Howzit, Copley, airline lady says we should try for standby seats on midnight flight, reckons they’re likely to start cancelling commercial flights to Latadi from 6 AM. At Tambo now, will let you know progress.
Laura Copley, 22:58
You okay? Latadi’s all over the news. Rebel groups popping up all over the country, military rolling out, etc. Plane on standby if you need it, stay safe pls! xxxx
Dassie Jones, 23:21
Got seats on the flight to August Town, wasn’t hard, Latadi not a popular tourist destination at the moment! You know how to pick ’em, bru. Flight lands 6 AM, will beg/borrow/steal car and be with you asap.
Bronnik Mason, 23:44
Jones just conned the flight attendant into giving him six little bottles of whiskey by telling her he’s a nervous flyer. We haven’t even taken off yet. You owe me, bud.
He closed the window, then checked the time. Half an hour until they landed, maybe another half for them to talk the Latadi police into giving them a car. They’d get to Hambani in five hours. Or four, if Dassie drove.
He looked down at where Nicola slept at his feet, curled on her side on the tiled kitchen floor, his rolled-up windbreaker tucked beneath her head. The other three men slumbered in other corners, but as the first rays of dawn lightened the sky outside the big sliding-glass doors, she was all he could see. The thick lashes resting on porcelain cheeks, the soft body pulled into itself, the myriad shades of red in the hair she’d caught in a messy ponytail.
She looked the same as she had for the last two hours he’d been in that position, keeping watch while everyone slept. Yet he was as transfixed now as in that first second he’d dropped into the chair. Even more, as the end of their time together crept closer with every minute.
He was in love with her. It was quick, and it was reckless, and he was probably dooming himself to heartbreak, but it was the truth. Somewhere between taking a seat beside her on the plane from Johannesburg and making love to her earlier that night, he’d fallen in love.
He crossed his arms behind his head, exhaling heavily. Had he ever done anything so stupid in his life? A quick review of the last three decades assured him that no, not even the dizziest heights of his youthful danger-seeking could compete with falling for a fiery, bossy, globetrotting mining executive who held herself to standards even a Nobel Peace Prize wouldn’t satisfy. A woman as sensitive as she was strong, who stunned and impressed and kept him constantly wanting more.
A high-flying corporate climber who had the potential to change an industry forever. Whose ambition would never let her sit still and whose career would keep her traveling around the world at breakneck speed. Who might leave this site in the next hour and look back on their time together as a welcome distraction from a nerve-racking situation, and remember him only in fond snapshots, wondering whatever happened to that guy she met in that random African country all those years ago.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t giving her enough credit. Maybe they’d both make an effort for several weeks after they parted, exchanging text messages and scheduling times to speak on the phone. Maybe they’d see each other once more—maybe she’d have a meeting in Johannesburg and he’d fly up for the weekend. Maybe it would be awkward. Maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, it’d be clear they couldn’t keep the relationship going. They’d say goodbye at the airport, both aware it was the last time, both resigned that the end had finally arrived.
“So much for positive thinking,” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand over weary eyes. His sister was always telling him to stop being such a pessimist—maybe she was right. Maybe he should stop expecting the worst, man up and tell her how he felt. Hell, he might not even survive the next twenty-four hours—what’s the worst that could happen?
The phone in his lap squealed to life, its shrill, repetitive beeping shattering the silence and echoing around the tiled room.
Sharp exhalations of interrupted sleep erupted from all corners. At his feet Nicola stretched languidly, fluid and feline, and it took all his willpower not to drop onto the floor beside her and pull her slumber-soft body into his arms.
Her thick lashes fluttered, and in the next instant a pair of groggy blue eyes found him. She smiled.
“Have you made me breakfast in bed? Warren, you shouldn’t have.”
“I could drop a granola bar on your face, would that count?”
“Such a romantic.” She pulled herself up, untwisting the elastic in her hair and combing her fingers through the long strands. “Did you sit there all night?”
He nodded.
“I’d say you must be tired, but something tells me you’re not a man who needs eight hours a night.”
“Correct. Anything more than five feels indulgent.”
She cast a quick glance at her colleagues, all in various states of awakening, then lowered her voice. “Next time we’re together, I’ll see to it that you don’t get out of bed for at least half a day.”
The next time they were together—whenever that was, if it ever was. But he forced a smile. “I hope this will be your pet project and not something you plan to delegate.”
“Oh no, I’ll supervise personally.”
“In that case, I’m on board.” He extended a hand to help her up. She held it a second longer than necessary once she was on her feet, and he swallowed hard. Soon they would say goodbye, potentially for the last time, but he couldn’t let that affect the mammoth, dangerous tasks that still lay ahead. He had to box up his feelings for Nicola and put them away. They couldn’t be allowed to interfere with the coolness of his head, the clarity of his thoughts, or the steadiness of his hands.
She glanced out the sliding-glass doors at the breaking dawn, and when she returned her gaze to his it was graver, more serious. “I know I’m probably wasting my breath, but I have to say this one last time. Call your friends, tell them to stay in Johannesburg. Leave with us. Or let us wait until you can redistribute enough of the explosives stored in the mine to decrease the impact, and then we’ll all leave together.”
He shook his head. “Even if that was feasible, it’s too late. The phone signal came on long enough for me to get a few texts. My friends were on standby for the overnight flight and, unsurprisingly, it turned out there were plenty of extra seats. If everything is on time, they’re about to land. I can’t turn them around now, and to be honest, I wouldn’t if I could. My job here isn’t finished. Leaving would be unethical.” He smiled, pushing her hair over her shoulder without bothering to make sure no one was watching. “But you know all about that, hotshot corporate social responsibility executive.”
“I thought I did.” Her tone was sad, her expression dark. “And I know you want to do the right thing. I guess I was hoping that sometime while you were sitting in that chair, you came up with a way to do it that also satisfied my selfish desire to get you the hell out of here.”
“I plan to get myself the hell out of here in about twelve hours. Best-case scenario, we get to August Town in time to move the gold out of Latadi on the plane Dan chartered.”
“And the worst-case scenario?”
“Don’t be a pessimist.” He took a step backward, hoping to conclude the conversation before she could proceed further down that line of thinking. It wasn’t somewhere he was particularly inclined to go.
“Warren—” she began, drawing what seemed like a bracing breath, but she stopped herself as Alex approached.
“I think we’re all ready to go,” he offered, looking sheepish at having interrupted. “The car is packed and Cedric and Dan are itching to leave. That is, if you’re ready, too, Nicola?”
She looked from Alex to him, tilting her chin to meet his eyes. There was so much in her expression, he raced to catch it all—longing, regret, disappointment, concern, rolling together into unyielding determination.
She turned to Alex. “Can you give us a second?”
&n
bsp; “Of course. I’ll see you at the car.” He started to leave, then changed his mind, sticking out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Sergeant Copley. I hope everything goes okay today.”
“Cheers, Alex. I’ll see you in August Town tonight.”
He grinned. “Definitely.”
The sound of Alex’s footsteps receded as he crossed the room, and Warren cleared his throat, suddenly nervous under the weight of this conversation. He had to say something significant—something meaningful. Something that would remain with her if they never saw each other again, if anything went wrong with the explosives disposal, if while they were moving the gold—
Without a word she slipped her arms around his neck, arched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
And just like that, everything they needed to be said was made clear. She didn’t need to promise him they would see each other again—she promised it with the movement of her mouth, the soft press of her tongue. Nor did he have to fumble to find the right combination of reassurance and optimism, because he could tighten his hand on her waist, tug her more tightly into his chest, cup the back of her neck and be sure she knew exactly what he meant.
The kiss was brief, one of the briefest they’d shared, but when Nicola dropped back down to the soles of her feet he felt calmer and more hopeful than he had in days. They’d be fine. They’d make something work, at least for a little while.
She smoothed her palm down the front of his shirt. “Do I need to tell you to be careful?”
“Can’t hurt.”
She laced her fingers through his and squeezed. “Be careful.”
“I’ll try. Now let’s get you out of here.”
He followed her out of the kitchen, through the abandoned corporate headquarters, past silent phones and blank-screened computers and rolling chairs pushed away from desks in haste and never set right. He thought about the filing cabinet packed with automatic weapons, the huge map of Africa in Roger’s office, the indifferent expressions on the faces of the undertakers who’d driven Roger’s body away in a twenty-year-old Volvo station wagon with the rear row of seats removed.
What would happen to Roger’s body now? Presumably he had some family somewhere who’d been notified. But how would they get it out of Latadi? What were the chances a funeral home would keep its operations going through a full-scale rebellion? It was a grisly end, he decided. One even Roger didn’t deserve.
He stood in the front entryway while Nicola diverted to the bathroom, situating himself to simultaneously keep an eye on the bathroom door and the sedan idling outside. Cedric was in the driver’s seat, Alex at his side. The trunk was full of the suitcases and backpacks they’d hastily stuffed inside a few hours earlier, possessions stripped down to the barest essentials. Laptops, clothes, passports, wallets.
He sighed as he squinted up at the sky, at the blood-red sunlight streaking through a handful of clouds. He was a child of apartheid-era South Africa, he’d weathered the violent 1990s in Johannesburg, and the Special Task Force had taken him to parts of his country he wished he’d never known existed.
But he’d never been somewhere like this, at a time like this.
For better or worse, South Africa had steered its own destiny for a hundred years. Latadi was different—barely thirty years since independence and it’d seen almost as many governments, each one deeper in the pockets of foreign corporate interests than the one before. And where had it gotten them? Illiteracy, poverty, one of Africa’s highest rates of death in childbirth, and now another civil conflict that would cost countless lives and erase whatever recovery the country had made in the months since the last one.
He shook his head. What a waste.
The bathroom door opened and Nicola emerged, pausing at his side. She touched the small of his back, her hand lingering before she dropped it.
“Something on your mind?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Latadi. It’s got so much potential—agriculture, mining, manufacturing, even the airport could be a huge economic advantage. But it’s got nothing. The country is dirt poor.”
“Plenty of people are getting rich off Latadi,” she corrected. “It’s just that none of them live here.”
For a moment they stood side by side, silent, staring at the high wall separating Hambani from the countryside surrounding it. The absence of the sounds of industrial machinery made the boundary feel especially arbitrary. Like a silly, deluded effort to own what could never be possessed, not really. Not for long enough to matter.
Movement in the car caught his attention. Dan twisted to look at them through the back window, anxiety plain on his face.
“I’d better go,” she said, suggesting she’d seen the same.
He slung his arm across her back and pulled her into his side for a quick squeeze, not daring to touch her any more intimately. “Keep your wits about you, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. I’ll call you whenever I can.”
“If I don’t see you tonight in August Town,” she reminded him.
“Right. Of course.”
She wrenched herself out of his grasp and took quick, determined steps toward the car.
“Bye, Warren,” she called over her shoulder, barely looking at him. Then she ducked into the backseat, never turning around, never looking back.
The old sedan groaned as Cedric put it into gear, coughing and roaring disproportionately to the slow speed with which he urged it toward the gate. Warren shaded his eyes with his hand as he watched. The guards had fled sometime after they found the bomb, so Alex got out of the car, retrieved the logbook from the sentry box and manually unlocked and dragged open the electronic gate. Cedric eased the car through and Alex repeated the process in reverse on the other side, the gate clanking as it shut. He got back into the car and within seconds it was gone, racing down the road away from the mine.
Finally alone on the enormous site, Warren shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He had a lot to get done today, and only a few hours before Bronnik and Dassie arrived. He had no time to stand around moping.
He tilted his head toward the brightening sky and took a deep, indulgent breath. The air was the freshest he’d tasted in months, free of the exhaust and industrial fumes that even the sea breeze couldn’t always banish back home in Cape Town. It was sweet, clean, full of the scents of rich earth, lush grass and the hundreds of flowers native to this small, fraught country in the center of a continent.
The last of the pre-dawn haze had dissipated, leaving nothing to obscure the infinite sprawl of the horizon. Even the clouds had fled, and the sky was clear and empty.
He yanked his hands from his pockets and rolled up his sleeves, casting a last glance at the rising sun. No doubt about it—it was shaping up to be a beautiful day.
Chapter Fifteen
Nicola tasted blood, sharp and metallic. She pulled her thumb away from her mouth—she’d chewed the nail so far down she’d broken the skin, and blood welled up from the tiny hole she’d bitten in the skin.
She pressed both hands into her lap, examining the damage to her fingertips. They looked raw and gnawed, all ten nails victims of her restless anxiety.
From the moment the car had pulled away from the mine she’d felt like something was wrong. And what sensible person wouldn’t? She was in the backseat of an old sedan that was barely roadworthy, slinking along pothole-ridden streets in the middle of a country on the brink of civil war, and she’d just said goodbye to the first man she thought she could—did—ever love. It should be no surprise she wasn’t exactly at yoga-class levels of peace and tranquility.
And yet some hitherto undiscovered instinct nagged that this was different, that there really was something wrong, that she needed to act. No matter how she rationalized her emotions, she couldn’t get over the overw
helming sense that she had to go back for Warren.
She knew better than to raise that notion with her companions in the car. They’d glided through Namaza as easily as if it were a quiet Sunday afternoon. The streets were deserted, the shops shuttered, and only a few crushed beer cans and piled cigarette butts bore testament to whatever drunken rowdiness may have marred the night before.
As they reached the outer boundary of the town she wondered why more people weren’t fleeing, why there hadn’t been a mass exodus of the informal settlement. Then she realized they probably had no cars, no money for gas, nowhere else to go.
If any unseen viewers had recognized them from Hambani, they hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it, and in no time at all they were chugging down the highway. But although they’d made a seamless escape, Dan behaved as if guerrillas were bearing down on them in fully armored tanks.
“You’re sure no one’s following us? You’re checking the mirrors? You’re absolutely positive no one tailed us out of Namaza?” he asked Cedric, rephrasing the question every five minutes until Alex twisted in his seat to face him.
“I’m the lookout, okay? And there’s been no one. We haven’t even seen another car in almost an hour.”
“I’m just checking,” Dan retorted testily, wringing his hands. “We have to be vigilant. What if they decide to come after us? What if they want us as hostages?”
“We abandoned the mine,” Nicola replied wearily, propping her elbow against the window frame. “It’s theirs for the taking, and it’s a bargaining chip worth way more than all our lives put together. Why waste their time with us? They have Hambani.”
They’d settled into a gloomy silence then, and she was sure they were all thinking the same thing she was. They didn’t exactly have Hambani, not yet. There was still one man standing between a growing rebel army and enough gold to finance the country for generations—and enough explosives to level half of it.
“We have to stop for gas,” Cedric announced, jerking her back to the present.
Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 Page 17