Chapter Ten
Reese sat beside Ferrence, silently watching the proceedings, listening in one ear to the interpreter through the headset she’d been given, while also straining to hear news on anything going on outside the conference center.
She’d studied the Congolese military men when she’d stepped through the doors of the auditorium. Two guards on the door didn’t seem to be a lot. But then, she’d heard the team’s report on those on the outside. Still, for the number of delegates at the meeting, she would have thought Sabando would have had more of a show of force in the streets.
“Harm here. I’m going farther out from the conference center to see if anything’s happening in the streets. I’ll circle around two or three blocks out.”
“We’ll cover the corners of the exterior,” another one of the men reported.
On edge from the potential of hostilities, Reese was slightly comforted by the knowledge the SEALs were watching their backs. Though they were unarmed, they would provide a significant warning system should trouble arise outside the building.
“As the president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, what are you doing about the human rights violations happening at the Metro mines?” The English interpreter translated the words of the female representative from Rwanda, who spoke directly to the DRC president in French.
Reese focused her attention on the president’s response. He answered in French, the translation coming through moments later from the English interpreter.
President Sabando leaned into his microphone and answered with authority.
The interpreter translated, “I have my people looking into this.”
“While your people are looking into it, men, women and children are dying. Young children under the age of ten are dying in those mines and have been for years. Why are you not doing anything to prevent this?” the woman asked.
Sabando lifted his chin, narrowing his eyes just a little before answering, “Policy moves slowly in this country. I am working on it. These people make their living working the mines. If we take away their living, they will starve.”
The representative from Zambia spoke in English, “Food aid is available. Small children do not have to work in harsh conditions to eat.”
“The rebels intercept the rations to these people. They are part of the problem,” President Sabando replied.
The woman from Rwanda met Sabando’s glare with a steady, unbending one of her own and spoke in rapid-fire French. The translator struggled to keep up, but the message was clear. “Rumor has it your military is intercepting the rations, not the rebels.”
President Sabando pounded his fist on the table in front of him and fired back. The interpreter translated with the appropriate intonation. “Bosco Mutombo is responsible for stopping the food to the people. He steals from the people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo!”
“He claims he steals from your forces, taking the food away from them to give back to the people.” The president’s brother, Lawrence Sabando, entered the auditorium in full military regalia of the Congolese Army, speaking in English.
“He lies!” President Sabando stood so fast his chair fell over behind him. He pointed his finger at his brother and shouted in English. “And you would spread these lies because Mutombo works for you!”
“Tell the people of the African Union why you won’t allow elections.” The president’s brother shook his fist. “Tell them!”
President Sabando stood tall, his chest puffed out, his chin held high. “Because the nation is unsettled. An election now would cause riots in the streets.”
“There are already riots in the streets,” his brother reasoned. “You can’t control the change happening in our country. The people will prevail.”
Riveted by the power struggle going on between the two brothers, Reese almost missed the change in stance of the guards surrounding the room. “We might have trouble inside the auditorium,” she whispered, hoping the mic on her headset was sensitive enough to pick up her voice.
“Holy crap. Harm here. We have trouble coming in from the streets. A massive movement of people, who appear to be led by rebel forces, are on the march toward the conference center. Rebels are armed. Civilians have whatever they could get their hands on, from hunting rifles to axes and pitchforks. Must be a couple thousand.”
Reese’s heart leaped, and she stared around the room full of dignitaries, for a moment, at a loss for what to do.
“ETA?” Diesel’s reassuring voice sounded in her ear.
“Two or three minutes before they arrive,” he said, sounding as if he were running. “I’m closing ranks with the team.”
“What should we do?” Reese asked.
“Get Klein to the south door,” Diesel said. “The one to the far right of the door you entered.”
“What about the rest of the delegates?” she asked.
Ferrence leaned close to her. “What’s going on?”
Reese brought him up to date in a whisper. “We need to get out of here and seek shelter.”
“If we stand up in the middle of the Sabandos’ arguments, we’ll draw too much attention.”
“Did you hear that?” Reese asked into her mic.
“I don’t care,” Diesel said. “Get up and leave before things get hot on the inside, as well as the outside, of the auditorium.”
“Going,” Reese replied. Then she gripped Ferrence’s hand tightly and shot him a stern stare. “Either you come with me now, or risk being trapped in this building when all hell breaks loose.” She let go of him and gathered her notebook and pen, smiled at the people next to her and stood, hunkering low to keep from being too obvious.
She didn’t get far before the shouting became more intense.
“You will hold elections on time, or the people will have their say,” the president’s brother yelled, fist waving in the air.
The president remained firm. “These people do not know what is good for them. They are uneducated. The country is not stable. Elections will cause chaos, I tell you.”
“By not holding the elections as is mandated in our constitution, you will bring chaos down on all of us.” Lawrence nodded toward one of the guards by the door.
The man raised his weapon and started firing over the heads of the crowd of delegates.
As soon as Reese saw the man raise his weapon, she grabbed Ferrence’s arm and pushed him to the floor, covering his body with hers. “Get down,” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Shots fired,” she said, as if Diesel might not have heard the gunfire.
President Sabando dropped to the floor. “Are you insane?” he yelled to his brother.
“No, I’m determined to return the power to the people. This is a democratic republic, not a dictatorship. It is time for the tyrant to step down and be held accountable for his crimes!”
“This cannot be happening,” Ferrence said, from his position beneath Reese. “I have an important meeting with the president tomorrow.”
“Really?” Reese said, sliding to the side to poke her head up and assess the situation. “That’s all you can think about when your life is in danger?” People were screaming and dropping to the floor.
“My father sent me here for one purpose. If I’m not successful, for whatever reason, I’m a failure in his eyes.”
“Cry me a river, Ferrence. I’m getting out of here alive, even if I have to take out a few of these gun-toting terrorists myself.” She eyed the door Diesel had said to head for and mentally estimated forty feet between her and the door. “Look, Ferrence, we’re getting out of here, either you come with me and stand a better chance of living, or stay here and die.”
“Either way, I doubt I’ll get that meeting with Sabando. I wonder, if his brother takes over, can I meet with him instead?”
“For the love of Mike!” Reese cursed.
Ferrence struggled to his feet, bent over and followed Reese as she crossed the room toward the south door.
More shots were fired, echoing off the walls. Delegates cried out and rushed for the doors, pushing Reese and Ferrence in front of them.
Two men with guns blocked their path, pointing their weapons toward them.
Reese pretended to trip, falling into one of the men, shoving his weapon toward the ceiling. She performed her best side kick, aiming for the other man’s hands. His weapon jettisoned out of his hands and clattered to the floor. Meanwhile, Reese fought for control of the guy pointing his weapon toward the ceiling. He elbowed her in the side of the head, knocking her earbud out. Knowing she was running out of time and the other men with weapons would start firing at her across the room, she shoved her thumbs in the man’s eyes and lifted her knee with a swift upward jerk, kneeing him in the groin. The man went down, his grip loosening on the rifle. Reese wrested it from his grip and flung it away.
His partner lunged for Reese, but one of the delegates blocked him by swinging his briefcase up, hitting him in the nose. Blood spurted, and the gunman’s eyes watered. He went down, clutching his face in his hands.
With nothing standing between them and the door, Reese grabbed one of the rifles from the ground and rushed forward. She shoved through the door and ran out. While the rebels focused on the delegates and the president still back in the auditorium, Reese ran for the door on the opposite side of the wall. From what the SEAL team said, it would lead to the parking garage below. Reese held the door for Ferrence. “Go down as far as you can and hide. I’m right behind you.”
Before she could follow him, delegates shoved her out of the way, ran through the door and hurried down the stairs. Then the president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo appeared in front of her. “Who are you?” he demanded in English.
“Does it matter? If you want to be safe, follow me,” Reese commanded.
The president nodded and hurried down the steps after her. Reese glanced over her shoulder. The last one through the door above was the president’s brother, Lawrence Sabando.
She knew it would mean more trouble, but she had to get these people and Ferrence to safety. She’d deal with the troublemakers later. Then the door to the auditorium slammed shut, and no more delegates emerged. Several men dressed in shabby rebel camouflage uniforms rushed toward them.
Reese ran down the stairs, following the slower moving delegates. At the rate they were moving, the terrorists would catch up and shoot her first. And since the president was with her, she might as well have a bright red target painted on her back.
All she’d been paid to do was keep track of Ferrence Klein, be his assistant and protect him. Had she known she’d be at the center of a national coup attempt, she might have told the Kleins where they could go with their money. But second-guessing herself wouldn’t get her out of the current situation. She had to use her brain and her fighting skills to see herself through and get Ferrence safely back to the States.
She didn’t have time to think about Diesel and his teammates, unarmed and at the mercy of the terrorists. But she couldn’t help wondering if they got out all right, or if they were in the midst of the fighting.
A loud crashing sound echoed down the stairwell. Voices shouted above, and someone fired shots that pinged off the concrete steps.
“Go! Go! Go!” Reese shouted to the people in front of her.
The people up front had reached the bottom of the staircase and spilled out into the lowest level of the parking garage. It wouldn’t take long for the gunmen to get to them. They had to find a place to hide.
“Ferrence!” she yelled, anxious to get to him. Her job was to protect him, and she couldn’t do it with all the others in the way.
“Over here!” Ferrence shouted. He held open a door marked with red lettering in French and English—Authorized Personnel Only.
With nowhere else to go but being out in the open in a free-for-all coup, Reese had no choice. “Get inside! Go!” She waved at the delegates and the president as if they were children who were slow to come off the playground. No one seemed to understand the urgency but Reese and Ferrence.
The squeal of car tires screamed off the concrete walls of the parking garage, heading lower in the building. They only had seconds to get everyone through the door and find some way of locking it behind them.
* * *
WHEN DIESEL HEARD Harm’s assessment of the outside situation, he’d immediately told Reese to get out. He walked up to the doors and was barred from entering by the two guards dressed in DRC uniforms. He saw no other way to get past them but to start a fight. As he balled his fists, ready to throw the first punch, gunshots rang out inside the auditorium.
The guards turned toward the doors, weapons at the ready.
“What’s going on in there?” Big Jake asked.
“Shots fired inside the auditorium. I’m going in.” Diesel shoved the guards from behind, pushing them into the melee of the auditorium.
More shots were fired from similarly dressed guards on the inside. The president of the DRC was running low to the ground, shouting orders like a football quarterback, while the delegates either lay flat on the ground or ran screaming for the doors.
Through the chaos, Diesel had a hard time locating Reese. Then, he spotted her on the far end of the large auditorium, taking out the two guards blocking her exit. She’d done as he’d told her and made for the south exit. Good girl!
Diesel would have cheered out loud at her skill and bravery, but bullets flew, and he had to get down or get shot. As soon as he was certain Reese and Klein made it out, Diesel backed toward the doorway he’d entered.
“The north end of the building has been breached,” Big Jake said into Diesel’s radio headset. “I repeat, the building has been breached.”
“We need weapons,” Buck lamented. “Without them, we’re useless.”
“Do your best to get the delegates to safety,” Diesel said. “There are only a few gunmen in the auditorium.”
“There are a lot more people with guns rushing the north entrance,” Harm said.
“Get into the auditorium and block the entrances,” Diesel said, heading for the north door where he took out the gunman, and used his rifle to jam the doors shut.
“That might mean taking out some of the DRC military guys,” Buck said.
“Do what it takes, otherwise this event will turn into a serious international incident,” Big Jake said.
“Roger,” Buck replied. Harm, T-Mac and Pitbull chimed in.
A moment later the outside doors burst open, and the team stormed in. They only took a few moments to disarm the guards inside, and then they locked the doors from the inside.
Within seconds, voices shouted from outside, and people banged on the metal doors.
“We have to get the delegates out of here, before they try blowing the doors open,” Diesel said. “I’m going for the south exit. Pitbull, T-Mac, come with me. The rest of you, herd the dignitaries to the south exit.”
“Where’s Reese?” Buck asked.
“She made it out, and I’m guessing she headed down the stairs to the parking garage. I haven’t heard from her. She might have lost her comm.”
“There were rioters pouring into the garage on the north side,” Harm said. “They were swarming the streets like ants. Without weapons, we’ll be lucky to make it out of this alive.”
“Don’t be a Debby Downer, Harm,” Big Jake said. “We’ll make it, and these delegates will, too.”
“Not this one,” Buck hovered over a man lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “No blood. Looks like he suffered a massive heart attack.”
“Do what you can for those who’ve been injured,” Diesel said, “but get those who can move up and out of here as soon as we clear a path.”
“Where’s President Sabando?” Big Jake asked.
Diesel’s heart sank. “He must have made it out with Reese and Klein.” Which meant he’d draw the fight to him and Reese. The rebels might not be discriminating when shooting at the president. Reese could become collateral damage.
Diesel crossed to the south exit, took a deep breath, unlocked the door and peered out. Several terrorists dressed in ragged camouflage uniforms were crowding into the stairwell leading into the garage.
One of them spotted Diesel and swung his rifle around too late.
Diesel rushed across the hallway, pushed the rifle up toward the ceiling and punched the man in the throat. He fell, clutching at his shattered windpipe, gasping for air. The man behind him spun and fired off several rounds without first aiming. The bullets hit the wall. Diesel hit the shooter, knocking him backward and down the stairs, taking out two more men already on their way down. That sent them tumbling to a heap at the landing, their weapons flying to the side.
Before they could scramble to their feet, Diesel, T-Mac and Pitbull had their rifles and were pointing them in their faces.
Diesel left the others and continued down the steps. T-Mac and Pitbull would spend a few precious moments tying their wrists and feet with the zip ties T-Mac always kept handy.
Diesel hurried downward, listening as he went. He could hear the squeal of tires and the sounds of footsteps pounding on the concrete floors at the upper levels, but he couldn’t hear the sounds of voices from the fleeing delegates or Reese.
He worried he’d come the wrong way, except the rebel fighters had been on their way down, as well. They had to be after someone. From the sound of footsteps on the stairs below, there might be some of the rebels getting too close for comfort to the woman he’d made love to the night before. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Now that he’d found the feisty, former MMA fighter, he didn’t want to let her go. She was everything he could ever want in a woman—independent, strong and determined. Only a confident woman like her, familiar with the military life, stood a chance of making a relationship with a SEAL last. Perhaps he could find a way to make something between them work—if only he were given the chance.