“Look, sir, all I can tell you right now is that there’s an agent in country working hard to get Geller to safety,” Besserman said. “Operating within your parameters has made it very difficult to assure success.”
“Well, it might all blow up tomorrow anyway,” Young said. “Michelle Ryland has some sources that are telling her what’s going on and she’s working on a story set to air tomorrow.”
“Then let us use Special Forces, sir.”
Young paused for a moment. “Did you figure out another way?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“We might be able to escape a fiasco in the press and turn Geller into a hero, leveraging her new global fame to strengthen terrorism-fighting partnership abroad.”
“That’s gambling with two people’s lives, sir.”
“Bobby, I know I don’t need to lecture you that sometimes in this position, we have to weigh the costs of certain decisions. And I know that losing both the agent and Geller would be tragic. However, if she manages to make it out alive, we could potentially save hundreds of thousands of lives with a better network of sharing intelligence on these terrorist groups. It’s a burden I must bear, but one I will live with regardless of what ultimately happens.”
“Then say a prayer, sir. Because my confidence that this will turn out well for everyone involved is low.”
“Run whatever disinformation campaign you can,” Young said. “And keep me posted on any new developments. The second that Geller is safe, I want to know.”
“Of course, sir.”
Young hung up and rubbed his face with his hands. He got ready for bed and slipped beneath the covers, careful not to wake his wife, who was already sleeping soundly.
He laid on his back, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the ceiling in the darkness, unsure if he could get even five minutes of sleep.
CHAPTER 19
Kwango Province, Congo
RACHEL GELLER SHIELDED her eyes as a flashlight shone directly on her face. She mumbled something, wondering aloud what was going on. But her questions were ignored as two men untied her. When they had removed the bindings, they took her by her arms and dragged her out of her tent. The cool morning temperature chilled Geller, who suddenly wished she had a coat.
After she reached outside the door, a commander came up to the two guards and told them that he was going to return to Kazadi. As Geller waited, she scanned the area, searching for any opening she might have to escape. Even at dawn’s first light, the camp was already bustling with activity. Soldiers hustled back and forth with weapons. Allterrain vehicles puttered along the perimeter, delivering supplies for the day. Barrels of water and cases of munitions were two of the items that stood out to Geller.
Gotta stay hydrated when shooting that many rounds.
Deep in the jungle of Congo, staying hydrated was mandatory if someone wanted to stay alive. Without water, the sweltering environment could make someone go mad. But armed soldiers teetering on the edge of insanity could create some issues for leadership within the camp.
While Geller recognized she was working with some smart people, the human element was always the ace up her sleeve. Her ability to read people was why she was leading the State Department for the most powerful nation in the world. The president needed someone who could assuage hurt feelings, stand up to bullies, and bring opposing sides together—all to create a more stable world. And nobody did that better than Geller.
You can do this, Rachel. It’s just like talking to a diplomat.
There were certain items she needed to make an escape. She hoped President Young would send the cavalry charging through the gates to rescue her, but she couldn’t be certain. The way she’d pushed to get him to approve the trip made her less sure. Plus, the longstanding public policy that the U.S. didn’t negotiate with terrorists. Unable to count on extraction, she needed to take matters into her own hands, one way or another. Untold damage could be done by acquiescing to Kazadi’s demands, the kind that could weaken the U.S.’s position in dealing with global terrorism. But Kazadi would use her whichever way she decided—reading a script to talk about the evils of America or being killed by ruthless terrorists as a propaganda piece. She couldn’t win with either choice he gave her, leaving her to pursue a third option: attempting an escape.
Due to the level of activity around the camp, she could create a diversion—if she had enough time away from the watchful eyes of the guards following her every move. It would be dangerous, but her desperation caused her to shrug off caution. But would it be enough time to escape? That was the looming question she could only answer one way.
Geller was still formulating a plan when the commander strode up to her with Kazadi. The ADF leader studied her for a moment before saying anything.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
“Like a baby,” she said.
“So, you reached a decision?”
She nodded. “I’ll read your script.”
Kazadi smiled big and rubbed his hands together. “Good girl. I knew you’d come to your senses. Now, you need to look your best for the video. Go wash up.”
The commander nodded at the guards, who took Geller by her arms and ushered her outside of the camp to the Kwango River. There were three guards in all, including the boy who’d given her water the day before. She eyed him closely, trying to get a read on him. But he just stared vacantly at her.
When she reached the shore, she knelt down and scooped up a handful of water, splashing it against her face. The chilling sensation felt refreshing. She took a deep breath before turning to the guards.
“Do you have a mirror I could use?” she asked in French.
None of them even acknowledged her, except for the boy, who cast a glance at her and made eye contact for a moment.
“Do you at least have a wash cloth?” she asked.
This time, the boy nodded and stepped forward. He handed her a tightly wadded rag, clutching it tightly until it was secured in her hand. It was an awkward handoff, but she didn’t question it.
“Merci,” she said with a thin smile.
But Geller felt something firm inside and decided to turn her back on the guards and dip the cloth in the water to conceal whatever item was inside. While she wasn’t sure what it was, she sensed the boy didn’t want the other two guards to know what he’d done.
She eased the rag beneath the water with both hands. Once she unfurled the drenched cloth, she saw a pocket knife sink to the bottom of the shallow river bed.
Geller took her time washing her face as she pondered her escape. As tantalizing as diving into the river and attempting to swim away seemed to her, she knew she’d only get caught a few hundred meters downstream and her treatment would ultimately worsen. She considered jamming the knife into the neck of one of the guards and stealing his weapon, but that wouldn’t get her far. She needed something massive that would arrest everyone’s attention so she could steal away into the jungle. But the longer she took inventory of all the possibilities around her, the more she realized how impossible actually escaping would be.
She cuffed both her pant legs and glanced over her shoulder at the guards.
“That’s enough,” one of the guards said.
Geller picked up a handful of rocks and flung them to the side. It was just enough to distract them, preventing them from seeing her drop the pocket knife into her right cuff.
She closed her eyes and said a little prayer. Geller hadn’t even uttered the word “amen” before one of the guards yanked her to her feet.
“It’s time to go,” he said with a growl. “Kazadi is ready for you.”
CHAPTER 20
Kwango Province, Congo
BLACK TRIED HIS COMS again in the morning without any luck. From his perch high atop the trees, he turned his attention to surveilling the compound. Not long after daylight broke, he spied a trio of guards ushering Secretary Geller back from the river. She trudged along somewhat willingly, likely tired of
being prodded with the butt of a rifle. Her knees buckled as one of the guards, who looked far too young to be toting a weapon, hit her behind her knees. She staggered for a moment before regaining her balance. The guards all laughed, mocking Geller’s stumble with several re-enactments.
Based on where Kazadi had gone, Black anticipated where Geller would be taken. Using the course through the tree canopy that he’d pieced together by studying it for a half-hour, Black ventured to the space directly over the camp. If a soldier were to look up, they would surely notice Black moving from limb to limb even at about thirty meters off the ground. But Black had to take a chance at some point. And there was never going to be a better opportunity.
As he maneuvered toward his final destination, his foot slipped, causing him to snap a small branch. It cracked and then broke off completely before drifting down to the jungle floor inside the camp. Black scurried across the limb and took cover on the other side of the tree. He peered around the side back toward the spot where the break occurred and noticed a curious soldier holding the broken twig in his hand while searching the canopy overhead.
After a long pause, the soldier shrugged and continued on his path. He glanced up at the trees several more times, but if he saw Black, the man never gave any indication.
Black reached the most difficult section of his path. There was a wide gap between two trees and the limbs that were sturdy enough to sustain his weight. To reach the next tree, he needed to use a grappling hook and a rope. He twirled the cord around before releasing it toward the tree. However, he missed his mark, the teeth from the hook snagging a smaller branch.
Black cursed under his breath as he tried to yank the hook free and try again. But it wouldn’t budge. With Geller getting closer to the tent, he couldn’t delay any longer or he might lose his best chance to extract her.
Here goes nothing.
Black leaped toward the other tree, careful not to put any weight on the rope until he absolutely had to. He was more than halfway across before he needed the momentum of the rope to reach the trunk of the other tree.
Black latched on, digging his fingers into the bark as the rope dangled loosely next to him. Without much time left to act, Black slid down a few feet to reach the nearest sturdy limb. He ventured out about five meters before quickly tying another rope around the branch. After hurriedly putting on a pair of gloves, he watched the guards leading Geller to the tent where he’d last seen Kazadi.
Black took a deep breath and then dropped down the rope, his hands sliding but growing uncomfortably warm with friction heat. Keeping his left hand on the rope, he used his right hand to rip the knife from its sheath. The rope was about twelve feet short of the ground, just low enough that he could land without injury but high enough that the dangling end wouldn’t be immediately noticed.
As Black let go, he aimed for the chest of one of the men, landing both feet on him. The man toppled easily to the ground. Black slashed the man’s throat while reaching for his gun. With a sound suppressor attached, he pumped two shots into the other guard’s center mass before he could get his finger on the trigger. The boy guard gaped at the scene before dropping his weapon and running off.
Black holstered his knife and then reached into his pocket to produce a grenade. He pulled the pin before hurling it in the opposite direction. When it went off, the camp erupted in a hive of activity. Black wasted no time in tossing another one in the opposite direction to create even more confusion. Gunfire rang out as the haze from the explosions rolled along the jungle floor. Men shouted excitedly as gun smoke filled the air. Walkie-talkies screeched as commanders shouted out instructions to fortify the compound from the attack.
Black hurled two more grenades, igniting more gunfire.
Then he turned to look at Geller, who had been knocked down during the initial altercation. She staggered to her feet as another guard rushed toward her. She side-stepped him and then drove her pocket knife into his throat. Black finished the man off with a bullet to the back of his head.
“Let’s get outta here,” he said.
“Lead the way,” Geller said.
Black nodded at the chain-link fence, which they both scurried over without any issues. He handed her a gun and directed her toward the river.
“How many are there?” she asked as they ran.
“Just me,” Black said.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was, but this is your cavalry.”
“Where’s the extraction point?” she asked.
“A half-mile south on the river,” Black said. “I received confirmation this morning that a plane would be waiting on the Kwango at some coordinates not far from here.”
“We’ll never make it,” she said between breaths.
“You will,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Bullets whizzed past them, pinging along the jungle floor and ripping through nearby foliage. Black kept his head low and more shots were fired.
“They’re gaining on us,” Geller said.
“I know,” Black said. “But I’m going to make sure you get out of here alive.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I have some unfinished business back at the camp, not to mention you need someone to lay down some cover so you can escape.”
“Are you out of your mind? They’ll catch you and kill you, doing to you exactly what they wanted to do to me.”
“Just keep running parallel with the river,” Black said. “You’ll see the plane. The pilot’s name is Gene. Just don’t try to be a hero and wait for me, okay?”
“You’re a psycho,” she said.
“It’s the only kind of people who can do this job,” Black said with a grin. “Now keep running and don’t look back.”
Black veered away from shore and deeper into the jungle. He found a tree with a good view of the clearing along the riverbank. From his perch, he hustled to put his rifle together and load it. Within seconds after getting prepared, he saw two ADF soldiers closing in on Geller’s position and firing at her. Black sighted his weapon and took aim.
The first man’s head exploded as Black hit him after three shots. The other man stumbled and fell face-first into the sand after Black pelted him with a couple of shots in his chest.
Black wielded his weapon back toward the camp when he heard the rumbling of an ATV. A man situated behind a rocket launcher that was mounted on the roll bar barked out orders as he watched Geller through a pair of binoculars. Black hit the man with a shot, knocking him out of the moving vehicle. The driver skidded to a stop to see what had happened, giving Black plenty of time to get off a good shot at the two men in the front seat. Seconds later, the pursuit was over.
Black waited for a moment to make sure no other ADF militia were pursuing Geller before shimmying down the tree. Once he reached the ground, he reloaded and headed back in the direction of the camp.
He had a promise to fulfill.
* * *
WHEN BLACK REACHED the camp, a flurry of activity continued. To keep the chaos going, he tossed three more grenades into the camp. Two tents caught on fire and soldiers started firing into the woods.
Black crouched low in the bushes and peered through his binoculars at the scene. There were more than a handful of boy soldiers, roaming the camp with weapons. But Black was looking for only one—Shantu.
The only way Black could identify him was by an injury that resulted in the top portion of Shantu’s left ear being bitten off by a hog. Patrice had told Black a story while they were cruising the Kwango River about how their father had raised hogs to meet the demand for ham and bacon by foreign nationals near Kinshasa. It was a job looked down upon by most in their Muslim community, leaving the entire family as outcasts. And when Shantu was attacked at age three, many people in the area said that’s what their family deserved for farming hogs.
Patrice’s father said it was a blessing because Shantu’s life had been spared, taking the glass-half-full approach to
the incident. It was one Patrice seemed to share during his short existence, hoping that Shantu could be rescued from Kazadi’s tyranny. Black intended to reward that hope.
As he scanned the area, he heard a click.
Black raised his hands and turned around. Staring down at him from the other side of a rifle was the same boy who’d escorted Secretary Geller up from the water and had been knocked down in the initial altercation inside the camp.
The boy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth. He was about to shout when Black’s gaze met his.
“Shantu?”
The boy scowled. “How do you know my name?” he asked in French.
“Your brother, Patrice. He made me promise I would come back and get you.”
Shantu’s eyes widened. “You saw my brother?”
Black nodded. “He wanted you to come home.”
“Where is he now?”
Black sighed and looked down at the dirt. “He’s dead—killed by the very people you fight with.”
“Why would they be shooting him?”
“Because he was with me,” Black said. “And I promised if he helped me, I would get you out of this camp.”
“Patrice is dead?” Shantu asked, the weight of the statement taking some time to register.
Black nodded. “I tried to save him, but I couldn’t. But he made me promise to save you. That’s why I’m back.”
Shantu shook his head, keeping his gun trained on Black. “Why would I go? I have nowhere to turn to now. This is my family.”
“Shantu, these people don’t care about you. They’re using you. I’ll help you find a new home and get a new start on life.”
“But I don’t want that. I want to stay here. Patrice didn’t know what was best for me.”
Bullets peppered the area, interrupting their conversation. A man from inside the fence shouted about seeing hostiles outside.
State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 9
