WAR: Disruption

by Vanessa Kier

  “Do I need to remind you, Herr Ziegler, that a free Max is a threat to our upcoming deal? We need him back in our custody. And yet, while you tracked him to the way station, he once again eluded capture. A dozen rebels were not enough to find him and bring him in. Which makes me wonder, did you deliberately fail to take our personal guards with you because you secretly hoped Max would escape again? Or were you simply too arrogant to believe that Max could outsmart you a second time?”

  He watched his second-in-command carefully. While Ziegler had perfected the art of keeping his face expressionless and his body still during questioning, Dietrich saw the man’s pupils dilate slightly. That slight signal of unease gave Dietrich the patience to wait for the reply, which he was certain would be a lie.

  “With the urgency to find the missing plane, I thought it more efficient if I pursued Max on my own.”

  Ah, yes. The plane. Dietrich had hired one of the most experienced pilots in the international smuggling arena to fly his courier here from South Africa with the items for the upcoming deal. It should have been a simple matter. Yet, the tracking beacon in the courier’s briefcase had stopped transmitting halfway through the journey. Then, although the pilot had radioed in to confirm that he was approaching the hidden airfield in the Republic of the Volta, the plane never arrived. They assumed it had crashed somewhere in the nearby jungle. Dietrich had indeed put high priority on the search for the plane and for the recovery of the secure briefcase containing both the plans for the weapon and a small prototype. However, choosing to pursue Max on his own was not a decision Ziegler had the right to make.

  “Ah,” Dietrich said. “So you expected to be able to return Max to me without taking resources away from the search for the crash site?” His small cadre of personal guards would not be able to scour the entire area, so Dietrich had ordered a platoon of his private soldiers to aid in the search. They were expected to arrive tomorrow morning.

  Ziegler dipped his chin in assent.

  “That, then, is why you used the rebels in your hunt?”

  Another slight nod.

  “Yet you have failed, Herr Ziegler. Not only has Max once again eluded you, but the rebels delighted in informing me that you shot an American girl without provocation.” Such a rash act was not typical for Ziegler. “Do you not realize that this will draw attention to the very area of the country where we do not wish others to look? Do you want the government to discover that we are searching for our missing plane here?”

  Ziegler’s shoulders remained back and his head remained high, but there was the briefest flicker of remorse across his features. Otherwise, he gave no other sign that he regretted his action. Dietrich wondered if this insubordination had been building for some time and he had simply been too busy to notice it, or if something had happened recently to provoke Ziegler.

  “Do you not have anything to say in your defense?” Dietrich asked. “Or do you fail to realize that by killing an American, you have also exposed us to inquiry by the United States government? They have so far kept their distance from us as promised, but the agreement was that we would not directly harm Americans. Our protector will not be able to shield us now that you’ve killed the girl in front of witnesses.”

  “The rebels will not dare to say anything. They killed the other American woman.”

  “Fool. The rebels will do anything to purge the continent of foreign devils such as ourselves. The only reason they have not already informed on us is because the weapons we sell them are their very lifeblood. Once they feel secure in their power, they will attempt to destroy us, too. In the meantime, my sources tell me that someone has sent cell phone video to the local media showing the killing. You should have done a better job of cleaning up your mess, Herr Ziegler. To have missed that the way station had an Internet connection was very sloppy. Whether it was the rebels who uploaded the video, hoping to undermine our position so that they can negotiate more beneficial terms for their weapons, or a concerned citizen who turned in the evidence, you are now a highly wanted man.”

  Ziegler only shrugged. “Many governments have tried to apprehend me before. They failed. This also will disappear from their priority list as more of their citizens are captured and killed.”

  Dietrich barely refrained from shaking his head. Once, Ziegler would have weighed all the repercussions before pulling his weapon. And if by some chance he had been overtaken by madness and killed without foresight, he would have provided a full apology and given steps he would take to reduce the impact of the fallout. This careless disregard for both their overall mission—to remain covert so that none of the larger nations would bother to hunt them down and destroy their organization—and their current mission to find the missing plane without alerting others to their search, was not like him.

  Inwardly, Dietrich sighed. He had been working with Ziegler for over twenty years. They had, until recently, worked together impeccably. It was unforgivable that Ziegler saw no need to apologize for his mistake. Instead, Dietrich saw only the fanatical zeal of a crazy man.

  Ziegler’s need for revenge against Max had apparently veered so far into obsession that he no longer cared what Dietrich wanted. All this because Ziegler’s hand had been burned into uselessness during a raid by Max’s team. Such an inconsequential matter. Ziegler had lived. Prospered. He ought to be focused on furthering their business interests, rather than punishing Max.

  Regardless of the cause of Ziegler’s strange transformation, he could no longer be trusted. Yet he knew too much to simply be allowed to walk away. This matter would require more drastic measures. Because Ziegler could not be allowed to go unpunished for such actions. Dietrich’s men must understand that his authority was absolute.

  Unfortunately, for the moment Dietrich needed Ziegler’s help. “The buyer will arrive in ten days. You will tell our contact with the rebels that Max is most likely heading to the capital. If they spot him, they should apprehend him and return him to us. In the meantime, you will coordinate the search with the leader of our soldiers when they arrive tomorrow. And I want to know why the tracking beacon stopped transmitting.”

  “Yes, Herr Dietrich.”

  “Good. Oh, and Herr Ziegler, you will report to me every day. If I do not hear from you, and do not hear that you are making progress, then I will tell the squad to eliminate you. Is that clear?”

  The man stiffened, then gave a curt nod.

  “Dismissed.”

  Dietrich stared into space for a long while after Ziegler’s exit. This was the most important deal of his career. Not only because of the money, but because the experimental weapon had the potential to change the balance of power in West Africa. Success here would also prove to the international community that he remained one of the elite weapons dealers. Max and his team had already ruined too many of his previous deals, damaging his reputation in ways that had taken years to repair.

  Now only Max continued to pursue him, but the man’s persistence and intelligence were a constant threat. Dietrich could not afford to have Max running around, searching for ways to disrupt this deal. He must die before then.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Day Four

  EMILY WOKE UP with her head leaning against the passenger side window of the old Toyota pickup truck Max had stolen to replace the Cadillac. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and blinked against the late afternoon sun. Man, she’d really gone down for the count.

  Staring groggily out the window at the low concrete buildings lining the paved road, she asked, “Where are we?”

  “Outskirts of the capital, New Accra.”

  She nodded toward the line of vehicles stopped in front of them. “What’s going on?”

  “Checkpoint.”

  Nerves danced awake in her belly. “Why?”

  Max shrugged. “The rebels are in the country. This is probably just a precautionary measure.” His hands were relaxed on the steering wheel and he didn’t appear alarmed. She took a deep breath and her muscles lost
most of their tension.

  “Do you have your passport?” he asked.

  “What? Oh. Yes. It’s in my money belt.” She patted her stomach.

  He nodded in approval. “Good. Let me do the talking.”

  “Um…” She shot him a sidelong glance, then flinched in sympathy. Deep circles ringed his eyes. The bruises underneath his unshaven cheeks looked stark against the unnatural paleness of his skin. Lines of pain drew his mouth into a grimace. He looked like he was barely staying conscious. “Ah, Max, have you looked in the mirror lately? Because if I was a checkpoint guard, I’d definitely think you looked suspicious.”

  Max swore and tilted his head so he could see his reflection in the rearview mirror. Then he gave a gruff laugh. “Hell, I’ll just tell them a version of the truth. That we were at a way station that was attacked by rebels and barely escaped with our lives. Maybe they’ll take pity on us and we’ll get an armed escort to the embassy.”

  Emily perked up. “You think so?”

  He shook his head, then winced. “No. Sorry, I was just being flip. I doubt they have the manpower to spare.”

  “Oh.” She tried to hold back her disappointment.

  He motioned toward the glove box. “I stuck the map in there. Since I’ve only been to the capital once before, I’m not sure where the embassy is. Why don’t you plot us the best route?”

  The neon blue bus in front of them lurched forward in line. It might once have been a school bus, but had since been fitted with a roof luggage rack that was jammed with suitcases, bags of yams, and live goats and chickens. As their pickup followed, Emily pulled out the map. She only half focused on deciphering the streets and symbols, keeping the majority of her attention on the checkpoint. But as they drew nearer, she saw that Max was right. The soldiers, wearing government patches of red and black on their uniforms, were basically just waving people through after a cursory glance inside.

  When it was their turn, Max cranked down the window.

  The round faced soldier peeked inside. “Obruni, why you coming here? There is great danger now for your people. You should leave.”

  Max nodded. “We’re trying to get to the embassy.”

  The man shrugged. “You best hurry, then.” He straightened and waved them through.

  When they were out of earshot, Emily let out a shaky laugh. “Well. That was anticlimactic.”

  “Yeah.” Max slowly brought the truck up to speed and followed the other vehicles along the paved road. “I see a stoplight up ahead. Which way do we go?”

  Emily returned her attention to the map. “Ah… Keep going straight.”

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled onto a wide street and spotted the walled compound that housed the United States Embassy. Max pulled over to the side of the road half a block from the gates. “You go on from here.”

  “Wait. What? Aren’t you coming with me?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve got unfinished business here in the country.” His hand pulled the brim of his baseball cap down farther, shielding his eyes.

  She glanced nervously toward the embassy’s gate. “Max, are you in some sort of trouble? Are you…” She swallowed heavily. “Are you afraid of being arrested?” Did his reluctance to approach the embassy have anything to do with the reason Crystal had been killed?

  He only shrugged, which made her heart sink. “I’ve got a bit of…explaining to do. This isn’t the time. But don’t worry. I’ll watch from here to make sure you get inside okay.”

  “Oh.” She glanced down at her hands. “Well, then. Thanks for saving my life, Max.” Fighting back a surprising wave of disappointment, Emily opened the door, then reached into the back seat for her pack.

  “You take care of yourself, Emily Iwasaki,” Max said through the rolled down window after she’d closed the door.

  Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Oh, no. She widened her eyes, tried not to blink and willed herself not to cry, afraid that if she let the tears fall all of her dammed-up emotions from the past day would come pouring out and she wouldn’t stop sobbing for hours. “I don’t even know your last name.”

  He hesitated. “It’s Lansing. Max Lansing.”

  “Thank you.” She stared at him, memorizing the planes of his face, the stubborn set to his jaw. The long fingers dotted with scabbed-over cuts. The way his light blue eyes watched her without giving any hint of emotion.

  Right. He didn’t want or need her company. It was time to get on with her life. Still, a lump formed in her throat as she said, “Good-bye, Max Lansing. I hope things work out for you.” Turning on her heel, she walked down the road, feeling the weight of Max’s gaze. She didn’t understand this sadness at leaving him. She barely knew him. He was dangerous. He was probably the reason Crystal and the others had been killed. And yet, whether he was a spy or someone on the wrong side of the law, he’d saved her life. He’d been nothing but kind to her. More, he’d been a symbol of strength and security in the midst of the frightening chaos of the past twenty-four hours.

  Keeping her back straight, she approached the gate, making sure she didn’t limp. Her thin tennis shoes had long ago rubbed off the skin on her heels, but she was accustomed to ignoring physical pain. Forgetting Max? For some reason she thought that would be much, much harder.

  She reached the gate and found that the guard box on the other side was empty. That was strange. She pushed on the gate, but it was locked. “Hello?” She rattled the gate. “Hello?”

  Noticing a buzzer set into the wall, she pressed it over and over again, resisting the urge to look back down the street to see if Max had left.

  Finally, a local man wearing a tunic and slacks hurried toward her across the courtyard. “What do you want?” he called out. “We’re closed.”

  “I—” She glanced up at the sign. “Isn’t this the United States embassy?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  She gave him a puzzled glance. “I’m an American. My tour group was attacked by rebels and I need help getting out of the country.”

  The man drew close enough for her to see that he had gray hair interspersed with his dark curls. “I’m sorry, child. Your ambassador withdrew all the staff yesterday at the request of our president.”

  “What?” She gripped the bars. “You mean everyone is gone? But—”

  The man shrugged. “Without foreigners in the capital, the rebels have less reason to attack us.”

  “But what am I going to do?”

  “I suggest you go to the airport. There should be one more flight out today, but you best hurry. Once night falls there will be no more flights until curfew is lifted in the morning.”

  Emily couldn’t help it. She turned her head to check down the street. To her relief, the truck still sat where she’d left it. She sighed. “Okay then, which way is the airport?”

  The man gave her directions. After she’d repeated them back, she thanked him.

  “God be with you, child,” he said, then walked back toward the main building.

  Emily stood rooted in place, unable to fight back her disappointment. Trying hard to battle tears now that the promise of safety had once again been shattered. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of this country. Get back to her normal, boring world. Even if she still didn’t know what to do with her life, at least she wouldn’t be in constant danger.

  She blew out a breath. Well, there was no use in wallowing in pity. She just had to hope that Max would be willing to help her a little longer.

  “What’s up?” he asked when she returned to the truck.

  She explained. “I’m sorry. I know you have other things to do, but would you please give me a ride to the airport?”

  “Of course.”

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d feared that Max would reject her until her shoulders sagged.

  “Hey,” Max said. “I’m not going to just abandon you, okay? I promise I won’t leave until you’re safe.”

  “Thank you.” She stowed her pack then climbed into
the passenger seat.

  EMILY DASHED UP to the line of scared, angry foreigners waiting on the tarmac just as the last flight of the day taxied toward the end of the runway. Her stomach sank and her fists clenched—she’d been so close to being free of this horrible place—but she refused to give in to emotion in front of all these strangers.

  “You can’t just leave us here!” the man next to her shouted to the male airline representative who indicated that the crowd should return to the terminal. The man’s wife briefly met Emily’s gaze with frightened eyes before she bent down to comfort their two young children. The young woman’s fear struck a chord inside Emily, threatening to destroy her façade of calm.

  No. She wouldn’t panic. Max had promised to stay until she was safe. He’d help her figure out her next step. Protect her.

  “I’m sorry,” the airline representative said, adjusting his tie. “Come back in the morning and try your luck then.”

  “No. I waited hours to get this far,” the man replied. “We’re not leaving. We’re going to stay right here so that my family and I are first on the plane tomorrow.”

  The airline representative shook his head. “No one is allowed to stay. There’s a curfew. You have to go away.”

  “Screw your curfew!” The man took a threatening step forward.

  Taking their cue from him, other people surged toward the airline representative. “We want to go home!”

  The airline representative bolted toward the stairs leading into the terminal as security vehicles sped toward the crowd with sirens blaring. Wanting no part of a fight, Emily turned away, moving against the tide of angry people. She was jostled and shoved so hard she barely managed to keep her balance. The fear that she might go down under the mob threatened to bring on a full-blown panic attack. She tried to suck in air, but it felt as if iron hands had seized her lungs. Oh God, if she panicked now, she might fall and be trampled to death. She might—