by Elle James
“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.
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.