Harry, without hesitation, entered the clearing, raised his South African-made Denel R4 assault rifle and shot them dead with the thirty-five rounds in the magazine. He had never killed a man before, but it gave him no qualms or concerns, no sleepless nights.
‘Why did you kill them? They were only trying to make a living,’ Vianney shouted.
‘I cannot let them kill defenceless animals. If they can’t earn a living without resorting to savage cruelty, then they must die.’
Vianney appalled as he was at the manner in which Harry had dispatched the poachers, could not dispute his passion. He was a conservationist, but also an African of the bush; he had known what it was like to have an empty belly. He had empathy with the poachers; death was too severe a solution.
Harry was to become a leading authority in the control of poachers in Sub-Saharan Africa. Whenever there was a problem, they would call for him. Money was never mentioned, just accommodation, vehicles, weapons and trackers as required. Vianney would spend a further six months teaching him all the tracking skills he knew, how to move through the terrain, open savannah or tropical forest without being seen, without leaving tracks.
He knew he had been lucky; he did not have the necessary training to enter a compound with guns blazing. When his time concluded with Vianney, he enrolled at the Tactical and Defensive Action Centre in Johannesburg to learn advanced rifle, handgun and knife usage. Dismayed by the insensitive attitudes of some of those taking the courses in post-apartheid South Africa, he kept his views to himself. He had no issues with anybody, regardless of colour or creed; he only had a problem with those who killed and maimed wildlife in the name of profit.
It was on a very rare visit to England that his father had caught his latest mistress acting provocatively towards Harry. He had done nothing wrong; even tried to repel her, but she was over-amorous, high on some unknown substance. She would not take no for an answer. Regardless of Harry’s protestations, his father cut his allowance. He, therefore, needed to work to maintain his lifestyle. Counter Insurgencies had been the solution.
‘It’s today. Are you guys ready?’ Yanny asked.
‘We’re ready,’ Phil replied. ‘If you feel sure, then we’ll move in closer.’
It was a risk for two white men to move openly in the region. Adept as they were at keeping out of sight, there was bound to be someone who would see through their disguise. Dark glasses, broad-brimmed hat, darkened faces may conceal most, but the way they moved, always harder to camouflage.
It was often a child that seemed to be the most perceptive. In their innocence, the child would happily and proudly announce to all that there was a white man dressed funny. They had recently concluded a rescue in Southern Iraq; their mannerisms adjusted to there, not Southern Nigeria. The businessman in Baghdad for the sake of a deal had disregarded security instructions and gone to a restaurant with people he thought were interested in the company’s products. The lure of a juicy bonus had overridden his good sense, and he went for dinner with his kidnappers. The bonus he was anxiously pursuing could easily have been a slit throat.
His company issued the mandatory reply. ‘We do not negotiate with terrorist organisations.’
A YouTube video of him severely beaten by a gang of thugs, and a sword to his throat at the conclusion, changed their approach. His company negotiated then, but it was going badly, and those responsible for the negotiating were inexperienced and looking for a quick resolution. After the second video and a more severe beating, the company relented and brought in the best, Counter Insurgencies Ltd.
In a matter of days, they ascertained the hostage’s location, agreed on a deal, a drop-off point for the money, and for the exchange to occur. The team realised that he would probably not come back alive; he had seen their faces at the restaurant.
A rescue mission set in place with the assistance of trusted locals, and Phil and Harry had gone in with them while Yanny concluded the ransom drop. They rescued the severely weakened and badly beaten businessman. The hostage-takers that survived claimed the money. Four had died; Phil had been responsible for two. Harry took a bullet to the leg, minor, and, apart from some soreness, he was fine.
***
After sometime since the last phone conversation Phil phoned in, ‘We’ve secured our position. We’ll wait until nightfall before attempting their release.’
Relieved to be free of the rusty boat, they had managed to approach within the pre-determined fifty metres of the compound.
‘Is the compound difficult to take?’ Yanny asked.
‘It should be okay, no more than a few run-down shacks used by local fishing boats.’
‘They’ve taken the ransom,’ she confirmed.
‘You don’t need to tell us. They’ve started drinking.’
‘Can you see the hostages?’
‘No, but we can see and feel the mosquitoes. It’s pretty grim here.’
‘How long before you go in?’
‘Let’s give them another ninety minutes. I will move in first with Harry and see if we can protect the hostage before our local guys come in. The hostages are probably freaked out by now, and not in good health.’
‘Helicopter in twenty minutes once you give the word,’ said Yanny.
They were not to get the ninety minutes. The kidnappers, excessively drunk on bottles of Johnnie Walker started firing guns in the air after the first hour.
Phil and Harry were quickly over the wall. They took out a couple of the kidnappers on the way, knives to the throat.
‘Hostages, hut to the right.’ Phil signalled to Harry.
‘I’ll check it out,’ Harry signalled back.
He moved over to the hut. The kidnappers had not sensed that anything was amiss. The whisky had dulled their senses, not their trigger fingers. There was only a padlock on the hut door, very light security considering the value of its contents. Through a gap, he could see why security was minimal. A thumbs-down to Phil conveyed the poor condition of those inside.
It was clear to Phil that they would need to maintain security for the hostages. Their local colleagues needed to come in and deal with the kidnappers. It was not ideal.
‘Come in fast. We’ll protect the hut on the right,’ Phil said into the two-way radio in his hand.
‘What about the hostages? Are they alive? Are they okay?’ Victor asked. He had been at Emmanuel’s interrogation in Port Harcourt; he wanted to be at the conclusion of the operation.
‘They’re in a bad way. Most of them will have trouble walking.’
‘Okay, let’s set our watches for one minute. Give us covering fire if the kidnappers come running out.’ Victor said.
Five of the kidnappers quickly dealt with three who were left and heading around the back of the compound, heading towards the hostages.
‘They’re pointing a gun at the head of one of the hostages,’ Phil shouted. While the action had been at the front of the hostages’ hut, Phil and Harry had failed to ensure the back of the ramshackle building was secure.
‘Rush the door,’ Harry shouted to Phil. ‘We have no option.’
‘Some of the hostages may get shot.’
‘It’s a risk we have to take. They’ll kill them all if we don’t act fast.’
Two of the three kidnappers dispatched with comparative ease; the third continued to hold the gun close to the temple of one of the hostages.
‘I’ll shoot him if you don’t give me safe passage out of here.’ The kidnapper was nervous, sweating profusely.
‘Anything you want, just don’t shoot.’ Harry agreed to his demands immediately. ‘Drop you weapon and we promise you will be safe.’
‘I don’t trust you. If I let him go, you will shoot me. Put down your weapons first.’
‘Okay, we are putting them on the ground now,’ replied Harry.
With Phil and Harry lowering their weapons, the kidnapper eased his hold on the hostage. At that moment, Phil reached carefully behind his back and pulled out a kni
fe and, with one swift movement, pierced him cleanly between the eyes.
‘That was remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like that before,’ Harry said.
‘Area secured,’ Phil radioed in to Yanny.
‘Helicopter is on the way. What’s the situation?’
‘The kidnappers have all been taken out. No serious injuries on our side.’
‘What about the hostages?’ she enquired.
‘Alive, just, but they look to be in a bad way. Stretchers for all and there is a distinct smell of gangrene.’
‘They’ll be in Port Harcourt within the hour.’
‘We have another situation to deal with in the north of the country,’ added Yanny. ‘We need to meet with Steve tomorrow.’
‘It seems we’re in a growth industry.’ Phil attempted a humorous comment, aiming to defuse the seriousness of the situation they had just survived.
Meanwhile, Soboma Tom, oblivious of the activities down in Bomadi, was flying at thirty-five thousand feet with ten million American dollars in cash, his take on the latest ransom. He was heading to parts unknown and respectability.
Chapter 12
The man that Steve Case met that morning at the Novotel Hotel on Stadium Road, in Port Harcourt, was a shadow of his former self. Bob McDonald, a tall, well-built man in his fifties, did not exercise as much as he should and it was starting to show in the slight paunch protruding from above his belt. The kidnapping of his daughter, Kate, had left him a shattered man.
‘I will do anything to get Kate and the other woman back,’ he said.
‘Helen,’ Steve said.
‘Helen, of course. I met her at the mission. What about her parents?’
‘I phoned. They are as distraught as you are. They said they would sell their house to raise money for a rescue.’
‘Tell them that I will cover all costs,’ Bob said.
‘That’s what I told them. They wanted to fly out here straight away. I’ve dissuaded them for now.’
‘What do we know?’ Bob asked.
‘The details are vague. We believe the Pastor and his wife are dead. They’ll conduct DNA testing although it’s not necessary. Duncan Nicholson is clearly dead; he was recognisable and lying in the compound. Of Helen and Kate, we have no information and we must assume the attackers took them. That would be their usual modus operandi although this would be the first time they have taken white women.’
‘What do they want with Kate and Helen? Is it ransom?’ Bob looked for appeasing words, but he knew that ransom was only one component – rape was a strong possibility.
‘Ransom is no doubt the primary reason they were taken,’ Steve replied.
‘Is there another reason?’
‘You know the answer to that question.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Bob sighed heavily. He looked close to collapse.
‘We must stay focussed, deal with the facts,’ said Steve. ‘My team are wrapping up a hostage situation not far from here. They will be here tomorrow.’
Bob McDonald came from an influential Louisiana family that stretched back many generations. There had been a Mayor of New Orleans back in the 1920s; numerous family members over the years had sat on the boards of the various schools and institutions in the city. One had even contemplated running for the Presidency of the United States back in the 1940s.
Unfortunately, for Bob, his father, Samuel, the black sheep of the family, squandered the substantial fortune that the McDonalds had strived for and accumulated over the years. Samuel had been a speculator, whether it was financial futures, the stock market or the roll of the dice. He always felt a dynamic thrust; the right attitude would win through. He was sadly wrong and the last venture failed spectacularly. A broken man by the age of sixty, he simply resigned himself to the disgrace he had brought his family. He slowly faded away and died within a few years while Bob was in his early twenties.
All that was left was a sprawling, run-down Louisiana mansion, a couple of hundred thousand dollars in the bank, and an insatiable desire on his part to reclaim the family fortune and prestige. He reasoned that the best way to make money was to go where the money was, and that was oil. To drill a hole in the ground and pray there was a gusher sounded like speculation and he had inherited none of his father’s less admirable traits.
No, he figured the best way to make money from oil was to supply the machinery and materials to those who were involved in its extraction. He registered Oil Extraction Ltd with the Louisiana Dept. of Revenue with him as the Chief Executive Officer. At that point, he was the CEO of a company consisting of one person, namely Bob McDonald. He did have, however, the savvy of generations of successful McDonalds. It was not long before he started to attract significant business.
Initially, he focussed on the oilrigs in Louisiana, then out into the Gulf of Mexico, then, after a number of years, to all the major oil fields around the world. Oil Extraction Ltd was to become one of the largest suppliers of drilling equipment in the world with a staff of over two thousand.
‘I know you told me to pull everyone out from the mission earlier,’ Bob said. ‘I listened to my daughter and Pastor Zebediah. I was wrong. I blame myself for what has happened.’
‘The past is history. For now, we must focus on the present,’ Steve replied.
‘With my daughter, I am putty in her hands. You told me on several occasions, you even put it in writing, that you could not guarantee the mission’s safety. I chose to ignore that advice.’
‘We’re all putty when it comes to our children,’ Steve said; it was of little consolation.
Only the Louisiana McDonalds’ tenacity held Bob McDonald’s emotions in check.
‘Do whatever necessary to get them back,’ he said. ‘Money is not an issue’
‘Kate may have listened to you,’ Steve replied. ‘The others, no matter how strong the message would not have left.’
‘That’s possible, but I should have been more determined, provided them better security. I did nothing.’
Steve attempted to change the subject. ‘Our local team are staying in the North until this is resolved. They’ll follow through on any leads, try and ascertain where they’ve gone.’
‘Do they have any ideas?’ Bob asked.
‘North is the assumed direction.’
Bob rested his head in his hands and sighed. Steve paused for a moment before continuing.
‘It would be preferable if this is kept out of the media for as long as possible,’ he said. ‘It always complicates the situation. Kidnappers tend to panic if undue pressure is placed on them.’
‘How quick before we get them back?’
‘The time is immaterial. What is important is that we get them back in one piece, healthy and unharmed.’
‘You did not mention untouched.’ Bob sounded alarmed.
‘Healthy and unharmed is our primary focus. If we act too fast, go in too soon with guns blazing, they will be compromised. You have to realise that we are dealing with irrational, emotive people who place little value on the sanctity of human life. The majority are fostering an opinion that what they do is condoned and in the service of their God.’
‘I must respect your expertise,’ said Bob. ‘I just want to go straight in and grab Kate.’
‘Your emotion is understandable, but you must place your trust in us.’
‘I will. It’s not easy to stand by inactive, unable to assist.’
‘You have done all that is necessary,’ said Steve. ‘You must leave it to us.’
***
Yanny, Harry and Phil were exhausted, but jubilant. Bob McDonald had not slept in days. It did not bode well for the meeting at the Novotel Hotel in Port Harcourt the next day.
‘Sorry, guys,’ said Steve. ‘I realise you need a good rest, some time off. But in this instance, we must focus on Kate and Helen’s rescue.’
‘We understand,’ Yanny replied on behalf of all three.
‘What do we know?’ Phil asked.
‘Not a lot,’ Steve replied. ‘We know that the Pastor, his wife and Duncan Nicholson are dead. There is nothing more we can do for them.’
‘We have to focus on those still alive,’ Harry said.
‘I need you to find my daughter and her friend,’ Bob said.
‘Kate and Helen,’ said Harry. ‘What do we know? Where have they gone?’
‘Our information is limited,’ Steve replied. ‘Aluko is in the area. He believes they have most probably headed north or northeast towards the border with Chad.’
‘Any ransom yet?’ Harry asked.
‘Not as yet, although it is certain we will receive one in due course.’
‘Due course!’ shouted Bob in exasperation. ‘What do you mean in due course? My daughter is out there with a bunch of savages. God knows what will happen to her.’
‘Bob, we spoke about this yesterday,’ Steve tried to calm the situation. ‘Emotion will not help here. We have to be rational, methodical. We have to get them back unharmed and alive. Rushing in, out of a fear of what may happen, will not assist.’
‘You’re right. I will try to follow your advice.’
‘Thank you. You have given us a clear mandate to conduct this operation, and sufficient funds. If it is too difficult, too emotional for you, then I will be required to ask you to leave the meeting.’
‘I will comply with your instruction.’ Bob attempted to hold his emotions in check.
‘So, where do we go from here?’ Harry asked.
Yanny, in such a situation, would have expressed an honest evaluation of the likely scenario. However, with the grieving father being present, she decided on a more diplomatic approach.
‘Women have a value other than monetary. Their lives will at least be more secure than a man.’ She attempted to remain subtle, not to use the ‘R’ word. Bob McDonald knew exactly to what she was referring.
There was a knock on the door and a bright, very dark woman in her late thirties entered. ‘I’ve asked Gloria, Gloria Layeni, to join us,’ said Steve. ‘She works in Bob’s office here in Port Harcourt. She spent some time in the area. She has a good understanding of the local situation, the local culture. It is possible she may be able to assist us.’
Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set Page 78
