“Me?” she asked, her eyes turning to avoid his gaze. “I think you greatly overestimate my resources. I won’t be useful in a jailbreak.”
“Genevieve can pilot the helicopter on her own,” Sam said. “But it will be a lot easier with a second set of eyes to navigate. It will also help when she returns for the pick-up rendezvous point, after we complete the mission.”
She breathed in and then swallowed hard. Her cheeks flushed slightly red. “Then in that case, I’m afraid you overestimate my altruism. It sounds like a worthy cause, but it’s not my fight. Nostradamus never would have predicted me to actually be involved in the operation. When it comes down to it, I’m too selfish. I really wish you luck, but I don’t think I will be coming.”
“That’s okay, I understand. It’s not your fight. Heck, it’s barely ours.” Sam smiled at her, reassuringly. “Then again, Mikhail may be trapped down there.”
The simple comment stopped Zara in her tracks. She let the words sink in, and then met Sam’s gaze directly. Her hazel-green eyes, piercing and dominating. She shook her head. Her hardened stare giving way to hope. “Damn you, Sam Reilly. I had accepted that he was already dead, and now you go ahead and do a thing like this – you better pray to whatever God you believe in that he’s still alive and you haven’t given me false hope.”
He asked, “Shall I count you in, then?”
“Damn you. Of course, I’ll join the team. But don’t bother trying to return to the helicopter until you find him, or at the very least know exactly what happened to him!”
“I’ll do my best.” Sam turned to the rest of his team. “What do you think?”
Genevieve looked up. “Just one problem.”
Adebowale asked, “What’s that?”
“How do we get inside the mine?”
Adebowale said, “That’s where I’m going to need Mr. Reilly’s help.”
Chapter One Hundred and Four
The Legacy 450 banked gently to the left and settled onto its final approach. The chartered eight-person luxury jet landed smoothly on the blacktop runway. It was the sort of landing where one had to think twice whether or not they were still in the air or on the ground. It had taken six hours to travel from Malta to Bangui on the private charter. Sam glanced out the aircraft’s large side window. At the edge of the small airport, a helicopter’s rotor blades began to turn.
Adebowale caught Sam’s attention. “As promised, you have a Jet Ranger waiting for you. It will be fully fueled, and ready for Genevieve to take-off by the time we finish loading the equipment – no questions asked.”
“Good.” Sam turned to Genevieve. “How long’s it been since you’ve flown a Jet Ranger?”
“Years.” She smiled. “Nearly a decade.”
He asked, “You going to be okay?”
“Definitely,” she said. “It’s like riding a bike.”
Sam nodded. He’d been a pilot most of his life. Different helicopters had their own nuances, but once you’d learned to fly, it was in your blood. Besides, the Jet Ranger was a relatively forgiving helicopter.
The Legacy 450 stopped at a private hangar, hired for the next twelve hours only. Sam moved to the back of the aircraft. Tom had his legs resting on the empty leather chair that faced in toward him. Using the two chairs as a bed, Tom was in the sort of deep sleep of the dead. Sam kicked his feet off the chair and Tom slipped to the floor.
Tom looked up. “Hey, I was enjoying that rest. What’s up?”
Sam said, “Sorry. We’re on the ground. Time to go to work.”
“All right, but on the way back I’m sleeping for twenty-four hours straight.”
“On the return flight, sleep as long as you need. And when you wake up, we’ll start our hunt for the temple where Billie’s being kept prisoner.”
Tom stood up. His eyes suddenly wide, as though he’d been forced back into the moment. The need for sleep was replaced by urgency. He picked up his duffle bag. “Let’s get this thing done.”
Ten minutes later, they had loaded the Jet Ranger with their dive equipment and three RS1 Military Grade Sea Scooters. Zara sat in the navigation seat, and Genevieve quickly inputted the coordinates into the GPS in front of her, giving Zara a brief overview of its functions. Genevieve brought out the topographical map, and showed her the main reference points.
Sam slid the back door closed and popped his head into the cockpit. “We’re good to go.”
Genevieve nodded. “All right.”
A moment later, they were in the air. In the back of the helicopter, Sam, Tom and Adebowale quickly changed into their wet suits. Sam finished laying out his dive equipment, and turned to set up a second set for Adebowale.
Sam looked at Adebowale, “Have you ever dived before?”
“Once. I was on vacation in Hawaii. A friend from college convinced me to give it a go. I did a half hour introductory dive in about six feet of water.”
Sam cringed, “That’s it?”
Adebowale nodded. “That’s it. But I assure you: I will be fine.”
Sam attached the dive regulator to the tank and opened the air intake valve. He inflated the diving vest, known as a buoyancy control device, and handed it to Adebowale. “How do you feel about confined spaces?”
“Comfortable. I spent time in this very mine as a child. Again, rest assured, Mr. Reilly. I will get through the submerged section, if it’s still possible.”
Sam nodded. It was as good a chance as they were ever going to get. He carefully laid out a rectangular piece of cloth on the floor of the helicopter. Then, almost ritualistically, he placed his Heckler & Koch MP5 on it. The nine-millimeter, German designed, submachine gun was popular with military divers around the world, because its sealed chamber gave it excellent reliability even fully submerged. He removed the magazine, opened the chamber and checked that it was free from any bullets. It was clean and its parts were well oiled. He then tested the firing mechanism. It tapped forward with a firm clicking sound. He grinned. “All right.”
On the opposite side of the helicopter, Tom finished setting up all three Sea Scooters. The underwater diver propulsion vehicles were small, hand-held, electric devices used by SCUBA divers and free-divers for underwater propulsion. They weighed less than twenty pounds each, and had a water bladder, designed to automatically control the diver’s buoyancy.
Tom looked at Adebowale. “Have you ever seen one of these?”
Adebowale said, “No. But Sam explained what we can do with them. What do I need to know?”
Tom switched the power button forward, into the on position. It sat directly in the middle of the two handle grips. “Okay, as you can see, this button here turns the power on. You shouldn’t need to touch this once we’re in the water, but if you suddenly notice you’re out of power, you might want to check it hasn’t been bumped.”
“Okay,” Adebowale said.
Tom used his right thumb to depress the speed rate button, and the little propeller began to spin with a whine. “Look at this like a throttle on a motorcycle. Each time you press it you increase the speed. The RS1 Sea Scooter has three speed settings. We’ll probably need the fastest setting until we reach the bottom of the mine, then we’ll drop it back to the second or even first setting. Use the button under your left thumb to slow her down.”
Adebowale nodded.
“Okay, these power for ninety minutes at full speed, and can maintain up to 4 knots. This one has the map of the flooded mine built into its heads-up-display screen. Think of a GPS, only this one works by correlating the image ahead, based on its sonar pings, with your initial known location. We’ll set the initial location as the opening to the mine’s tunnel beneath the sink-hole. Each sea scooter has its own identifying sound, which means we can keep track of each other’s location throughout the tunnel, so long as we’re within line of sight. That means all three of us will be able to navigate in the dark, without too much trouble.”
Sam finished reassembling his Heckler & Koch MP5. He set
the safety to on, and attached a full magazine of bullets. “Unless the map’s wrong.”
Adebowale said, “The map isn’t wrong.”
“It was always going to be a possibility,” Tom said. “Heck, the map you gave us is nearly three years old.”
Adebowale said, “No one has been down to the mine that way since the sinkhole opened up next to the Tumba River, and flooded the first ten levels of the mine.”
Sam began sliding his arms into the buoyancy control device, and tightening the Velcro. He placed his fins on his feet and put his dive mask next to him. He attached his Heckler & Koch MP5 to his right arm, using a tether, and placed the sea scooter in front of him, between his fins. “Also, remember, the maximum battery power is ninety minutes. That means, it’s a one way trip. Adebowale’s men are going to breach the guard house at exactly 22:00. That leaves us three hours to make the dive, navigate our way through the tunnel, and blow the mines that lead to Lake Tumba.”
Genevieve glanced back, “No one said anything about a one way trip before?”
Sam said, “Don’t worry. Tom and I will be coming home. We’ll stick to the plan as far as a pick up rendezvous point. I just want to be clear we have ninety minutes max, to navigate through the flooded section of the mine. After that, we’re out of power, and we’d never be able to swim it without mechanical assistance.”
Genevieve asked, “So what happens if you can’t complete the mission? How do you get out?”
“We don’t.” Sam sat forward. “We have to complete the mission. Once the C4 is blown, and the tunnels cave-in, Adebowale’s men will take the guards out of the equation. Once that’s done, our job is finished. We’ll make our way out of the mine, and double back to the edge of the lake, set off a green flare, and you can come get us.”
Genevieve said, “I’ll need to refuel.”
“Not a problem. Drop us off, and return to the Bangui airport to refuel. Meet us at the designated landing zone at 2330, and Tom and I will be waiting for you.” He looked at Zara. “I’ll do my best to bring Mikhail home, too.”
Zara nodded, but said nothing.
Genevieve asked, “What about Adebowale?”
“I’ll be staying with my people,” Adebowale said, emphatically.
Sam looked at Tom and Adebowale. “Let’s do one final run through of the mine.”
Adebowale nodded and opened the digital image on his computer tablet. “This is the last known map of the maze of underground tunnels below Lake Tumba. It was taken five years ago, and so we can expect some changes.”
Tom nodded and asked, “You’re sure we’ll still have access?”
“Reasonably confident.” Adebowale pointed to the map. “As you can see, the Lake Tumba mine is separated into four primary mines. Each one joined by a series of longitudinal tunnels at level ten. For the purpose of this mission, I’ve labeled each one by either, A, B, C, or D.”
Sam nodded.
“A, C and D are all still fully operational mine shafts. B struck a river that runs about three hundred feet below Lake Tumba. It caused a massive sinkhole, where the water flowed into the mine shaft. The first ten levels of mine B are under water after it became too difficult and too expensive to pump out all that water. The good news for us is they left it alone. Unconcerned that anyone would be capable of getting through ten levels of flooded tunnels, they’ve given us the perfect route in.”
Tom sat forward and studied the map. “There must be more than a hundred tunnels in mine B. Each one will be pitch dark, and silted up. It’s going to be just short of impossible to reach the tenth level, let alone the top of the mine. This is anything but easy.”
Adebowale grinned. The jet black and scarred skin of his face, was suddenly broken by his warm smile and his evenly spaced white teeth. It was the smile of a model or a politician, not what you expect from someone who looks like a great warrior. What’s more, the smile appeared genuine. He spoke in his monotone, and deep voice. “I’ve seen the future, and we all get through the flooded mine to reach the surface and free my people. You and Tom will go home tonight.”
Sam met his eyes. The grayish-blue looked to him like steel. There was a certainty there. Adebowale wasn’t just saying that they’d make it through the tunnel. He somehow knew the future – or at least believed he did. Sam nodded but remained silent.
The last fifteen minutes of the flight was spent in silence. Each member of the team mentally prepared for the task ahead. The weapons had been checked, the C4 secured, and the dive equipment was all working.
The Jet Ranger banked to the right. Sam glanced ahead. They were flying over Lake Tumba.
Genevieve said. “Three minute check, gentlemen.”
“Copy that,” all three of them said in unison.
The helicopter flew low above Lake Tumba, until it reached a small river. The small river eventually met the Zaire River around five miles away. Halfway between the great African river and Lake Tumba, Genevieve took the helicopter into a steep descent, before leveling out along the river, and then hovering within a foot of the Tumba River.
Genevieve said, “GPS says this is it.”
Sam opened the side door of the Jet Ranger. The water below appeared dark. On the side of the river, it appeared more like a small bay, than a river’s edge. He looked at Adebowale. “You’re certain this is the spot?”
“That’s the sink hole,” Adebowale confirmed. “That spot there ate into the river bank.”
Sam looked at Tom and Adebowale. “Everyone ready?”
“Good to go,” they both confirmed.
Sam said, “All right. Set watches to 19:05 in five, four, three, two, one, mark. Good luck.”
Sam placed his regulator in his mouth, inflated his buoyancy control device so he would be mildly positively buoyant, and secured his dive mask. He checked that his Heckler & Koch MP5 was attached to his right arm, and his bag of C4 explosives was secure in its dry bag. He looked at Tom and Adebowale. “All right team. See you down there.”
He picked up the sea scooter, and stepped onto the helicopter skids. In one quick movement Sam pressed his mask against his face and stepped out. A split second later, he dipped into the dark, murky waters of the Tumba River and disappeared.
Chapter One Hundred and Five
Two thousand four hundred and eighty miles away, in Malta’s Grand Harbor, all was quiet inside the Maria Helena. Elise stared anxiously at four separate computer monitors. Each one feeding her different information about the mission. She had a number of background programs running. Each one aimed at providing information that might affect the mission, such as sudden changes in the movement of people, social media changes.
And despite all that information being fed to her, there was nothing that would have any effect on the mission. It made her feel frustrated and redundant, where she was usually confident and used to providing valuable digital information, or solutions throughout an operation. The clock at the base of the computer screen displayed the current time in the DRC as – 7:20 p.m.
They’ll be in the helicopter by now.
The thought only confirmed her discomfort with her position. For all the information coming in, there was nothing new to help with the mission from her end. She shook her head. It was unlike her to feel redundant, and even less like her to even care. She’d built a life, a very good one, on being self-sufficient and looking after herself. Elise forced herself to smile. She didn’t care whether she was needed or not, the reason she was troubled was because she was worried about Sam – and Tom and Genevieve, too, for that matter. She didn’t care either way about Zara or Adebowale. Not that she wished them any harm, of course. They seemed like good people. They had chosen their own paths in life, and it didn’t coincide with hers.
But the other three were her friends. More than that. They were part of the only family she’d ever known. Sam in particular, was like a father to her. And Genevieve and Tom might as well have been her rough and ready siblings.
They wi
ll be fine. They’re all tough.
Elise needed a distraction. She knew she shouldn’t. Genevieve would kill her just for having a look, but she needed to know the truth. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and it was a welcome distraction. On a separate tab, she opened google, and typed a single word.
Solntsevo
The search engine spat out thousands of reference pages, but her eyes never glanced past the first one.
Solntsevskaya Bratva
She clicked on the first link. It was a Wikipedia page. But it provided her as much as she needed to know. More than she should have learned and enough to make her wish she hadn’t. She read the article once.
The Solntsevskaya Bratva was the biggest and most powerful crime syndicate of the Russian mafia. Founded in the late 1980s by Sergei Mikhailov, a former waiter who had served a prison term for fraud, the organization now has ties to global organized crime syndicates, ranging from drugs and weapon sales, through to internet fraud and money laundering.
The syndicate used a group of violent mercenaries and assassins to maintain its foothold in each area, while using the concept of a ten-fold response to any trespass against them as a deterrent. One such example was in 2007, when a member of a Mexican Drug Cartel killed a member of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, during a hostile takeover of the lucrative cocaine industry in Atlanta. They tracked the man down and systematically killed every person on his Facebook page. They started with the person’s immediate family, his relatives, his local connections. And when all that was done, they started in on his friends list. By the time the FBI opened a special investigation into the massacre, a hundred and eighteen persons had been killed.
Elise stopped reading, as the article turned to the methods the organization used to kill people, and instead, skimmed to the end of the page.
She read the final paragraph. Re-read it, and then closed the tab completely.
Sergei Mikhailov had a daughter, Anastasiya Mikhailov, who disappeared in 2014 at the age of twenty eighty. It has been widely disputed that she was taken by one of the competing crime syndicates, in retaliation to something the Solntsevskaya Bratva had done. But no organization has come forward and claimed the kidnapping, and no one has ever seen her since.
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 2 Page 84