Look straight ahead, Alex. You can do this, her inner voice whispered, but her legs weren’t budging. No matter how hard she tried to walk, they just didn’t react. She stood on the tarmac paralyzed for what seemed like hours.
Sam’s firm supportive hand on her elbow gently nudged her forward.
"I've got you Alex. You can do this."
Suddenly the look in his eyes turned from Cub Scout to ranger, and Alex couldn’t help but wonder if this hidden strength was precisely what Professor Keating saw in him.
He nodded towards the bottle of juice still clenched in her hand, spurring her on to drink some more. She had never taken orders from any man except her father, but somehow her body decided to drop its defenses and follow his advice.
As if on cue her feet complied, and she felt herself walk steadily towards the passport control counter. A knee-jerk reaction had her greet the official in Swahili, which caught her entirely by surprise. She didn’t expect to remember the language with such ease. She sensed Quinn was as surprised, or possibly impressed, but ignored it. The official's eyes paused firmly on her face, as he looked her up and down with suspicion. Why wouldn’t he? She was a lily-white woman in the middle of Africa speaking fluent Swahili.
"Why are you in Tanzania?" He asked while flicking through her passport.
"I'm here on business,” she replied in a calm voice.
"What business?"
"I work for a prestigious British University. I'm an archaeologist."
Her comment brought about a little bit too much attention from him, and he flicked back and forth through the pages of her passport as if he lost something. He turned around and tilted his chin up at the supervisor behind him.
Without exchanging a single word, he pointed to something on one of the pages, yielding another incredulous look in Alex and Sam’s direction. Alex guardedly glanced over to Sam who stood two steps behind her and whom, without fail, also sensed that something was up. If those two officials were on the payroll of whoever kidnapped her father, they stood profoundly little chance of passing through the customs gates.
Alex felt her legs turn to jelly as the officials sized them up and down. Several minutes passed while the guard keyed in some letters on the somewhat antiquated computer. Africa surely was a third world country. Those things were archaic, she thought. The officer waited for something to pop onto the screen and turned to Alex. This time with a slight steely look in his eyes.
"How long are you staying?"
"Not long I hope. As soon as I manage to complete the study."
The stern look on his face told her that her answer wasn’t quite what they were expecting from their interrogation efforts, so she added swiftly.
"I would guess about seven to ten days at the most."
Sam tugged at his collar and fiddled with his buttons.
"Don't!" Alex whispered to him over her shoulder.
“Don’t show concern. You need to downplay the situation. These guys are looking for a reason not to allow us through."
The second official pulled out his mobile phone and disappeared behind the column of the cubicle.
"Bloody hell. Who is he calling?" Quinn whispered back nervously.
"My money is on the ringleader."
Alex paused mid sentence as a moment of sudden inspiration came to her.
"Now listen closely, Quinn. Things are about to go bad for us. If we allow them to take us now, we're in trouble. How much cash do you have on you?"
"Cash? Oh, yes, okay cash,” unzipping his rucksack's side pocket.
"Three Hundred quid."
"Great, I have three hundred too. Give me your passport. Hurry."
"Are you sure you’re doing the right thing here Alex? Bribery is a serious crime, and we can land into a lot of trouble for this. If your plan backfires we—“
"I'm quite aware Quinn. I'm afraid this plan might be our only chance."
Alex slipped the wad of notes into their passports and slid the package discreetly across the counter, looking the controller dead in the eye. Though her heart had quite positively sunk into the pit of her stomach, she dared not flinch.
The official reached across to take her bribe from her hand. Alex pushed down firmer on the passports deliberately not letting the payoff go just yet. His yellow tinted eyeballs met her firm stare. Words were not necessary in that moment. Alex could judge from his face that this tactic was not new to him. With his hands next to the payoff, the guard signaled for the head official to join him. It didn’t take any convincing and, as quickly as the mobile phone appeared earlier, he slipped it back into his pocket.
Alex kept her eyes locked on theirs. Aware that Quinn still stood frozen behind her she sensed he might have stopped breathing altogether, but she dared not look away.
The head official cleared his throat and handed the ink stamp to the guard who quickly tucked the notes under some papers. Alex watched nervously as he stamped both their passports. He slid them across the counter before slipping the cash out from beneath the papers and into his pocket.
"Next!" He shouted signaling for them to walk through the gates.
This time it was Quinn who couldn’t move.
"Come. Let's go!" Alex elbowed him.
Her legs resembled the jelly in Mrs. Parsons' Christmas trifle but somehow the adrenaline of her newfound corruption talent propelled them forward with the agility of a gazelle.
"Keep up Quinn. We're not out of the woods just yet. We need to find our way to the pickup. Hurry!"
"What about our luggage?"
"We'll have to send someone for it later. We need to go now Quinn."
Soundly aware of several police officials' watchful glances, Alex walked on. She suspected that they might have already been informed to either keep an eye on them or wait for another opportunity to gain their own payoffs.
"I can't believe you pulled that off. That was amazing! How did you know they were going to take the bribe? Where did you even learn how to do that?"
Quinn's admiration did not quite grab Alex’s full attention. Her senses were on high alert while she tried to maneuver them through the busy airport.
"Where are we going?"
"The pickup point. We have to find our way out of here. Let's just hope the ground team got the message and has someone ready and waiting. My father always had a knack for rounding up the best ground teams. But I don't have the foggiest if Professor Keating managed to relay a message to them or not. Unfortunately, we do face the odd chance that they were also captured or worse, killed when they kidnapped my father."
“And what happens if the ground crew isn’t at the pickup?"
"They had better be waiting for us, or we are as good as dead. Africa is spectacularly beautiful but if you face their bad side the people can be your worse enemy. And judging from our first encounter, we're not likely to be off on a good footing. Someone will be waiting for us, I'm sure."
Quinn's tanned face drained a pale grey as he realized, what he thought was going to be a walk in the park, might in fact change his life forever.
Once through the airport's south end, the pair sneaked through the maintenance exit. This was the one spot in the entire airport not covered by a surveillance camera. Knowledge Professor Keating somehow acquired. Alex dared not ask how. Judging from how quickly those officials took their bribe it was evident Africa had a different set of rules. She guessed he bought the Intel in much the same way she had just bought their entry into the country. Chuffed it appeared they lost the entourage; they stopped briefly to check they were still undetected.
Alex shot up a silent prayer that someone would be waiting for them at their pickup point. The end of the corridor dragged closer as they hurriedly moved towards the heavy steel door at the end of the passage and flung it open.
"Lakicia!"
The sound of her Swahili name overwhelmed Alex with immense relief. It had been so long since she’d heard anyone call her by her tribal name and she instantly recognize
d the voice.
”Jelani! You are a feast for my eyes, my old friend."
"Me too Lakicia. You have been gone for too long but come, we go now. We talk later. Militia they follow me. Ol' Jelani still faster,” chuckling without a care in the world.
"I've missed you, my friend," she continued in his native tongue.
"Lakicia, you still remember? How many years and you still remember the language?" Jelani replied in surprise as he smiled to reveal a mouth missing a number of teeth.
"The two of you do realize that I don't speak a word of Swahili, so I frankly don't have a clue what you're saying. But be that as it may, I'm hoping you remember we have some assailants chasing us!”
Alex was so caught up in seeing her childhood friend again that she totally forgot about Quinn and the imminent danger behind them.
"Sorry Quinn. Meet my old friend, Jelani. We spent a lot of time together as children. His father was my father's trusted mshauri. He taught him everything he needed to learn to survive here in Tanzania. Jelani, this is Sam Quinn. He's apparently one of the top students at the University, or so I'm told. I’m trusting he has a hidden skillset to help me find my father underneath all this.”
"I am not so sure about that, Lakicia. His clothes say the opposite." Jelani joked letting out another chuckle as he sped off down the dirt road.
"Okay, okay. I still can't understand what the two of you are saying, but I am no one's fool. I'll change my clothes,” Sam joked back.
Chapter Three
Charles
"We know who you are Professor so give us da key! We can do this da easy way or da hard way."
Charles Hunt’s jaw throbbed under another punch in response to his silence. He was convinced the last blow dislodged his tooth. The harsh metal taste of his blood filled his mouth as he tried catching his breath. Charles spat a ball of bloody saliva in his attacker’s face.
"So... den you choose da hard way? You stupid bastard!"
The blow to Charles’ stomach doubled him over, and he struggled to breathe again. The man circled around Charles and went in for another punch. His legs gave out beneath his tortured body. The giant behind him tightened his grip on his bound arms forcing his body upright as another blow thrust into his stomach. That one hurt.
"We can do dis all day, Professor. Your sissy assistant not here to rescue your sorry ass. Better give up and tell us where to find da key."
In spite of his broken English, the attacker’s voice was hoarse with impatience. Charles wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the torture. He wasn’t the spring chicken he was thirty years ago. Back then he would have given this buffoon a whipping he would never forget.
The blood gushed from his swollen eyebrow, which made it nearly impossible to see. He recalled how the rebels ambushed them in the village and how all hell broke loose. Searching his memory, he remembered how the ground team scattered as they sought hiding and how he had lost sight of Eric when they pulled the black sack over his face. There was the gunshot; one single bullet he couldn’t quite make out where it came from or whom it was intended to hit. Was it possible that it was Eric who got shot? If not then there was a distinct possibility they were busy torturing him for information too. And if they were he was pretty sure Eric would die regardless. The poor fellow didn’t have a clue where Rhapta was. Charles had always been very careful not to share too much information with him.
In hindsight perhaps this was now Eric’s saving grace or maybe the very thing that would get him killed. Unless he’s already dead. Izzy might have been right all along. The boy was not hardened enough to cut it in their line of work.
Either way, Charles was as good as dead too if they captured or killed the lad. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he did his job of relaying communications to the Uni well, despite the fact that he disappeared into town on more than one occasion. What Charles wasn’t convinced on was whether Eric managed to get a distress call out to Keating. Charles instantly regretted not sharing his location sooner. He wasn’t even sure if Alexandra had heard anything when he tried calling her. It wasn’t looking good for him. He’d have to think of something to at least buy him some time even if it only provided a breather from the punches.
His attacker stopped to wipe the sweat off his face and guzzled down a jug of banana beer. It afforded Charles the slightest gap to catch his breath before the man went over and spat a mouthful of beer in his face.
"So you quiet Professor? You say nothing?"
"I don't have the key. I'm here on personal business. I told you. I've come looking for my wife.”
"Ha! Your wife!" Spitting out another mouthful of the drink as he chuckled in ridicule.
"Everyone knows your wife is dead Pro-fes-sor! She did not want to give up da key either you idiot."
Charles ignored his parody. He only had one shot at this. If what he planned worked he’d have to save his energy for what lay ahead. It was a long shot but worth a try so he waited patiently for the mockery to end before he spoke again.
"No, she's not. My wife isn’t dead.“
"What you say, white man? You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I don't. My wife is alive. She's not dead. She called me from here a week ago, but the line was too bad and went dead. So I've come here to look for her. If I find her, I find the key. Then you can take the damn thing and let us go."
Charles dared not look up at his kidnapper now. He was certain he would spot the deceit in his eyes, so he kept looking down at a stone on the ground between his feet. The same stone that kept his focus away from the brutal force of the punches. It helped him focus on Alexandra; reminded him of the time they escaped to the beach after Izzy died. They had spent the morning picking up pebbles on the beach and placed it on Izzy’s grave. She loved the ocean.
"Aikôna, that is a lie!” Charles heard the accusations from behind him. “Sir who says he's speaking the truth? He's a liar."
The giant who held Charles up had spoken for the first time. Charles listened as the two men argued. They spoke Swahili. Charles wasn’t fluent like Alex but he deduced they were accusing him of lying. All he could think of was escaping and getting back to Alexandra. His mind traveled back to when she was a little girl playing with the village kids. She picked the language up so quickly.
But his troubled thoughts were interrupted as the giant jerked his head back and forced him to make eye contact with the rebel leader.
"If I find out you lie about dis Professor, I slice your throat with my knife."
As if that wasn't clear enough he emphasized his threat by spitting in Charles’ face before he walked off.
Grateful that his bluff paid off Charles silently sighed with relief. His exhausted body ached from the beating. His feet dragged trails in the sand behind him as the giant pulled him back towards his makeshift bamboo cell.
The sharp stones purposefully laid down to extend his torture, pierced his body as the rebel threw him onto the ground. Charles slumped down sideways onto the sharp stones and tried to shuffle onto his feet by leaning back against the bamboo rods. As if the rebel needed to prove once more who was in charge he kicked Charles from behind causing him to fall face down onto the stones.
“Bloody bastard!” Charles shouted as he spat out another mouthful of blood.
His attacker’s foot pushed down heavily on his back forcing him to lie flat onto the jagged rocks. The slicing sound of his knife taken out of its sheath triggered Charles’ body into a curled up ball as he waited for the imminent stabbing.
He might have underestimated the giant. Perhaps his bluff failed and this marked his end. Charles shot up a silent prayer as his life flashed before his bleeding eyes. But in that moment a vigorous tug at the rope around his bound hands left it snapping into pieces instead. The ropes ripped and scattered on the ground beside him, freeing both his hands. Instinctively his hands covered his head as he curled back into a fetal ball; convinced the giant missed his mark. He readied his body for the fatal stabbi
ng, but nothing happened.
For the first time, Charles raised his head and faced the giant who towered above him. He guessed him to be roughly six foot, at least, with every bit the physique of a professional football athlete. His khaki military shirt and trousers carried stains of fresh blood mixed in with months of dirt. His teeth were brilliant white against his black, sweaty skin.
Charles looked full into his perpetrator’s yellow-tinged eyes and watch as he turned to fiddle with the lock of the bamboo door behind him.
"Water. I need water if I'm to have energy to find my wife."
The giant paused and Charles felt his heart skip multiple beats. They wouldn’t let him die. Not with him being the only way they’d find the treasure. Surely he had them cornered. Minutes later the giant arrived with a bucket of water and a lump of ugali. Charles relished inwardly. He still had it. Balls of pure gold. Age might not be on his side but guts he had until the day he died; and this wasn’t that day.
The murky water stared back at him. It looked disgusting but he had been without food and water since his capture. If he were to get an opportunity to escape he’d have to eat and drink whatever they gave him. The giant rolled the lump of doughy bread between his dirty, sweaty hands and tossed it at Charles.
"You gonna look or eat white man?"
Charles had caught the ball of Tanzanian staple. The bread looked and smelled revolting. The dough was warm and nauseatingly gooey and quite possibly days old. He took a bite nonetheless, unable to deny the hunger pangs that suddenly ambushed him. The maize and milk mixture should at least sustain him for a little while.
The Alex Hunt Series Page 3