kinds of things. You’ll be better at that than me.”
Ian’s surprise was short-lived, but his concern was not. Beckie watched his expressions change until he finally said, “Your suggestion has several merits, but as many cogent reasons to argue against it. Before deciding, shall we check our supplies?”
“Yeah, including my phone’s battery!”
Ian could find no reason to ask Beckie not to stay, based on their provisions. Beckie’s phone was at sixty percent charge, sufficient for another day in the woods.
“Very well. Stay clear of any activity and I will return in the morning with Samuel and probably Willie and Elena to relieve you. Call if anything happens.” He took her chin in his hand and gazed into her eyes. “You will do this, will you not?”
“I will, love. Too many things I still want to do with you.” She pulled him close and kissed him. “Now, go! It’s too wet to spread a blanket here, much as I want to!”
He chuckled, then returned her kiss. “Very well. Look for us by…” He glanced at the GPS. “… no later than nine-thirty, if we leave before sunrise.”
She pushed him gently before saying, “I’ll go with you to the horses. I can bring mine back here to wait.” She looked around. “This should be far enough that they won’t hear each other.”
The wait was cold and since the rain continued, wet as well.
She started. Guess I dropped off to sleep. Now, what…
Voices were approaching from her right. The men—it sounded like men only—were speaking loudly enough to cover any noise they made pushing through the wet bushes and ground cover. The sounds indicated that they were headed toward the campsite Ian had found earlier. She glanced at her phone: one-thirty. Ian’s been gone… three hours, not long enough to make the house. While Beckie could hear words, she didn’t understand the language; she decided to move a little closer.
A vantage point behind a shorter yellowwood bush gave on the campsite, probably twenty-five feet away. Five men had just thrown down packs and looked to be ready to set up their tents when one of them shouted, pointing at the ground. Beckie couldn’t see what had attracted his attention, but it was in the area where she and Ian had examined the remnants of the discarded cigarettes. Whether his concern was shared, or merely his authority, the others wasted no time in grabbing their packs; they all rushed to the donkey pen.
She expected that the noise they made opening the gate and getting the donkeys ready to travel would cover any she and the horse would make; she edged her way back. After a pat on the nose, she looked at the overhanging branches and decided to walk. “You’ll be fine here,” she muttered in his ear, and eased back to where she could see the corral.
It was empty, and the last donkey’s butt disappeared around another yellowwood bush. She glanced at her phone, and pushed the button to save her location. Still too early to call Ian.
While she was sure the men had been spooked by something she and Ian had left, they gave no evidence of worrying about being followed. The pace was good, considering nighttime and the rain, with no attempt at quiet. Occasionally, one of the donkeys would bray, calling for food or rest, but by and large, she trailed by listening to the sounds of tramping ahead.
In deference to Ian’s wishes, she made sure the donkey at the group’s tail end was out of sight, not wishing to be caught. The men had all appeared to be dark, though in the rain and night, it was hard to be sure. Their clothes were heavy, the type that her web-based investigations of Lesothos and the Drakensberg Mountains suggested were common to the people who lived and worked in the near-alpine ranges above the cliffs.
The cliffs. In short order we’ll hit open grassland, and then the face of the escarpment itself. I guess I’ll stop there and mark the point. Unless… She didn’t want them to get away, but unless some way to cover herself showed… That’ll be the end for today, I guess.
Her expectation was met in another fifteen minutes. While the sky hadn’t lightened perceptibly, the sounds from ahead changed, and she slowed, stopping just short of the plain that stretched off into the dark.
As she observed the field and the line of donkeys and men marching away from her, something hit her in the middle of the back. Her foot caught; as she fell she heard a shout followed by a burst of pain and a flash of light in her head.
Ian was still conflicted as he rode away from Beckie and the camp. He had little doubt that she would be a good observer; he worried that she might still be discovered and… That was the part he found hard, even after three years of working together. The fear that something would happen to damage her, perhaps irreparably, clung to his love for her like a coating of rust on iron. Perhaps it is time. Move away even from the protection and negotiation work. We surely have sufficient funds to retire. Willie Llorens has already moved in that direction.
By the time he’d reached the barn, he’d settled on that course of action. Samuel would probably be interested in helming the team when he and Rebecca… retired. An interesting word, retire.
The conversation with the police took longer than he’d expected, even without mention of Rebecca standing guard near the camp. After he insisted, they shared that dagga smugglers had been tracked using a new, but still difficult, traverse of the escarpment just north of the deVeel’s farm. Once on the flat, they trekked south along the cliffs to the aerodrome at Himeville, where the dagga could be loaded on a light plane and be nearly anywhere in a matter of hours.
The smugglers hadn’t been caught for two main reasons, the officer explained: because their apparent schedule was irregular, they hadn’t been observed, and the product was not being dispersed locally. Because the local police were concerned with local problems, they had little energy to spare. No evidence had yet supported the proposition that the volume of contraband being moved was large.
The information that the pack train employed six donkeys, each carrying, conservatively, twenty-five or thirty kilos rounded the officer’s eyes, but at the end, he only promised to pass the information along. As they trudged to the door, he reminded Ian that terrible as it was, Kevin’s death had not been attributed to any drug-running groups or gangs.
Outside the office, the sky was barely beginning to light. He took his phone to check the time, ten after five, and muttered, “Rebecca should be awake now, and if she is not…” He grinned as he scrolled to her number.
The call went immediately to voice mail. He left no message; the phone was either off or damaged. He checked the tracker; no response for thirty-five minutes. The phone was damaged.
He dialed again. “Samuel. Rebecca is missing. I will be at the house instantly.”
“Right,” came Sam’s sleepy voice. “How long will you be?”
“Ten minutes.”
“We’ll be ready.”
Ian got out of his car and surveyed his team. Sam, Willie, Barbara, Elena, Beth and Amy. “As I explained to Samuel, Rebecca is missing. Without an alternative solution, I intend to enlist the police in searching for her. May I have suggestions?”
For the next twenty minutes, ideas were presented and either short-listed or dismissed.
Willie had spent much of the time on the phone with the police, adding Rebecca’s disappearance to the information that Ian had already shared.
Beth’s call to Else Meyer at the Nest provided no information, but the woman promised to seek location data from Beckie’s phone and tracker. “She did have both, right?” Beth assured her Beckie had carried both. “I’ll update you as soon as I find something.”
“The police will have a copter here about half-six,” Willie reported. “They’ll take up the matter of your leaving Beckie out of the original report once we’ve found her, but they’re not very happy, I don’t think.” He waved off Ian’s protest. “They can take two of us. You and…”
Ian felt a swell of pride and affection. No, love. Every one of the team was staring at him; their expressions clear: I want to go!
“Thank you, each of you.” He brushed his cheek. “Samuel, with me. Barbara, Bethany and Amy Rose, here, to ensure no one attempts to flank us. Willie, Elena, take one of the SUVs and follow us through the deVeel’s farm. You will find the track difficult, but the Defender should manage.” He paused again. “As the police presence will be significant, do not even carry an unregistered weapon.”
The helicopter arrived as promised, only a few minutes late. Ian verified with the pilot the location of the camp, and he climbed in beside Sam.
“Lot quicker this way than on horseback, I guess,” Sam said.
He is attempting to keep my mind off Rebecca and on the job. “Indeed.” He turned away from the window. “Thank you. You will be fine.” He ignored the confusion in Sam’s eyes; focusing again on the trees and streams below.
“Here, Mr. Jamse,” the officer with them called back. “Danie’s gonna land about two hundred meters off.” He pointed to a small clearing where to Ian’s eye, the copter would just fit.
“Wow,” Sam said, admiration and consternation both coloring his Caribbean accent. “Not all that big, eh?”
“I and one or both of you…” Ian pointed to the officers. “… will land here and follow whatever trail we find. I am convinced six donkeys will leave a visible mark.”
The lead policeman nodded in hearty agreement. “‘Bout the only thing they’re good for, away from the canyons.” He fixed each of his men with a stern gaze. “You two, go with Mr. Jamse. Keep him safe, and legal, hear?” He waited for their agreement. “You and I,” he said to Sam, “will continue with Danie. Aerial surveillance, right?”
The copter set down. Ian and the two policemen dropped out and ran toward the tree line as behind them, Danie took his machine back into the air.
Ian didn’t look back. They will do their job; we will do ours. The two police men, both with dark complexions but not black, were in field uniforms, neat so far. Their boots would announce their coming meters away. Both carried handguns, but nothing else beyond radios and handcuffs. Their caps covered dark brown or black hair, short and neatly groomed. They are both Rebecca’s age. If they are not too young, neither is she. And she is better trained. Ian had no reservations about his team’s ability to transfer knowledge.
The camp was as deserted as Ian had expected. In a few minutes, not only had he released the horse Beckie’d been riding to find his way home, but they’d begun tracking the donkey’s spoor to the north.
Ian was at the edge of the track, with the two police a couple of meters to either side. He stopped, ready to draw them in and request they move more quietly, but before he could, two gunshots rang out. His arm went numb; as he spun, the cop to his right dropped. His disconnected fall argued for the worst.
Ian grabbed his pistol in his left hand—his right wasn’t obeying commands—and looked for the attackers. There! He fired three shots, hoping that his lack of practice left-handed would be countered by the three rounds. One of the villains dropped, clutching his chest, and Ian dismissed him, seeking a second.
With a moment to breathe, he wondered how many they were facing, and how the other cop fared. Still cannot use my arm. He rolled closer to the tree he’d fallen by, peering around for a glimpse of the other policeman. Or anything, he admitted.
A rustle ahead brought his head around, but not quite in time to see. An impact knocked him back. “Unh!” That hurt… My face… My shoulder. Why… Cannot move…
He heard faint voices, but couldn’t fathom the mumbles.
Everything went black.
Beckie’s eyes didn’t want to open though her body didn’t feel like good things were happening. Cold. She felt drips on her skin. Bare skin? My clothes… One of the donkeys brayed; voices followed. Fuck! This isn’t good! An attempt to move failed; she wrenched her eyelids apart to allow the scene through.
In a few seconds, she determined that she was unclothed but not fully nude; her hands were tied to a small tree while her legs were secured at the ankles. Three men were seated on the ground eight to ten feet away. Two were watching her while one was going through her clothes piece by piece. A small pile of things she’d had in her pockets lay beside his knee. He finished and threw the clothes in her direction. Well, shirt and pants anyway. Tied up, they’re not going to do me much good.
The man said something in a command-like voice and the others slowly stood and approached her. The taller one drew a knife and held it in a comfortable grip while the other knelt at her feet and undid the tie at her ankles. When he’d finished, he dragged her pants over and pulled them up. Anxious to get them on, she helped as much as she could; he soon had the zipper up and the belt fastened.
The man examining things took her phone from the pile and balanced it on a rock before smashing it with the haft of his knife. With a nasty smile, he pitched her boots over, hitting her with one and the man kneeling with the other. She grunted, but the man said words that she interpreted as a curse; the thrower laughed and flipped her socks over. When he had those on and the boots loosely tied, he refastened the cord around her ankles and waited.
The man with the knife noticed that the other had stopped; he came close enough that Beckie could see little specks of something dark on the blade of his knife, but he held it comfortably. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her forward against the tie on her wrists. The kneeling man shoved her back enough to untie that cord, then with her arms free, he wrangled her shirt over her arms and on, and buttoned. Mostly buttoned, she noticed. He pressed her back against the tree and retied her bond.
She said, “Thanks,” as they scuttled away from her. Like I can do anything, she moaned internally. None of the men spoke, but the one who’d held the knife before returned with a wet rag and wiped her face. The pain in her skull came roaring back as he gently scrubbed. The pain changed tenor as the rag cleaned higher, toward her temple, becoming more raw, open, than the dull hit-with-a-blunt-instrument ache she’d felt when waking. I hit my head when he shoved me seemed a plausible working hypothesis. He finished and turned back to his mates.
“No one speaks English?”
The three men all looked at her, but said nothing. Then the one making a pile of her belongings said what sounded like “Knee.”
Probably not talking about joints, so… could be a negative. She sighed and studied the surroundings with more attention.
The tree which held her was only about four inches through the trunk, and fifteen or so feet high. It must have been close to where she’d been surprised—and how the fuck did that happen? Since the sky had lightened, she could see not only the plain to her side, but the cliffs across the grass. God, they’re big! The forest continued in three directions, every way except toward the cliffs.
Nothing lay in the immediate surroundings, no rocks, sticks, nothing I can use as a weapon. Okay, you better get thinking, girl. Ian’s already mad as blazes at me. What did Sam and Elena give me that fits this problem? Casting it as one of Sam’s training exercises made it easier to put Ian’s displeasure out of her mind temporarily. She wiggled around, trying to act as if she was seeking a more comfortable position, but checking to make sure no one was behind h
er.
No one was, at least close enough to see, which meant they wouldn’t be able to tell what she was doing, either. She recalled that the group had been five when they started. Where are the other two? She contemplated that idea for a few seconds before putting it aside to await more data, and began to worry the knots in the cord holding her wrists.
Once she had the knot undone, she pulled her legs up and did her best to lean sideways against the tree. She hoped the ploy would allow her to get a hand to her ankles without being so obvious the men would notice. She got into the best position she could, then waited while watching the men. Two of them, knife and collector, as she thought of them, stopped the conversation they were having, and after giving her a quick look, they both pulled blankets from their packs and rolled up. The collector said something, and Beckie’s heart stopped as the third man dragged a blanket from his pack and trudged over to her. She held her arms as still as she could, hoping the cord hadn’t fallen off, but he didn’t look, merely tossed the blanket over her and went back to sit by his pack.
The rain had cleared and the light kept improving, and Beckie decided not to wait more than a few minutes. Good thing, too, she thought, since with only one hand and awkwardly positioned, she needed a half-hour to tease that knot apart. After another minute staring at the men, waiting for them to leap up and capture her once more, she slid out from under the blanket, sneaking in the direction of the sunlit grassy plain.
Beckie slithered toward the grass, matching her slow progress with the breeze blowing the tops of the stems. She could find no path. They won’t have any problem tracking me when they realize I’m gone. With that in mind, she broke as few stalks as she could, but didn’t obsess over it.
The sun was now over the treetops to the… northeast, she decided. She hadn’t really checked, but was still certain that the pile of her belongings the talkative man had made included not only the bits of her phone, but her tracker and anything else she’d been carrying. Right after her phone, she wished for her water bottle and one of Ian’s energy bars. Well, the Sig P238, except it was unloaded.
