by Seeley James
Big-gut rolled out from behind a tree, his Sig Sauer directly in Pia’s face.
“Got you, you fucking berk.” He looked her up and down. “Say, you’re a big strapping lass, aren’t ya?”
Fear overtook her like a giant wave, all at once and unstoppable. She shook.
His eyes were clear, his nasty breath had no trace of alcohol. Pia looked for an opportunity to strike but saw none. She stepped closer, holding her hands up.
“Stop right there.” He tossed his nose up. “Now let the gun swing by the trigger guard and hand it over, nice and slow.”
She did. He took the gun, slipped it in his belt.
“Keep your left hand out while I relieve you of this M4. Make me nervous and I’ll put a hole in your head.”
He slipped the strap off her and dropped the machine gun on the ground.
“Some shoulders you got there. You one of them transgender fellas?” He laughed and pressed his pistol into her ribs. “Now put your hands on top of your head, nice and slow.”
She did.
He motioned for her to turn around.
She did.
He yanked the Bluetooth earbud out of her ear and tucked it into his own. He pushed her forward, pressing his gun barrel into her back. They marched toward the huts.
Pia scanned the jungle for any sign of Calixthe. Nothing. She could only hope the older woman was looking for a weapon or waiting for Marty and Miguel.
Inside the courtyard, Big-gut edged her toward the larger structure. She pushed through the rug-covered doorway into a stench of mold and rotting meat. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. Eight bound and gagged women, ranging from six or seven to seventy or older, squatted in the center. Sixteen eyes rounded with fear. To the left a trap door stood open, waiting to swallow them up at any moment. Her muscles tensed and her nostrils flared.
Furious, Pia spun around. Big-gut smacked her face with the gun. Her eyes focused on the barrel.
“Don’t get cheeky,” he said. “Yes, the safety is off and I’ve chambered the first round. One squeeze, my little darling, and your miserable life is over.”
“Why didn’t you shoot me back there?”
“Shut up! Speak without permission again and I’ll put a bullet in your bloody knee.”
Pia felt oddly calm. More angry than scared. Her mind ran through scenarios: if she spoke and he lowered the gun to shoot at her knee, would she have time to knock him out before he pulled the trigger? Maybe. Maybe not.
A young guy of mixed race, maybe sixteen, ran in the room and stopped an arm’s length from her. Shirtless and shoeless, he wore True Religion blue jeans and looked vaguely familiar. Angular chin, wedge-shaped face, sharp darting eyes. The women cowered at the sight of him. He looked Pia up and down and smiled.
Big-gut turned his back and peered outside. He said, “Where’s your bloody captain then?”
Pia watched the young guy. He pulled twine out of a bag hanging on the wall. A bottle of pills fell to the floor. Big-gut barked a stream of obscenities at him. Young-guy scrambled to put the pills back, then approached her with the twine. She brought her hands off her head, bringing them to shoulder level while keeping her eyes on Big-gut. She sensed a nervousness underneath the man’s bravado. She guessed he was waiting for reinforcements.
“I’m not gonna shoot you if you answer my bloody question, you stupid git. But I’ll blow your toes off if you don’t. Where and how many?”
Young-guy motioned with his hands, wrists together, holding them out to mimic handcuffing. She shook her head as if she didn’t understand. He repeated the motion. She leaned in a little closer, cocked her head, and slid her left foot forward. She dropped her left hand to her waist. Her hands remained too far apart to tie up. The boy looked displeased. She bent her knees slightly, coiling and tensing every muscle in her body. Slowly, she drew her left hand back and made a fist. He repeated his motion indicating how he wanted her hands.
“Where are they and how many?” Big-gut bellowed.
“Two others. They were five minutes behind me.”
“Yeah? You’re just a scout, eh? And where’s Calixthe then?”
Young-guy stuck his hands out again, exasperated.
Pia exploded off her back foot with an uppercut that raised him off the ground and pushed the air out of his lungs. Before he could recover, she threw a right cross that shoved him backwards into Big-gut’s arm, forcing the gun outward as he fired. The women yelped and cried in their gags. Pia landed two lightning-fast body blows into Young-guy, pinning him to Big-gut and both to the door jamb. Big-gut swung the gun toward her, his eyes red with rage. Another uppercut banged the boy’s head backward into Big-gut hard enough to hurt them both. She twisted her body core to the left and landed her elbow in Young-guy’s face. He fell. She spun herself out the door at the same moment he fell, tripping her.
She rolled across the courtyard and landed on all fours, leapt to her feet and ran. Big-gut twisted around the door jamb, aimed and fired. A split second later she heard him trip over the same body. In his physical condition, he wouldn’t pop to his feet. Pia fled around the building’s backside, across the cleared space, into the darkness of the jungle. With every step she checked her nervous system for any indication of a wound and felt nothing. Fifty meters into the jungle she slipped behind an ebony tree and collected her breath.
Now what?
Chapter 21
* * *
26-May, 11:30AM
Pia Sabel wanted to throw up. Instead, she swallowed hard and shivered, a small tremor that grew into a full body spasm. She fought to get herself under control. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Every part of her body was slick with sweat. Every instinct in her told her to flee this dangerous place. Those last sixty seconds back there had been pure luck. She’d never survive another round. Despite being fitter, stronger, and quicker than Big-gut, he had a lot more experience and was far more ruthless. Worse was the fact that she’d led her team into the trap. Their lives were at stake because she fell for Calixthe’s treachery. If she wanted to be a leader, she needed to lead her people to safety immediately. It was the responsible thing to do.
Set against all that were the faces of the bound and gagged women in that stinking hut. They haunted her, enraged her. Morally, she saw no option but to charge once more into the fray. Yet her natural desire for self-preservation ordered her to run. A decision she could easily justify by saving her people. If she could ask them now, would Tania and Marty change their minds? Would they vote for a retreat to safety right now, knowing they could come back later, better armed? In a trembling state of panicked confusion, Pia fought her conflicted impulses. The pleading, terrified faces out of the youngest girls, innocent six-year-olds, flooded her conscience. Would the pirates let them live through the afternoon?
She had to go back. No question.
She fumbled her sat-phone out of her pack, shut down the Bluetooth connection, and held the phone to her ear. Silence.
“I’m out. Got away.” She took a breath to steady her voice. “I’ve shut off the Bluetooth so the hostiles won’t hear. We should have a clear line now. There are two of them in the big hut. Eight girls and women are in there bound and gagged.”
She heard movement to her left.
She dropped to one knee and laid the phone on the ground. Between streaks of light and shadow, she searched for anything that moved. Sunlight bounced unpredictably. Air currents turned leaves here and there. Something moved toward her. Miguel or Big-gut? Marty could be out there somewhere. Maybe there were more hostiles.
Pia drew the gun she’d confiscated from Calixthe, dropped the magazine out, and checked the load: sleeper darts. They were quiet, but would the greater range and stopping power of lead be worth the noise? Probably, but the chance for collateral damage was too great. No sense accidentally hurting the women she came to save. She slipped the magazine back in and scanned the shadows again.
“Pia.” Sounded like Miguel. “At the edge o
f the clearing now. No sign of hostiles.”
Bugs and birds chirped and squeaked and called. A human voice on the phone was out of character against the jungle’s background noise. Anyone nearby would have heard it and recognized it for what it was—Pia’s phone.
She left it on the ground and slid backwards five meters into a wall of ferns.
Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. A shadow crouched among the shadows to her left. The harder she stared, the more confused the shadows became. One shadow blended into another. More shadows layered on top of those. But the one that caught her eye, the one that she stared into until her vision blurred, had a shape. The shape of it scared her. It was definitely human. Someone was out there. The shadow carried a stick, held high in striking position. Calixthe? Delany? Marty? Young-guy? She wanted a target but this shadow presented nothing discernible.
The figure rose, fully silhouetted, and flew to the ebony tree in full attack, raising the stick high like a club. Pia aimed carefully and fired three shots.
Calixthe dropped to the ground.
Pia stabbed the antidote injector into her leg and checked her breathing. She grabbed the phone.
“I’ll be there in a second. Have you found him?”
“Pia, stay,” Miguel said.
Her temper flared until she remembered the Major’s words in Geneva: Stay behind us, not in front of us. No doubt Miguel and Marty were ready to shoot anything that moved. She stayed.
After two motionless minutes, she decided that closer would be better. Just in case they needed her help. She slipped from one tree to the next, a watchful glance tossed in every direction as she went. At the bamboo stand she saw her M4 lying on the ground. She slipped her Glock in her waist pack, picked up the heavier gun, and moved the firing switch to three-round bursts. She dug her spare earbud out of her pack, joined it to the phone and squished it in her ear. She double checked that her new unit was connected and Big-gut’s was off. She listened to the comlink. Marty and Miguel were silent. Good.
After a careful look around, she moved on.
Everything vibrated with light and shadow and sound and movement. She tried to sense the enemy presence. Tweets and beeps and scratches filled her ears, the noise of the jungle continued undaunted. A distant chimpanzee, a nearby cricket, a noisy bird. She tried to hone in on anything man-made. Her skin picked up cooler air currents near the bushes and muddy places, warmer currents where the sun streaked through the canopy. Her nose picked up the scent of animals she’d not noticed earlier, village dogs maybe. Among those natural scents, the faint scent of soap from the hotel—Marty.
Her eyes were wide open as she searched for movement in her peripheral vision. She was the assassin now, stalking her prey. She knew the look she’d seen on others was the look she wore herself at this moment.
Motion to her left. She snapped her head to see Marty staring down his M4 twenty meters away. Her heart wound up ready to burst. She felt incredibly light, but not in a good way. Marty scowled at her and pointed. She pointed toward the huts, turned her rifle that way and stalked forward.
Marty went ahead, one eye on the ground in front of him and one eye sighting down the barrel. His posture became her model. Pia pulled her M4 around, looked down the sight, aimed it at everything, then lowered it and slithered to the next tree. Her heart pounded in her ears to the point of distraction. Her nerves jangled with electricity, as if she’d found the light socket with her fingers. Yet she moved forward. She thought about Big-gut’s breath. No alcohol meant the bottle of booze he’d chugged earlier was just for show. Calixthe had already admitted she told them Pia was coming. So why had Big-gut faked it? Why lure her in when there were only two men and a couple boys? Why hadn’t he killed her when he had the chance? Why did Young-guy look familiar?
At the moment she figured it out, gunfire raked a stand of trees to her left. Marty dropped to the ground. Pia did the same. Her brain shut off every extraneous thought and detail. On her earbud she heard Marty’s voice.
“Pia, you OK?”
“Yes, shots came from your left.”
Three shots echoed through the trees and Miguel’s voice came in.
“Darted him. Looks young.”
“That leaves Big-gut,” Pia said. “I’m going for the hut.”
The Major broke into their call. “We’re bringing the boat up river. It’s shallow, so we’ll drop a Zodiac to pick you—”
“NO!” Pia said, her voice low but fierce. “It’s a trap. They want to draw you in. DO NOT COME UP RIVER. That’s an order.”
No one spoke.
Pia jumped up and ran for the hut. Marty stayed near the perimeter, covering the jungle. Miguel popped out of the jungle fifteen meters away and followed her in. She jumped the steps, threw herself through the entrance, rolled onto the floor and to her knees in a firing position. Miguel stayed outside. His gun swept the village. Then he charged inside behind her.
The women were gone. The hut was empty except for a few things pushed against the walls. A camp stove on a table, six beaten-up stools, a shelf of dry goods, a stack of plastic containers. A backpack hung from a hook.
“Talk to me,” Marty said.
“Empty,” Miguel said.
“Not exactly,” Pia said. “We have his medication.”
She pointed to the center of the room. A large Muslim prayer rug lay on the floor. She pointed to the backpack on the wall. Miguel squinted at her, unsure what she meant.
“Keep watch outside, Marty,” Miguel said. “The boss is up to something.”
Pia rose and rifled the backpack. One bottle of Lithium and one of Dantrium, each half full.
She showed them to Miguel, who shrugged.
“Someone’s a psycho,” she said loudly. She walked toward the rug. “Lithium in this dosage is for total schizophrenia. There’s a rare but deadly side effect that requires Dantrium. I saw it in a clinic I sponsored in Suriname. Without Dantrium the patient’s muscles lock up like rigor mortis. Then his brain goes back to the schizoid state, making a bad condition worse.”
She tugged on the prayer rug, pulled it up. The trap door came up with it. A wooden ladder disappeared into the darkness below.
“Hey, Big-gut,” she called down, “did you know Cameroon is a predominantly Christian country? Using a Muslim prayer rug to hide your trap door was just as stupid as leaving your medication up here. Think Elgin Thomas gives a rat’s ass about your problems? Think Elgin Thomas is going to disrupt his timeline to get you more meds? I mean, c’mon, he already left you behind because he can’t trust your scrambled brain. Ready to work with me?”
From deep inside the hole came the brief but hopeful sound of the bound women struggling to free themselves, then the silence of a struggle lost. Pia clenched her fist. She said, “Hey, Englishman. You got a name?”
Silence.
She looked back at Miguel, “See if there’s a flashlight or something around here.”
He produced one from his pocket and she panned it around the hole. Deeper than she thought, with six tunnels that radiated out from the bottom of the ladder. She sat back on her knees and thought. The tunnels could come up somewhere else, in another hut or another part of the village. Or he could be stuck in a dead end with eight hostages. Going after him was the only way to find out.
“Marty, check the other huts and around the clearing. See if this tunnel comes up somewhere else. I doubt it, but keep an eye out. Miguel, stay topside.”
On the phone, the Major said, “Trouble out here. The trawler just deployed four Zodiacs, two of them heading up river to your position. The other two are heading directly for us. They’ve just launched a RPG and missed us. Get out of there on the double.”
“I’m freeing the women,” Pia said. “Miguel, fire enough to push him back.”
She flew to the ladder and slid down into the dark.
The last three things she heard before her comlink lost connection were:
The Major, “NO!
Miguel! Do not let Pia drop down that hole.”
Ezra, “Don’t worry about us, Tiger. Do what’s right.”
Miguel, “Too late, want me to go after her?”
Chapter 22
* * *
Niger Delta, Cameroon
26-May, Noon
“JESUS CHRIST!” The Major slammed her fist onto the table. “What the hell is wrong with that girl?”
Tania shrugged and dropped a magazine of sleeper darts out of her M4. After a long stare at the Major, she slammed in a thirty-round magazine of parabellums. “I’m not dying in this hellhole to save that bitch. She dove into a hole in the ground like a moron—that’s her problem. We clear out of here. Soon as we have Miguel and Marty on board. Jacob was right, we should have left the slavers alone.”
“Think, Tania, think! The spoiled rich kid figured it out.” The Major grabbed a magazine of bullets and made the same swap. “Maybe you can too.”
“What?”
“There never were any slavers.”
Tania glared at her and slipped on a Kevlar vest. She threw one to the Major and stomped away.
Two Zodiacs approached at high speed, head on. Whittier turned the boat left, only to have the Zodiacs split up to circle wider. The Major checked her deployment: Ezra stood on the bow, Tania on one side slightly aft, Jacob on the other slightly forward.
The Zodiacs bounced over the waves. Even close up they’d make difficult targets.
“Run ’em down!” Ezra shouted over his shoulder, then pointed at one of the small boats. “I’ll take these guys out.”
The Limbe Explorer veered right, then swerved back to the left as a rocket-propelled grenade, RPG, flew over the Major’s head and continued out to sea. The Explorer’s propellers hadn’t yet hit full speed when one Zodiac attacked.
