by Chris Lowry
He smiled at the phone.
“It helps quite a bit,” he said. “And the rest of your trip? Are you enjoying yourself?”
He heard the whisper of fabric and imagined the boy was shrugging.
“We’re going to another refugee camp in two weeks,” said Brill. “They don’t want the unrest to spread, so we’re taking more food to them.”
“That’s wise,” said Shelby. “I hope your trip is safe.”
He signed off with the boy and stared at his notes for a while longer.
No training, he mused. No indication that he was doing spy asset work, and yet Brill provided almost a million dollars worth of information that could be acted upon.
Even more if he could put together the weapons.
He reached into a drawer and rustled out another folder.
There were a few contacts he had with those kinds of assets.
Shelby wondered how fast they could deploy them and if he could use the money for the stock trades.
If he could, the upside potential would be tremendous.
Enough to finance a campaign, he said as he dialed a number.
Brill had to report to him, and he had to report to someone further up the chain.
At least for now, he thought as he waited for his call to be answered.
CHAPTER
"There are so many things I want to show you when we get home," she said.
Her fingers twirled in and around his, tracing his lifeline, the bumps on the backs of his knuckles.
"It's got to be more than we have here."
"I liked it here," she sighed. "But it's not home."
He had never seen her home and he could agree it was a better place than the small town where he grew up. It rated a dot on the map and a storied history with the railroad, but there wasn't much more it could claim to fame. Why a South African exchange student would choose it was beyond him, though she said she had little choice in the process.
But he introduced her to the fun side of rural America anyway. Bonfires, trashcan punch parties, small town football games that broke attendance records.
"It's like the movies," she whispered in his ear as they danced at the Homecoming, her cultured accent sending shivers of delight up and down his spine.
It was like the movies, almost.
Except there were few options open to many of the kids growing up there, at least when you grew up poor.
He could join the Army, but his grandparents didn't like that option and spoke against it at every Sunday dinner. Their plan for him involved a job at the paper mill secured by his cousin, or going to college and returning to teach English at the high school.
Those paths had been outlined for him so long, mapped out and discussed any time the future was mentioned, that he almost thought that was all for him.
A life predetermined and predestined, decided by a simple quirk of fate.
Until she showed up.
It was her smile that captured his heart the first time he saw her.
Scared eyes watching the crowd during school assembly, being introduced by the Principal. Four exchange students, from France, Amsterdam, Span and South Africa.
"I felt so out of place," she told him once. "Everyone talked so funny. Ya'll. What does that even mean?"
"It means us," he said.
That was the first time she kissed him.
The first time he knew he wanted to follow her across the world.
CHAPTER
The plane ride was bumpy and nerve-wracking.
The first time Brill had been in a plane it was to fly to Africa. He was nervous over the Atlantic Ocean, imagining how it would feel to plummet into the dark depths below.
If not for the young girl holding his hand, he might have said no.
But Laurette was an exchange student at his small high school and now it was his turn to follow her home.
Because she was involved in charity work through her father, Brill got involved as well. They collected food and delivered it to the entrance to shantytowns under the watchful eyes of armed guards.
And now Laurette, Mr. Van Housen and Brill were flying to a refugee camp in Angola.
“There are over fifteen thousand people in this camp,” Mr. Van Housen screamed over the turboprop.
“There’s always a shortage of food, medicine, essentials. I’m warning you Brill, it’s going to be awful.”
Brill nodded, though he knew he couldn’t imagine it.
Growing up poor in America was very different from being poor in another country.
He had learned that first hand just gazing through the barricades into the shantytowns.
“The smell will knock you over,” warned Van Housen. “I know aid workers have tried to set up sanitation and latrines, but with so many people in such a small space-“
“It’s just too much for them Father,” Laurette interjected.
“We'll do what we can to help,” said Mr. Van Housen reassured her.
Brill didn’t say it out loud, but he wondered if it was enough.
CHAPTER
The doctor that met them was nothing like Dr. Howell. Where she was tall, lean, this man was five six in his hiking boots and couldn't have topped one twenty soaking wet.
He had as shock of black hair that looked as if it refused to be tamed by a comb, and thick glasses that made him look perpetually surprised.
"Butters," he said in an Aussie accent as he met the plane and ushered them to a waiting Land Cruiser.
He waited for them to get settled, Mr. Van Housen in the front seat, Brill and Laurette in the seats behind them.
"You're my volunteers, eh?" His dark eyes flicked to the rear view mirrors.
"You done this sort of thing before?"
"She's a regular," Brill said. "I'm the newbie."
"Yank?"
"Laurette did an exchange in Arkansas for her gap year," Mr. Van Housen explained.
"Arkansas? Where's that?"
"In the middle," said Brill.
Butters nodded.
"Johnny Cash from there, yeah?"
Brill nodded and smiled.
"Love me some man in black, eh."
Butters drove with competant experience over the bouncing road that led to the refugee camp. Brill's breath hitched in his throat as it came into view.
"They don't normally send a doctor out to greet you blokes," Butters said. "You must be something special."
Mr. Van Housen shook his head in modesty.
"We're just here to help."
"Yeah? Well we can use it, I tell you," said Butters. "Just the medical alone, we're stretched to hamburger surgery. The folks coming across the border are shot all to Hell. And don't get me started on dysentary."
"We have to work with the resources available," Mr. Van Housen explained.
"Yeah, I know that," Butters waved him off. "But seems like the UN or your government could do a little more. I mean man, babies are dying."
"We know," Van Housen looked pained. "It's moving forward."
"Anything we can do to make it go faster?" Butters asked.
"Pray?"
"Yeah, you take a look at what we got inside and let me know if you feel like praying after."
The road drifted through a set of tents set up on either side as they topped a small rise. Brill could see tents stretched for what looked like miles. Between the tents were smaller lean-to's and even blankets stretched across ropes.
People were everywhere.
Thousands of them. Standing in line. Milling about. Waiting for food. Waiting for water.
Waiting for the medical staff to check them out. Waiting for help.
He could feel the same sense of desperation off this crowd as the first camp and vowed to follow whatever instructions the doctor or anyone in charge provided.
There was no way he wanted to set off another riot, and especially not with this many people around.
"Here we are," Butters said as he pulled the Land Cruiser ne
xt to a large tent. "We'll sort out the duties for you two here, and I'll give you the grand tour."
He sent Brill and Laurette into the tent with another volunteer and drove Mr. Van Housen toward the far side of the camp.
CHAPTER
Brill heard what he thought were firecrackers on the edge of the camp.
The screams reached him next, then a wave of people stampeded past.
Women clutched wailing children, men shouted and tried to push back in the direction they were fleeing.
"Laurette," Brill shouted above the din.
He moved back into the one room shanty that served as a medical and administration center. Laurette was at one of the rickety old desks with a young doctor who was making a list of medicines for them to bring on the next trip.
"Something’s happening," he said.
The doctor, Jan perked up as screams and gunfire broke through the open door.
"Rebels," she said. "You need to get clear."
She grabbed Laurette by the arm and shoved her toward the door.
"Go!" she screamed. "Meet your father at the airstrip."
"What about you?" Laurette jerked her arm free.
"They don't hurt doctors," she said. "But staff and anyone else needs to get away."
She pushed them out onto the wooden steps and slammed the doors closed in their faces.
They could hear a bar being dropped across the inside of the doors, blocking them out.
"Run," Brill grabbed her hand.
They pushed out into the crowd but running was an optimistic assessment for what they were doing in the press of human bodies.
Gunfire erupted behind them. Brill heard the whiz of bullets over their heads.
He dragged her faster.
The camp wasn't set up for quick movement.
Refugees built their shelters out of available material they could scrounge, and in no pattern or order, except for the main corridor.
It ran straight from the airstrip to the almost middle of camp where a quasi council held meetings.
The medical and admin building was near the center.
Brill and Laurette had to make a trek from the center of the camp to the airstrip, a trip that would normally take ten minutes by truck.
But every panicked refugee crowded into the clearest path creating a human traffic jam and blocking escape.
Fear made them careless and reckless.
The refugees knocked down the elderly, the children and vaulted over them when they could.
But it was too much. People were trampled.
The crowd grew too thick to move, just surged as everyone shuffled forward.
Brill held on to Laurette’s hand, wrapped his arm around her, trying to keep her close.
A man's head exploded next to him and showered him with gore.
Laurette screamed and gagged, her body seizing as breakfast came up.
A woman knocked her down into the mud and muck.
Brill hovered over her. The bodies slammed into him, people tried to shove him aside, and down, out of their way so they could escape.
He tried to lift her up as refugees bounced off them, stepped on them and over them.
Then the crowd was gone, moved past them.
Brill jerked Laurette up and limped after the last of the people fleeing.
A hand grabbed him and threw him to the ground.
He rolled over and stared up into the snarling black face of a rebel. He must have been the same age as Brill, or younger even.
The rebel shoved the hot barrel of an AK-47 into his chest and pushed him further into the muck.
"Brill..." Laurette sobbed.
Another rebel grabbed her by the hair and lifted her off the ground.
She screamed and kicked.
Brill lunged for them.
The rebel over him drew back his rifle and slammed the butt into his head and everything went dark.
CHAPTER
The rumbling of a truck engine woke him up. He cracked open one eye and squinted.
His head was surrounded by ancient muddy combat boots, shredded sneakers and black bare feet.
He looked up.
The rebels were crammed into the back of a pickup truck bed, nine or ten of them surrounding him.
His arms were tied behind his back and he was in the middle of them.
They spoke in a patois he couldn't understand.
"Hey," one of the rebels in front of him said.
Brill glanced over.
The rebel smiled to show a big gold tooth and kicked him in the face.
He blacked out again.
CHAPTER
"We don't know."
Mr. Van Housen stared at the phone and if the man on the other end had been in front of him, he might have used the instrument to pound an answer out of his forehead.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"We don't know where they went."
"Did you purpose a satellite?"
The man sighed. His exasperation was evident through the line. But when he spoke, his voice was calm.
"We requested our own and assistance from the US since one of their citizens was taken. We haven't been able to determine anything from the reconnaissance."
"Did we track their weapons?"
"We didn't recover their weapons. The peacekeepers at the camp are instructed to not fight back."
"Even when they kidnap people," Van Housen frothed at the mouth. "Even when they take my daughter!"
"I'm sorry, sir," the man on the other end replied. "I'll inform you if I hear anything else.
Van Housen heard the click on the other end of the line and pounded the plastic receiver against the table until it cracked.
He grabbed both ends of the phone and ripped it apart, then threw the pieces at the wall.
It didn't help.
He felt helpless. Angolan rebels had kidnapped his daughter and her boyfriend and no one had contacted the government with demands. No one had laid claim to the carnage.
They sneaked across the border, created chaos and stole back into the interior of the jungle where no one could find them.
Not no one, he thought. Just no one in their government.
They weren't sufficiently motivated. They were content to wait for a ransom demand, then determine if the effort was worth cost.
And he was expected to abide by the rules. He was expected to just wait.
He glared at the broken phone and sobbed. Then he yanked the cord from the wall and went into the kitchen where a second phone waited.
There was someone he knew from a long time ago that might have an answer.
He just wasn't sure if it was an answer he wanted.
CHAPTER
Goldie slapped him awake.
That's what he was going to call the rebel with the gold tooth.
Brill was bent over a table, his feet on the floor, ankles tied to the table leg with just a little slack.
His arms were stretched across the width of the table, each tied to a table leg.
He had his shirt on, but they removed his jeans and boxers.
Across from him, he Laurette was tied in the same fashion.
Bent over the table, arms and legs lashed to the table legs, and completely naked. She sobbed.
Goldie slapped him again.
"Wake!" the rebel cried. "Wake."
He lifted Brill's head up and made a motion with his fingers.
He pointed at Brill's eyes, then back at his own.
He repeated it twice to make sure Brill got the message.
Watch.
Goldie strutted around the table until he was behind Laurette.
