Chapter Thirteen
“Reese,” a voice came to her in her sleep.
She blinked open her eyes and wondered if she’d really opened her eyes or was still asleep. The darkness was so profound, she couldn’t even make out shapes.
“Reese,” that same voice said. Only now she knew her eyes were open and the voice had to be that of Ferrence Klein, lying on the ground beside her.
“Ferrence?” she whispered.
“I got my hands loose,” he said.
Any lingering fatigue vanished, and Reese bolted upright to a sitting position. “Do mine,” she urged, feeling her way in the darkness toward him.
His hands touched her fingers and settled on the knot securing her wrists. For what felt like forever, he worked at the strap. Finally, he managed to slip one end through the knot, and the band fell away.
Her heart skipped beats as she worked the bindings at Ferrence’s ankles. When they were both completely free, she rose to a squatting position.
Without light to see, she’d potentially walk over Jean-Paul and awaken him. This thought led to an important question: Should she free him, as well? Or should she focus on getting herself and Ferrence out of the camp and back to safety?
The president had been so certain his troops would find and free him. Had he changed his mind?
“President Sabando?” Reese felt her way to a lump on the tent floor.
“You’re wasting time,” Ferrence said sharply. “He wasn’t willing to risk a run for it last night. Why should he do it now?”
“He’s as much a prisoner as us. I can’t just leave him here,” Reese said. “Sir.”
The man emitted a soft curse in French, and then mumbled in English, “What is it?”
“Do you want us to untie you?” she asked.
“You foolish girl,” he said, his voice husky from sleep. “If you attempt to escape, you won’t get out of this camp alive.”
“Nevertheless, we have to try,” she said. “This is your last chance.”
He sighed. “Yes, I would wish you to untie me, so that I might face my brother in dignity.”
Feeling the seconds ticking away at an alarming speed, Reese worked at the knot on Jean-Paul’s wrists, while listening for sounds of the camp awakening. Already, the darkness was graying into predawn and she could make out shadowy shapes in the tent’s interior. Dawn would bring the camp alive, and any chance of escape would be gone.
Just when she thought she couldn’t get the knot untied, the end of the rope pushed through, and the binding fell away. When she started to rise to her feet, Reese was stopped by a hand on her arm.
“They will kill you if you try to escape,” Jean-Paul said. “Let me negotiate your release. I would not like for a visitor to my country to leave in a funeral procession.”
“We can’t bank on your brother’s good nature. Not after what happened in Kinshasa,” Klein whispered. “You can’t guarantee our safety.”
Jean-Paul sighed and pushed to his feet, massaging his wrists where the rope had rubbed them raw. “I understand your hesitation.” He held his hands out. “I wish you well in your pursuit of freedom.”
Reese moved to the door of the tent and pushed aside the flap just enough to peer through the opening into the soupy gray of predawn.
Already, people were moving, if not awakening. A guard lay across the entrance to the tent, blocking her path. She would have to go over him or make another exit out the back. Closing the flap, she tiptoed to the opposite end of the tent. The darker gray lump lying over the other end indicated another guard sleeping at the back. Then she spotted a rip in the canvas at the base of the right side of the shelter.
Reese knelt on the ground, took both sides of the rip and pulled gently, easing the opening higher, trying to minimize the sound of ripping canvas. When she had the tear three feet high, she waved for Ferrence. “It’s now or never.”
He nodded.
Reese popped her head out. The predawn light was enough for her to determine there were no guards on this side. She slipped through the opening and made her way to the back, where the guard lay sleeping soundly, his weapon lying in his lap, his chin dropped to his chest. Beyond him was a jumble of brush and trees. If they could make it to that bunch of bushes, they might have a chance at escape. Reese glanced back.
Ferrence had his head through the gap.
She waved for him to join her.
When he had, she whispered. “You go. I’ll hang back and make sure the guard doesn’t wake and decide to start shooting.”
Ferrence nodded, drew in a deep breath and tiptoed past the guard, toward the brush in the distance.
Before he was halfway there, a loud clanging sound ripped through what was left of the night.
The guard beside Reese jerked awake, his hands tightening around his rifle.
Reese could tell the exact moment he saw Ferrence by the way the sleeping man rolled to his feet and shouted something in Lingala.
Reese performed a side kick to the man’s middle. She hit him so hard, he flung his weapon as he pitched to one side and landed hard, jolting his head against the ground. Reese pounced on the man, grabbed his arm and wrenched it up between his shoulders.
When she looked up, Ferrence had stopped halfway to the tree line.
“What are you waiting for? Go!” she shouted.
Instead, he lifted his hands in surrender.
Reese wanted to shake the man, but she had her hands full of the guard, squirming beneath her. Why didn’t he run? He could get away. She’d find a way to get free and catch up to him.
Then she spotted a familiar figure coming up from behind Klein, running toward him with a rifle in his hands.
“Diesel?” she whispered, her heart flooding with hope and relief. He’d found her. Five other men appeared around him.
But they weren’t the only ones. Dozens of people emerged from the woods. Emaciated men, women and children hurried toward the camp from every direction, including the tree line. Small children clambered around the legs of the SEALs, hands held out, begging in a language Reese could not understand.
Diesel and his men couldn’t take a step without bumping into a child or a woman with his or her hand held out in piteous need.
Another clanking sound filled the air, and the men, women and children abandoned the SEAL team and continued toward the center of camp.
They swarmed the camp like ants, their arms and legs so skinny, Reese couldn’t fathom how they held them upright.
Before Diesel and his men could reach her, men carrying rifles emerged from around the tent and pointed their weapons at Ferrence and Reese. They shouted in Lingala.
Another voice shouted in English, “Put down your weapons, or we will kill the Americans.”
Diesel ground to a halt, hesitated a moment, probably gauging whether he had half a chance to shoot the guards and get to Reese. More guards surrounded Reese in that moment of his hesitation, all pointing weapons in her direction.
Forced to release her prisoner, Reese pushed away from him and stood, her chin held high, her mouth set in a firm line, her heart racing. She prayed her captors wouldn’t open fire.
“I should have guessed you would try to escape,” Lawrence’s voice sounded behind her. “I’ve heard from my sources you are a determined woman, who is not easily imprisoned, and that you have a team of men at your disposal.”
“Don’t hurt Mr. Klein,” Reese said. “It was my idea to escape, not his.”
“I have no intention of hurting either one of you, or these men who so foolishly thought they would rescue you.” He tilted his head toward the camp. “In fact, to show you I am serious, they can keep their weapons, as long as they promise not to shoot me or my men.” Lawrence raised his brows, giving Diesel a pointed stare.
“We won’t shoot, if you won’t shoot,” Diesel promised.
Lawrence nodded. “So be it.” He lifted a hand and said something in Lingala. His guards lowered their weapons, though they didn’t appear happy about it.
Diesel and his men relaxed their holds on their rifles and came forward.
“Mr. Klein, I brought you and my brother here to see for yourselves what greed and corruption is doing to the people of our great nation.” He swept his hand to the side. “Come.” Lawrence waved to the SEALs. “You, too, will benefit from what you will see.”
Reese waited for Diesel to join her, and then walked with Lawrence to where a guard held his brother at gunpoint.
Lawrence touched the man’s weapon and gave him a low, brief command. The man stepped back, pointing his rifle at the ground.
“You might think my methods were extreme, but what you will witness is a different kind of extreme.” Lawrence swept his arm wide. “Behold the men, women and children of our country.” Lawrence lifted his head and gazed at the swarm of people lining up in front of a giant cauldron.
A man, using a long wooden paddle, stirred a mash of some kind of grain in the cauldron, barely heating it before ladling out portions into the bare, dirty hands of those waiting. Men, women and small children took what they were given and licked their fingers clean of possibly the only nourishment they would receive that day.
“What is this?” Jean-Paul asked. “You have brought me to see people eating?”
“I’ve brought you to see the people employed in our country’s mines—people who are more or less enslaved from the misfortune of their births, until the day they die.” Lawrence’s brows furrowed. “Look at them. Men our age reduced to skin and bone. Women who can’t feed their children. Children who must work for the food they receive. They dig with their hands, carry bags of dirt and minerals heavier than their own weight, and die in the heat and humidity, their bellies empty.” Lawrence drew in a deep breath and let it out. “This is your legacy, my brother.”
Reese’s heart squeezed in her chest when a toddler with the distended belly of the malnourished, missed his portion because he couldn’t hold his little hands together.
The mush plopped to the ground. The little boy scooped up what he could, dirt and all, before he was pushed out of the way.
Reese wanted to gather the child in her arms and feed him as he should be fed.
“I do not approve of these conditions,” Jean-Paul said.
Lawrence snorted. “But you allow them to be. When was the last time you visited a mine?”
“I visited one last year.” Jean-Paul’s frown mirrored his brother’s. “These were not the conditions I witnessed.”
“The people you employed to run the mine showed you what you wanted to see, not the truth,” Lawrence said. “Now that you’ve seen reality, what do you plan to do about it? Surely you realize now why the people want a democratic election. They are tired of their needs being ignored. Tired of their children dying in mines when they should be going to school. Our country will not move into the twenty-first century at the rate we are killing our people.”
Jean-Paul pounded his fist into his palm. “There will be change.”
Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest. “Starting with allowing the election?”
Jean-Paul scrubbed a hand down his face and nodded. “Starting with the election. But understand, brother, there are factions who would rather take this country by force and keep it stirred up and fighting from within.”
“These people cannot go on as they are,” Reese whispered.
“You think I want them to?” Jean-Paul demanded.
Diesel cupped Reese’s arm. “The working conditions are deplorable.”
“It’s all they have. Without this work and what little food they receive, they have nothing,” Lawrence said. “The problem cannot be resolved by banishing them from the mines.”
“I will do what I can until the election,” Jean-Paul swore. “In the meantime, we must get more food to these people. I will work on a program to get the children out of the mines and into schools.”
Lawrence turned to Ferrence. “I know you are here to negotiate interest in our country’s natural resources to include the products of this mine. If you are truly interested in securing access to our treasures, you must be willing to invest in the infrastructure that will provide jobs for our people, not the kind that employs our children.”
Reese held her breath, wondering what her client would say about what he’d seen. Would he continue to be the privileged rich-man’s son, concerned only about his own well-being, or would he be the man and diplomat he needed to be?
Ferrence nodded. “Although I can’t condone your method of bringing us here, I understand your desire to shed light on the situation. I will convey your message to my father and will work to insure we will help, not exacerbate the problem.”
“That is all I ask,” Lawrence said.
“My brother,” Jean-Paul stepped forward. “What is in this for you? Do you wish to take my place as president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo?”
Lawrence shook his head. “If that were to happen, I would do my best for all of my people. But that is not why I brought you here. I brought you here because I could not allow this to continue. I have nightmares about the children I’ve seen die in the mud and dirt, just trying to work enough to be fed.” He shook his head again.
Reese pressed a hand to her growling belly, her own hunger almost an embarrassment in light of the mine workers’ plight. They needed food, clothing and shelter—the very basics of human needs.
The thump-thump of rotor blades whipping the air drew Reese’s attention to an incoming helicopter.
“Your transportation back to Kinshasa has arrived.” Lawrence stepped back to glance at the aircraft as it hovered over a bare spot on the ground. As it descended toward the ground, a loud bang ripped through the air.
The fuselage of the chopper exploded, sending the craft reeling to the side.
People screamed and ran to get out of the way of the blades as they hit the ground, broke off and were shot through the air.
Automatic weapon fire sounded from the direction of the road. Several trucks filled with men carrying rifles and rocket-propelled grenade launchers raced toward the camp.
“Get down!” Diesel yelled.
Bullets sprayed the dirt near Reese’s feet. For a moment, she froze, not sure what was going on, or where she should run.
Diesel curled his arm around Reese and herded her toward a rise in the ground. He shoved her behind the berm and touched his hand to his ear. “Report.” He listened for a moment and then responded. “Get the Sabandos and Klein to cover. I’ll lay down suppressing fire until you’re ready.”
Diesel stretched out on the ground and aimed his rifle toward the men leaping from the backs of the trucks. He popped off several rounds. With each shot, he took out a rebel fighter. The men rushed toward them, more bodies than Diesel could fend off with just one rifle.
Soon, his shots were joined by others. The SEALs moved into defensive positions, forming a line, along with Lawrence’s guards.
Reese kept her head low, feeling defenseless, unable to contribute to their survival.
One of the men who’d piled out of the back of the second truck took cover behind the truck. He carried what appeared to be a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. The man lifted the weapon to his shoulder.
“Holy hell.” Reese touched Diesel’s shoulder and pointed. “That man’s going to fire an RPG.”
Diesel redirected his aim to the rebel fighter as he shifted the weapon to his shoulder.
Reese held her breath, praying the rocket wouldn’t launch before Diesel had a chance to take out the operator.
Diesel squeezed the trigger, hitting the man in the chest. He fell forward. His hand must have been on the trigger, because the RPG launched, hit the ground in front of him and exploded into a fiery blaze that shook the ground. The explosion pierced the truck’s fuel tank, sending fuel spewing over the nearby fighters.
The battle had barely begun when it ended, but Reese couldn’t remember a more intense fifteen minutes in her entire life.
The few remaining rebel fighters turned and ran for the woods.
Lawrence’s guards gave chase.
When the dust and smoke settled, the SEALs rose from their positions.
Reese glanced around, taking a headcount before she let go of the breath she hadn’t released since she’d started counting. All six SEALs were alive and unharmed. Klein hesitantly pushed to his feet, along with Jean-Paul and Lawrence Sabando.
“You see,” Jean-Paul said, more calmly than one would have expected after the gunfire, “there are factions who would take what they can.” He walked to the two abandoned trucks and stared down at the dead men scattered around. He nudged one of the men with the toe of his shoe. “At least one of their leaders is now accounted for.”
Reese rose from her position and stood beside Diesel. He took her hand and led her to where Jean-Paul and Lawrence stood beside the dead man.
She recognized the man with the scar across his right cheek. “That’s the man who kidnapped me and Mr. Klein,” she said.
“Bosco Mutombo,” Lawrence confirmed.
The DRC president shot a glance toward Ferrence. “What is this?”
Reese and Ferrence met gazes.
Ferrence nodded and looked directly into the president’s eyes. “We didn’t tell you about the incident because you had enough on your mind with the conference. And we came out of it all right.”
The president looked around at the SEALs. “I take it your friends assisted your escape?”
Ferrence nodded.
“Do I want to know what qualifies them to assist in your liberation and our battle today?” President Sabando asked, his brows furrowing.
Reese and Ferrence shook their heads.
The president studied Diesel and his team for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Finally, he snorted. “Americans.”
“Well, from my perspective, we would not have survived without them.” Lawrence strode to Big Jake and held out his hand. “How can we send our thanks?”
Big Jake shook the man’s hand and let go. “We’d prefer you didn’t.”
Lawrence nodded. “Brother, does this convince you that Mutombo’s men were not working with me?”
Jean-Paul drew in a deep breath. “It does.”
“And, having seen the wretched conditions of the mining operations, do you see the need for change?”
The DRC president frowned in the direction of the able-bodied miners who were headed into the mines to work. “I don’t like it when I don’t know what’s going on in my country. But it appears I have missed a lot. As far as I’m concerned, your rescuers were never here and my military succeeded in removing one of our country’s greatest enemies.”
“With Bosco out of the picture, we will no longer waste resources on hunting him.” Lawrence stared down at the dead man, and then looked out at the mining camp, where some people tended to the wounded before getting back to work. “We should be able to concentrate on helping our people.”
The president followed his brother’s gaze. “And we will.” Then he faced Reese and Ferrence. “For now, perhaps our guests would like to return to Kinshasa?”
Lawrence glanced at the crashed helicopter. “Unfortunately, that helicopter was our transportation.”
“I can have the presidential helicopter here in a few hours,” the president said. “All I need is a telephone.”
“President, sir,” Diesel stepped forward. “My men have transportation waiting for us at the Kamenbe Airport. However, I would like to accompany Mr. Klein and Miss Brantley back to Kinshasa with you, if that’s possible.”
Jean-Paul nodded. “With my brother’s approval, I will send my men to accompany your men and see to it you don’t run into any other rebel fighters.”
Big Jake held out his hand. “Mr. President, we’ll see you back in Kinshasa.”
President Sabando shook the man’s hand. “We will be there before nightfall.”
The three hours it took for President Sabando’s helicopter to arrive gave those who remained ample time to tour the mining camp and take stock of the deplorable conditions.
By the time they loaded into the helicopter, the president had put in an order to deliver food and provisions to the site. He made arrangements to make unscheduled visits to other mining sites in the near future and sent word to his cabinet members to move forward with preparations for the election to take place on schedule.
Reese was able to settle back in her seat beside Diesel. With her hand held tightly in his, she slept all the way back to the capital city, putting off thought of what would happen next. She didn’t want to think of leaving Diesel and never seeing him again.