Chapter Twelve
Reese wished she had on a sturdy pair of trousers and her hiking boots. Dressed in a skirt suit, barefooted because she’d ditched her heels in order to run and jam a door, she wasn’t in any condition to make good an escape.
What she didn’t understand was why Lawrence had brought them all the way across the country to what appeared to be an open-pit mine. If he were going to kill them, wouldn’t he have done it already?
She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but Lawrence might not be as bad as she originally thought. Perhaps he only wanted to teach his brother and the greedy Americans a lesson. Reese hoped that was the extent of his plan and that he would then turn them loose.
In the meantime, she wasn’t counting on it. She had to have a plan B.
The helicopter was met by two Land Rovers. Lawrence, his brother and two soldiers climbed into the first with the driver. Rebel soldiers nudged Reese and Ferrence with the barrels of their weapons, herding them toward the other SUV. Now would be a good time to fight her way free, but she didn’t have shoes, and the rebel fighters didn’t appear to have a sense of humor. They’d probably shoot rather than ask permission. Reese and Ferrence climbed into the back seat with one of the fighters. Another fighter sat in the front, turned around in his seat with a pistol and pointed it at Ferrence’s chest.
“I hope we don’t hit any major bumps along the way,” Ferrence whispered.
“Quiet!” The soldier beside Ferrence hit him in the jaw with his elbow.
Ferrence pressed a hand to his jaw and closed his mouth. They drove several miles, deeper and deeper into the maze of open-pit mines. The sun had long since descended from its zenith, now casting long shadows, as it raced for the horizon.
The vehicle in front of them finally halted in front of what might once have been a white tent. The white canvas was stained a muddy red from the dust kicked up by vehicles and mining activities.
Rebel fighters crowded around the tent, shouting something in Lingala. Lawrence ushered his brother, whose hands had been bound behind his back.
A cheer went up from the fighters, and shots were fired into the air.
Reese cringed. All it took was one careless fighter to swing a weapon their direction, pull the trigger and boom. Reese held her breath as she was escorted into the tent. Once inside, a rebel fighter bound her wrists in front of her with a strap and bound Ferrence’s behind his back and forced him to kneel so that they could bind his ankles. Apparently, a woman in a skirt suit wasn’t as scary as a man. Reese counted her blessings. She was one step closer to escape. She could easily untie Ferrence’s restraints, and he could return the favor, as soon as their captors left them alone for any length of time.
“I don’t understand why you have brought me here. If you’re going to kill me, why not get it over with?” The president had been bound much like Ferrence, his wrists behind his back. He sat on the ground, with his knees drawn up and his ankles tied together.
“I want you to see what you have done to this country by your actions or, rather, inaction. You have sold this country to the devils.” Lawrence glared at Ferrence and Reese. “The Americans will know, too, what price our people have paid. When the sun rises again, you will see.”
Lawrence left the tent and gave brief orders to his men in Lingala.
From the shadows on the outside of the tent, Reese could tell there were two rebel fighters left as guards, one on either end. The two guards inside the tent sat on boxes, facing them, their rifles resting on their laps.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the interior of the tent went from gray to black. The inside guards stood, stretched, said something in their language and headed for the tent’s flap door.
Outside, they spoke to the guards on the front and then left.
As soon as the inside guards left the tent, Reese tore at the bindings on her wrists with her teeth, working the knots in an attempt to loosen them. She stopped when one of the two guards standing outside ducked his head into the tent and shined a flashlight at the captives.
Reese raised her hands to block the glare.
The guard stared at her suit and snorted. He then left the tent and said something to the other guard, and they laughed.
Reese hoped her skirt suit gave them some form of entertainment that would keep them occupied long enough for her to tear the knots loose. There were several SUVs outside the tent. If she could get to one of those, she and Ferrence might have a way out—if she didn’t get lost in the maze of roads through the mining operations.
Reese struggled with the strap, but no matter how hard she tried to pull with her teeth, the strap wasn’t coming loose. She’d looked around the tent, while there was still light left from the sun, but hadn’t found anything that appeared to be sharp enough to cut through the leather. If she could get to the wooden crates the guards had used as seats, she might be able to rub the straps against the coarse edges of the wooden slats.
Someone outside the tent lit a fire, giving just enough light for Reese to find her way. Not sure if the campfire would silhouette her movements against the tent, she crossed the dirt floor on her knees, a little at a time, until she was next to a crate. Thankfully, the boards it was made of were rough-hewn and provided a serrated edge to rub her bonds against.
“What are you doing?” Ferrence whispered.
“Trying to get us out of here,” she answered.
“And how far will we get?” Ferrence asked. “You’re barefooted, and we’re surrounded by men with guns.”
“They will shoot you if you step one foot outside of this tent,” Jean-Paul said, his lip pulled back in a sneer. “You should wait for my army to come to our rescue. They will be here soon.”
The president had confidence his troops would find him and carry him back to Kinshasa and safety.
Reese, not so much. The riots in the streets of the capital city were evidence the country was already in turmoil. The president had not helped matters by delaying the elections. He’d angered his people and possibly some of the members of the country’s armed forces. They might let this be a lesson to anyone who tried again to circumvent the constitutional elections.
“We can wait for morning and whatever Lawrence wants us to see, and then be shot, or get out in the dark of night and maybe live to tell our grandchildren about our adventure.” Reese pushed harder against the crate. The leather strap seemed to be thicker and stronger than she’d originally thought. At the rate she was going, it would be morning before she broke through.
Ferrence scooted across to where she sat and turned his back to her. “See if you can untie mine.”
She stopped long enough to work at the strap they’d used to tie Ferrence’s wrists together. His was some kind of synthetic material, but equally strong. The knot was so tight, no amount of coaxing with her fingers so close together would work it loose.
“You’ll have to rub yours on the crate, too.” Reese went back to scraping her strap against the wood.
Ferrence turned his back to the second wooden crate and started rubbing his bindings against the wood. He faced Reese as they worked. “Do you think your fiancé will be able to find us?”
Her heart fluttered at Ferrence’s reference to her fiancé. Diesel wasn’t her fiancé, but the sound of the word on her client’s lips almost made it seem real and exciting. Foolish, she realized. “I don’t know. We’ve come a long way. They’d have had to find someone to fly them here.”
“I saw how you handled the guards in the conference center. And you got us out of the last situation like a pro.” Ferrence stared at her in the limited lighting, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not just an assistant, are you?”
“You father hired me to be your assistant on this trip. That’s what I am,” Reese hedged. Why did it matter now that she’d been hired as a bodyguard? Once again, she felt she’d failed her client. She hoped she would be as fortunate this time as she was the last time, and that they were able to get out of hot water and back to safety. If they ever got back to the States, she’d really have to rethink her career choice and come up with a better plan.
Time passed, and she still hadn’t managed to tear through her restraints. Hunger gnawed at her belly, and exhaustion wore her down. Still, she rubbed until her wrists were raw and her eyelids closed of their own accord. Her last thought was of Diesel. She prayed he’d gotten out of the city alive and that his team made it out, as well. She also prayed she’d see him again. She’d tell him how much their short time together had meant to her, even if it hadn’t meant as much to him.
* * *
MARLY LANDED THE little plane at the Kamenbe Airport, just after dusk.
Big Jake was able to rent a large enough black SUV to get all of them inside. Diesel took the wheel, too wound up, and in need of something to keep his mind off what could be happening to Reese, to sit in the back seat, gnawing at his fingernails.
The roads back to the mines started out paved, but quickly became gravel, and then dirt. Dust sifted through every opening of the SUV, even though they traveled with the windows up.
Big Jake rode shotgun and T-Mac sat in the middle, holding the GPS tracker in his lap, while studying the one provided at the rental car agency. They’d paid for the insurance, unsure as to what shape the vehicle would be in when they returned it—if they returned it.
“We should have called back to Djibouti for air transport,” T-Mac said.
“We never were supposed to be in the DRC,” Big Jake said. “Transporting the SOC-R onto the Congo River was a huge risk. Bringing helicopters to the big cities would draw even more attention, and it could end up on the nightly news.”
Diesel didn’t say anything. He was with T-Mac, wishing they had a faster, more direct way to get to Reese. Instead, they were stuck on dirt roads, traveling through the night, hoping they were going the right way. As the roads narrowed, they had to do some backtracking, which wasted even more time.
In the early hours of the morning, T-Mac nodded off, his head dipping so sharply, it woke him immediately. He yawned, stretched and glanced down at the tracking device. “We should be getting pretty close.”
“Close, as in a mile or two, or close, as in within the same continent?” Diesel asked, getting crankier by the minute. Time was passing all too quickly, and they still hadn’t made it to the mining operation. Everything appeared so different in the dark. He might drive off the edge of an open-pit mine for all he knew.
“As in, within five miles. We might consider hiding the SUV and going the rest of the way on foot soon. We don’t want the rebel fighters to open fire on the strange vehicle entering their space in the dead of night.”
“Let’s get another mile closer, and then we’ll ditch the vehicle,” Diesel said.
“Turn out the headlights, then, so they don’t see us coming,” Big Jake suggested.
Diesel slowed almost to a stop before extinguishing the headlights. He took a few minutes to allow his eyesight to adjust to the darkness.
“Guys, wake up back there.” T-Mac twisted in his seat. “Get the night vision goggles out of the duffel bag. We might need them sooner than you think.”
Diesel glanced in the rearview mirror at his teammates.
Pitbull, Buck and Harm sat up instantly.
Harm reached behind the seat and pulled the duffel bag over into his lap with a grunt. “Damn, T-Mac what don’t you have in this bag of tricks?” He passed forward a pair of night vision goggles.
T-Mac handed them to Big Jake.
Jake slipped the night vision goggles over his eyes and scanned the road ahead.
Now that his sight had adjusted to nothing but the limited light from the stars overhead, he picked up speed, eating up the next two miles.
“They’re close,” T-Mac said.
Diesel found a good spot on the side of the road where he could hide the SUV. They’d go in on foot from here. Finally, he’d be able to help Reese.
Once they covered the SUV in brush and branches, the team took off through the trees and bushes, paralleling the road, still following the GPS tracker. When they were within half a mile of the bright green dot on the tracking device, they slowed and took even more care to locate any outlying sentries.
Harm, Pitbull and Big Jake manned the night vision goggles and spread out, searching for anyone lying in wait of people entering the perimeter of the mining camp.
“Got a heat signature near the road, fifty meters ahead,” Pitbull reported.
“Another on the opposite side of the road. Appears to be lying down. Could be asleep,” Big Jake said. “Going in.”
“Same here,” Pitbull acknowledged.
“On three,” Big Jake whispered into the radio. “One...two...three.”
Without night vision goggles to see the green heat signature of bodies moving ahead, Diesel had to rely on his own eyesight. All he could see was a couple of gray shadows moving in the woods, and only because he knew what he was looking for.
“Target subdued,” Big Jake reported.
“Make that two,” Pitbull seconded. “All clear up to the camp. Bound forward. We have your six.”
With Big Jake and Pitbull covering, Diesel, Harm, Buck and T-Mac bounded forward, almost to the very edge of the camp.
The camp was a mass of tents and shacks made of discarded plywood, pieces of corrugated tin and other trash.
At the far end was a large white tent, tinged blue by the moonlight.
“Based on the tracker, Klein is in or very near that tent,” T-Mac said.
“And, if they kept them together, Reese should be with him,” Diesel said, thinking optimistically. Though they really had no reason to keep her alive. She wasn’t the bargaining chip. She didn’t have a father with a vast fortune to negotiate her release. Still, Diesel wouldn’t give up hope. Reese had to be with Klein. And he’d bet his last dollar she had an escape plan.
“Our biggest problem now is getting past all the people between us and the white tent,” Big Jake said.
Diesel stared at the dark camp. “What do you mean?”
Big Jake moved up beside Diesel and handed him the night vision goggles.
Diesel stared through the lenses. “Damn.”
In amongst the tents, plywood shacks and garbage were people—whether lying beneath a shelter, out in the open, or sleeping in any space available. The ground was littered with the green heat signatures of bodies of living, breathing humans.
“There must be hundreds,” Pitbull reported.
“Maybe even thousands,” Diesel agreed. “But we have to get in.”
“Then we’d better make our move before the sun comes up,” Big Jake advised.
Already, the eastern sky had lightened to a dark gray. The sun would rise within the next hour, and they’d be exposed to the mass of people surrounding the white tent.
Diesel squared his shoulders, handed Big Jake the night vision goggles and took a step forward. “Let’s do this.”
The team moved forward. While three provided cover, the other three bound, eating the distance thirty yards at a time, swinging wide to the rear of the encampment.
When they were within one bound of the white tent, they paused to regroup and plan their next move.
The light of dawn continued to push the black and gray of night toward the western sky, filling the horizon with rose gold and orange hues. They only had moments before the entire camp was awake and they would have missed their opportunity to rescue Reese and Klein.
“Uh, folks, we might have bigger problems than we thought,” Big Jake said into Diesel’s headset.
Diesel tensed as the meaning of Big Jake’s warning became clear.