by Vivien Vale
Oliver stirs at the entrance to the hut, and I see his shape enter silently.
He quickly strides over to my cot.
Not seeing I’m awake in the dark, he shakes my shoulder.
“What?” I mumble.
“Something’s wrong,” he whispers. “I’ve heard someone approach the village, I think. I’ll go investigate. Stay inside, wait for my signal.”
He moves back to the entrance and peers down the road between the huts.
Then he ducks out into the rain, moving along close to the wall of the hut.
I jump out of bed and quietly dig through my things.
Ford has left me a gun.
Just in case, he said, ever so thoughtful.
Ever so pessimistic and paranoid, I thought then. But little did I know how soon I’d need the gun.
There it is.
The metal feels cold and foreign in my hand, but I grip the handle tightly. I take off the safety and place my finger on the trigger guard, just like he’s shown me.
I tiptoe over to the entrance and take position next to it on the inside.
Oliver has a signal, so anyone else stepping through without it, I need to…shoot?
I really hope it doesn’t come to that.
I listen intently out into the rain.
Of course, they’ve come at night, under cover of the rain. The torrential downpour leaves zero visibility and surrounds the village like a curtain.
Whoever’s out there could approach in total stealth.
I pray Oliver will be back and give the all-clear. But with each passing second, my heart sinks more and I suspect something’s up.
Are those boots in the mud I hear outside?
It’s hard to tell in the rain.
There’s the sound of running footfalls in the muck close-by, and then a scuffle.
Then I hear the thud of a blow connecting.
Something heavy hits the ground, a knocked-out body splashing in the mud.
I tighten my grip on the gun and press my back against the wall. My heart is pounding in my chest and my blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the rain.
How does Ford do it? This suspense alone scares me more than anything.
The barrel of an assault rifle pokes through the door opening.
I hold my breath.
Then the shape of a man inches forward.
I hesitate a split-second, but spring into action.
I quickly reach out and press the muzzle of the gun against his neck.
“Don’t move,” I hiss, “or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
My voice wavers, but I hold the gun firmly.
His eyes are wide, as he moves them sideways to stare at me.
“I mean it,” I say. “Put down your weapon. Slowly.”
He unslings the rifle, and lowers it to the ground without taking his eyes off me.
I push him with the gun, and he raises his hands over his head.
He’s young. A local who’s been hired as a mercenary, desperately making a living on poaching and odd jobs thrown to him.
But how did they find me here? Why are they coming for me now?
I place my arm around him like the street mugger did with me, still pointing the gun at his neck.
“I won’t hurt you if you do as I say,” I try to reassure him.
He nods.
I make him turn around and we step into the entrance of the hut.
From the street, a half dozen rifles are pointed at us.
“I have your friend here!” I shout, my voice breaking.
The men in the street take a step back, but their rifles are still pointed at us.
More poachers, from the looks of them.
I order my hostage to step into the street with me and survey the scene.
More men come running, some in khakis, some in old army fatigues. The whole village appears to be swarming with a wild bunch of these outlaws.
They’re driving out the villagers from their homes, rounding them up. Looking for me, I assume.
“Boss!” one of the men near us shouts. “Come here, we’ve found her!”
“Great,” an oddly familiar voice sounds from further away, “Have you subdued her?”
A man in camouflage pants is striding down the street towards us. He clicks his tongue in mock amusement as he takes in the scene outside my hut.
Undeterred by my gun, he walks towards me, his hands on his hips, elbows at his sides.
I recognize his face.
He stops short a few feet away.
It’s Demetri Bordeaux.
“You!” I spit.
“Adelaide,” he says, his voice all oily.
“Whatever you want,” I shout, “you won’t get it!”
I press the gun harder against the young man.
Demetri raises his hands.
“Let’s all be reasonable,” he says. “You’re reasonable, aren’t you, Adelaide?”
I don’t like the sound of his voice.
“You’ll come with us of your own accord,” he continues.
“Like hell I will!” I scream at him.
“Then you leave us no choice but to kill off the people of this village, one by one.”
He slowly steps towards me, enunciating each smarmy oozing word.
“We’ll start with the women and children.”
He forms a gun with the thumb and index finger of his right hand, pointing it towards the square where the villagers are gathered.
He sights in, then pulls the trigger, raising his forearm as if from recoil.
“Bang, bang,” he says, “until you change your mind.”
On his signal, his men fire a couple of rounds from their assault rifles into the air.
The frightened children cry out and the women scream in fear, some falling to their knees, wringing their hands and pleading with the gang of poachers.
“You monster!” I shout, my voice overwhelmed with anger. “Let them go!”
Demetri turns to me.
“We will, if you cooperate. Now, Adelaide,” he says, “your choice. Which one will it be?”
“You will not get away with this!” I scream.
He grins, baring his teeth.
“Give me the gun, and no one will be hurt, including you. Provided your family meets my demands. They’ll find them very…reasonable. A cool billion dollars—for your life.”
He chuckles.
I’ve come to love this village, and not only do I care for my patients, but all the people here are dear to me. I have to think of them first and do what’s best for them.
I can’t risk their lives. I have to give in to his demands.
Defeated, I let go of the young man in my clutch and engage the gun’s safety, handing it to Demetri.
“I will go with you,” I say. “Just leave the villagers in peace.”
“Excellent,” he says triumphantly. “Tie her up.”
Two men jump forward and wrestle my arms behind my back. They tighten zip-ties around my wrists, so my hands are bound.
“And you,” Demetri yells at the man I overpowered, “How come you let a woman disarm you? Loser!”
He pistol-whips the guy, sending him tumbling for a few feet.
I wonder if he and Ford are really two of a kind, and how much of a dark past they share.
Demetri loves violence, and seems capable of any evil. I have a different image of Ford, even though he was ruthless with the street mugger.
Ford could have turned this situation around.
But he’s not here, because he only thought of himself.
The kidnappers march me through the village. I can see now that they have the entire village surrounded with their jeeps.
Oliver never stood a chance.
As we pass the square with the villagers, an old woman tries to run forward.
“Daktari!” she shouts in panic.
I recognize her as a former patient of mine.
One of the poachers steps in and butts her with h
is rifle, knocking her to the ground.
I’m horrified and wince in pain. “Stop!”
“Stand back,” I shout at the villagers in Swahili, “and they won’t harm you.”
“Yote yatakuwa sawa,” I add, mumbling.
Everything will be alright.
Only I hardly believe it myself.
I spot Oliver on the back of one of the jeeps, his hands tied like mine with a sack over his head.
They throw me into the back of truck, and I get one last look at the village and its frightened people staring after us.
Then a sack is placed over my own head, and everything goes dark.
As the truck jerks forward and starts rolling, I notice the rain has stopped.
But under the cover over my head, hot tears are streaming down my cheeks.
37
Ford
Me—and my life—isn’t for everyone.
I understand that fact and have accepted it.
The CIA is a perfect example—it’s not a job anyone can handle, let alone a job that anyone can just get.
It’s for the few and far between.
But this is not me boasting, I’m not saying I’m special or anything. I became an agent because I’m fucked up enough to agree to such a life.
So why would I expect someone else to do the same? To willingly sign up for that life when theirs has been nothing but charmed?
It doesn’t make sense to me.
Like all the other agents, I was willing and able to live a life of solitude. Away from everyone, so that I could avoid getting hurt—again and again—while also trying to avoid hurting others, the latter being the most important.
And that comes from experience.
People have pasts—that’s to be expected—but mine is an outlier, one of the most extreme. I’ve done and seen things that no man should.
It’s been scarring, and those scars run deep.
I know that I’m not easy, and that my baggage—or whatever the fuck it’s called, is fucking heavy.
It’s a goddamn hard pill to swallow, and I know I’ve swallowed a shit ton.
But how can I tell her not to accept that—when I have?
She is more than capable and strong enough.
And who the hell am I to decide who she loves?
I’ll never understand how she fell for me, although our connection is overwhelmingly powerful, but I can’t stop her from loving me.
Hell, I don’t want to.
And I need to just fucking accept it—accept her love and take it for what it is—the most precious gift she could ever give me.
But in return, I vow to protect her and be the man she can always rely on, regardless of whatever shit is thrown our way, and that we might throw at each other.
I will always be there for her.
Though it’ll be scary, and I’m sure it’ll be hard, I’ve never been more certain that she needs me, like I need her.
I get that I’m coming to this realization rather late, and I admit it, I’m an asshole for that.
But I can be the bigger man and go back to her with a tail between my legs, asking her for her forgiveness and for her love.
I need to be by her side as her shield, her fighter, and her lover.
Adrenaline fills me, and my heart pounds out of my chest as I make my way back to her.
But as I approach the village, anxiety replaces my exhilaration.
I immediately feel the tension and turmoil of the village—something’s not right.
It’s eerily quiet, though I hear faint sobs echoing through the dewy, humid air.
The cries get louder as I get closer, and a woman screams, making me all the more vigilant.
I jump off the motorbike, too anxious to wait, and sprint towards the village.
Fuck.
Adelaide.
My mind focuses solely on her, and her well-being.
Where is she? Is she ok?
Running straight to her hut, I pass a crowd of the local women, hugging each other, praying and sobbing. Most of the children clutch on to their mothers, standing outside of their huts. All of them look as if they’ve seen the face of death and lived to remember it.
They’re scared, trembling, and looking for hope. It’s a disturbing sight. But I’ve been a witness to this scene before.
If I’m not mistaken, poachers have ransacked the village, taking only what they needed, which I’m afraid might be exactly the one thing I’m looking for.
That becomes more obvious to me as I watch the villagers mourn.
I know she would’ve been out here consoling the women and children, making them feel better in her own perfect way.
I’m too late. They’ve kidnapped her.
I reach the hut and it’s empty, confirming my suspicions. A few of her things have been thrown on the floor, and the gun I’ve given her is missing.
My anxiety grows—this doesn’t look fucking good.
My heart sinks, and my stomach drops at the thought of Addie in danger.
And it infuriates me that I was unable to prevent it from happening.
Where the fuck was her guard?
God damn it! I shouldn’t have fucking left her.
Stopping myself from wallowing, I quickly switch gears and ready myself.
I will not have her in danger a second longer. I will save her and bring her back to me.
I rummage through my gear and weaponry and begin to arm myself with everything I have.
Putting my bullet proof vest on first, I hoist a few automatic pistols on my belt, strategically hide a few knives in my pants and socks, and slide over my head two automatic rifles.
As much as I would love to go guns blazing, I refrain and decide to go clandestine, putting on a black hooded sweatshirt to hide my weaponry and shielding and a pair of black pants.
I leave the hut, fury and determination seething from me, and I look around the village for a sign that might direct me towards the kidnappers. Tempted as I am to pull out my compass, I know it can’t help me right now.
I’m coming up short, so I decide to reach out to one of the village women in hopes for some type of clue.
I walk up to one, standing outside of her hut, staring at the group of women still crying and holding onto each other.
She looks at me unnervingly as I approach her, and she crosses her arms in defense.
I reach my arms out with my palms facing upward, almost in surrender, to show that I’m not dangerous, and I silently pat myself on the back for wearing the black sweatshirt.
I know she has seen me around, as I have her, so I’m most likely familiar to her at least in some capacity.
But after tonight, I don’t blame her for being skittish around others, especially an outsider.
“Do you know where the looters went?” I ask as sympathetically as possible.
“Nini?”
Ah, shit.
She only speaks Swahili.
Thanks to Addie, I’ve picked up a few words here and there, so hopefully I can piece together something for her.
“Unajua where the looters walikwenda? Do you know where the looters went?” I repeat, just for certainty.
“Ah,” she says, nodding her head.
I smile tightly, hoping to keep her comfortable and willing to talk to me, and I feel a slight bit of hope in knowing we understand each other so I might get some information.
“Nija hiyo,” she says, pointing to the southeast. “Kulikuwa na mengi.” She gestures a big circle with her hands that I denote as meaning ‘a lot’ or big.
Fuck, that’ll be fun.
“Asante, asante! Thank you!” I respond enthusiastically.
I jump on the bike, and without a parting word, I head in the direction she pointed me to.
Fortunately, I’m familiar with the grounds around the village, so finding my way doesn’t prove difficult.
And as I reach the outskirts, I find tire tracks etched in the mud.
That has to be them
!
I follow it, remaining exceedingly cautious, ready to kill the engine at a moment’s notice.
The tracks become more aggressive with each passing mile, and my irritation thickens.
I’ve been on these types of missions many times, but this time, the urgency is completely new to me.
Knowing the kidnappers have the one thing I love and need adds to the severity of the situation, in addition to the pressure of successfully completing the mission.
I see lights flickering a few hundred feet ahead of me, and I begin to hear faint sounds, mostly of people talking.
The first thing I do is kill the bike and continue on foot, pushing the vehicle.
In the distance, I see a lone building. Outside is a truck.
It does not look like the headquarters of the operation, but it might just be where they’re holding my Adelaide.
I crouch to the ground and continue following the tracks to get a better sense of what I’m looking at.
As I close the distance, I’m able to decipher only one guard on the outside. The building is small. It can’t house more than five people.
The hut is exposed, and it won’t be easy to sneak up.
I scramble to come up with a new strategy on the fly and am empty handed.
My frustration builds, and my anticipation becomes excruciating stifling, but I’m now keenly aware of my surroundings.
I hear a noise, a rustling of mud and shrubbery from behind me. My ears perk up and my muscles tense.
As I can attest, given that I am looking at them, the kidnappers are in front of me. So, whatever is approaching me from behind, I consider it threatening.
I slowly turn towards the noise and hover my hand over a pistol on my belt, making sure I’m prepared for anything that might jump out at me—human or animal.
Once I’m completely turned around, I’m met with two beady eyes, looking up at me.
It’s Edgar.
He had followed me without me knowing.
Instinctively, I’m annoyed, not wanting to worry about another thing as I’m most concerned with getting Adelaide out alive, and back to me.
Edgar, however adorable, can add stress to even the simplest of things.
This is bound to not go well.
But then, I melt, which I find myself doing often with him.
And like a light bulb going off in my head, I realize he could be the perfect sidekick for this mission.
