Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2

by Rebecca Crowley

  Dan bolted upright at her side. “There’s no way—we can’t stop. It’s not safe. In fact, it could be a trap—or worse. What if they’ve gone after the gas supplies? What if they’ve siphoned all of the gas out of the pumps and are using the stations to ambush people and rob them? What if—”

  “We’re stopping at the next station,” Alex commanded, not bothering to turn around. “Otherwise we’re going to run out, and I’m pretty sure sitting in a disabled vehicle on the side of the road is a lot more dangerous than stopping at a rural gas station, miles from any of the towns and cities where the rebels are gathering.”

  Dan slunk down in his seat, muttering unhappily, and she reverted to her previous train of thought—what, if anything, could she do about this desperate sense of unease about leaving Warren back at Hambani?

  They’d been driving for almost two hours and were halfway to August Town, so she couldn’t exactly get out and walk back—not like that would’ve been a brilliant idea no matter how far away they were. By the time they got to August Town it would be too late to try to find a car and drive back, even if that wasn’t one of the dumbest ideas she’d ever had.

  She sighed, yanking down the pinkie that had unconsciously found its way into her mouth. She was freaking out over nothing. Warren was a professional who knew exactly what he was doing, plus he had backup on the way. And as Warren had pointed out, there’d been plenty of opportunity to make good on the threats against the two of them. After all this time, all the warnings, why would the green-eyed man suddenly change tactics and do Warren harm?

  Because everything was different now—everything had changed overnight. Because the bomb was the last edict, and by staying behind Warren had defied the rebels’ final order. Because Warren wouldn’t give up the gold or the explosives without a fight.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the panic and helplessness welling in her chest. She had to stay calm. She had to figure out what to do. And she had to do something.

  The car protested as Cedric downshifted, and they pulled into a gas station with a faded sign and two outdated pumps. A bored-looking man sat in a folding chair beside the door to the bare-shelved convenience store, and he took so long to rouse himself and begin his passage toward their car that Dan started to breathe heavily, whispering something about the man giving the rebels a signal and that if he made any sudden moves, Cedric should—

  “See? Perfectly safe,” Cedric announced, pointing to the Latadi police car pulling into the gas station from the other direction.

  “That’s their trick,” Dan insisted, his voice rising with every word. “They’ve probably overrun the police force and are driving around in the cars so they can approach people. Keep going, Cedric—we can’t stay here.”

  “Just look at the people in the car,” Alex grumbled. “I really don’t think they’re Matsulu rebels.”

  The nearly simultaneous appearance of two cars had clearly stumped the gas station attendant, who stood a few feet away from the pump glancing between the two vehicles, probably trying to decide which looked likely to pay the bigger tip. Nicola leaned forward to peer around Dan’s bulk to see the passengers in the other vehicle, but as she opened her mouth to ask Dan to move so she could see, both front doors of the police sedan swung open.

  As soon as the two men moved into view she understood what Alex meant. One blond, one brown-haired, they both easily surpassed six feet tall and moved with swift, deliberate efficiency. Apparently unwilling to wait any longer for the gas station attendant to make his choice, the blond lifted the nozzle on the pump. His companion moved to the front of the car and opened the hood.

  His dilemma decided for him, the attendant jogged over to their car, but she barely registered the conversation he had with Alex through the open window. Something about their fellow patrons had caught her attention.

  Both of them wore black T-shirts and olive-green cargo trousers tucked into high-laced boots. It wasn’t exactly a military uniform, but they didn’t look much like civilians either. They definitely weren’t Latadi policemen, but they weren’t soldiers. Were they defense contractors? Mercenaries?

  Of course, they had to be—

  Before she had time to process what she was doing she was out of the car, waving her arms as she hurried across the forecourt. Both men froze as they watched her approach, their postures changing from briskly effective to cautiously alert.

  Belatedly she realized that rushing toward two probably armed men in a country on the brink of war wasn’t an especially well-thought-out strategy, but by then it was too late. Presumably she didn’t look too threatening as neither of them reached for weapons, just watched her approach. As she neared them, the blond’s expression remained suspicious, but the brown-haired man’s transitioned into interested bemusement.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, stowing the oil gauge and slamming the hood shut.

  South African accent. It had to be them.

  “Yes, fine. Wait, I mean—okay.” She took a composing breath. “I think I know who you guys are.”

  “Is that so.” The blond wasn’t looking at her as he cut the gas and stowed the nozzle, but around her at Cedric’s car. She followed his gaze to see three faces staring at her through the windows, eyes wide and mouths agape.

  “Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll be gone in a minute.” She waved a dismissive hand.

  “And you won’t?”

  “Hopefully not.” She flashed her boardroom-perfect smile as the other man shut the hood and came around to stand beside his colleague. The sight of the two of them, tall and imposing with crossed arms, waiting for her to explain, was nearly as intimidating as presenting to a roomful of industry executives.

  Nearly.

  “You’re Warren’s friends—you’re on your way to Hambani. And you’re going to take me with you.”

  The two men exchanged glances, and while the blond kept his eyes fixed on the car, his companion focused on her, his expression simultaneously assessing, expectant and bordering on impatient.

  “Explain.”

  “I’m Nicola Holt, the head of corporate social responsibility at Garraway Gold. I’ve been working with Warren since he came out here—we met on the flight from Johannesburg. He told me he had two colleagues on the way, he told me his whole plan to singlehandedly guard the site while disposing of the explosives left in the mine, and he told me he would be absolutely fine. And for some ridiculous reason, I believed him.”

  At that point the blond lost interest in the car, and she had both men staring at her like she’d just cheerfully announced she was a spy working for the US government.

  Forcing herself to be undeterred by the surprise and incredulity she read on their faces, she pushed on. “I shouldn’t have left him on his own to clean up the huge mess my company created—I shouldn’t have let him talk me into leaving. That’s why I’m going to get in your car and ride back to Hambani.”

  For almost a full minute silence reigned at the dilapidated gas station, punctuated only by the shuffling feet of the attendant as he waited for someone to acknowledge that he was owed money for two vehicles’ worth of gas. Nicola held her breath. This was her only chance, and she hoped she’d done enough. She had to have done enough. Otherwise she’d be on her way to the airfield in August Town, drowning in impotence and misery.

  When the blond spoke again his tone was gentler, though still firm. “Have you considered that he said he’d be fine because he will? Or that he thought it’d be safer for you to leave than to stay?”

  “Look, I know I’m being reckless. Of course he’s capable of taking care of himself, and of course it was safer for me to leave. But I can’t—” She stopped herself, her voice cracking on a sudden wave of emotion. Desperation, exhaustion, the panicked, trembling awareness that this was her last shot to get back to the man she loved more than anything.

&nbs
p; She closed her eyes, inhaled. When she spoke again she sounded much steadier than she felt.

  “I have to get back to him. I know the risks, and I take responsibility for anything that happens to me because of my decision. But I want to go.” She lifted her chin. “So will you take me?”

  They looked at each other, then at her, but neither spoke. The moment stretched on for so long she shifted her weight, listened to Cedric pay the attendant and urge him away, began to wonder if these two were psychic when the blond spoke again.

  “All right.” He shrugged. “Get in.”

  Her jaw slackened. “Seriously?”

  “Quick, before I change my mind.”

  The two men turned an abrupt about-face and she hurried after them, looking over her shoulder just long enough to wave at the three men in the busted-up sedan and call, “I’ll be fine, see you later,” before yanking open the police-car door and sliding into the backseat.

  The brown-haired man was paying the attendant, and as she shut the door behind her the blond turned to look at her from his position in the front passenger seat, the metal grate separating the front from the back doing nothing to diminish the intensity of his expression.

  “I think you already know this, but I feel like I have to say it. You should stay with your friends. Going back to the mine with us is dangerous and stupid.”

  “I do know that, but thank you. It turns out self-preservation isn’t always the most important thing in life.”

  He grinned, and it was in such stark, unexpected contrast to his serious demeanor that she couldn’t help but mirror it.

  “I know exactly what you mean. I’m Bronnik Mason, by the way, and this—” he indicated the brown-haired man ducking into the driver’s seat, “—is Dassie Jones.”

  “Oh good, does this mean I missed the introductory small talk?” Dassie turned the key in the ignition and put the car into gear.

  Bronnik winked through the grate. “Don’t mind him. Too many complimentary drinks on the plane last night.”

  “And that damn shop was completely empty,” Dassie grumbled. “Not even a warm can of Coke.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure Copley’s spent all day cooking a gourmet feast for when we arrive. Or, you know, saved you a handful of peanuts.”

  “I’d take it.” Dassie glanced at her in the rearview mirror as he pulled back onto the road. She met his gaze, deliberately refusing to look at Cedric’s car lurching into motion, heading in the opposite direction. She’d made her choice. There was no turning back now.

  “So,” he began, eyes flicking back to the road ahead. “I’d ask how well you know Warren, but something tells me you’re going to say it’s a long story.”

  She shook her head. “Nope, not at all. In fact, it’s very short.”

  With Dassie at the wheel, what had been a two-hour drive away from Hambani only took an hour and a half in the opposite direction. Her anxiety about driving into Namaza in broad daylight was quickly dismissed by the two men in the front of the car, and when they gunned through at top speed she understood why.

  She looked out the back window as they left the town behind. The streets were packed, but the atmosphere wasn’t raucous or violent. If anything, it reminded her of the time she’d been stranded in Miami as the city prepared for a hurricane. The mood was resigned. Expectant. Calmly bracing for the storm.

  The road to the mine was as empty as it had been during their dawn departure hours earlier.

  “Is that something to worry about?” she asked as Dassie raced over the asphalt, expertly dodging the potholes. “I mean, shouldn’t there be a bunch of rebels trying to invade the site by now? And where is the army?”

  “Stuck in the north, according to the last radio report we could get on the way out of August Town,” Bronnik replied. “The rebels blew a bridge to force the army to divert east.”

  “Not that the Latadi army is an elite fighting force in the first place,” Dassie added. “When the news says they’re mobilizing, they mean they’re calling everyone on the roster and giving a gun to whoever turns up.”

  “The rebels seem organized, but maybe they’re not. Or maybe Hambani isn’t the priority we thought it was.” Bronnik’s shoulders lifted above the edge of the seat.

  “Or we just have no idea what their next move is,” she muttered grimly.

  “Stay positive,” Dassie urged, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You’re in good hands.”

  The site seemed deserted when they pulled up to the gate, which was locked and, as far as Nicola could tell, hadn’t been interfered with. The three of them got out of the car to peer through the chain-link, and she recognized from the way they both touched their backs that they had their handguns holstered there, just like Warren.

  Her chest tightened at the thought of him. She was so close now—she prayed he was all right, that they’d find him hale and hearty on the other side of the gate, explosives disposed of, gold loaded, enjoying a cup of coffee while he waited for them to arrive.

  There was no evidence to suggest otherwise, but her gut insisted something was wrong. That he needed her as soon as she could get to him.

  Hang on, I’m almost there.

  Dassie inspected the lock. “Do you have a key?”

  She bit her lower lip. “In my bag. In the other car. Which is probably in August Town by now.”

  With a roll of his eyes Dassie withdrew his gun, but Bronnik held up a hand to stop him.

  “Jislike, you’re in a bad mood. Give me a minute, there’s a bolt cutter in the car.”

  Five minutes later they drove slowly onto the site, alert for any sign of activity.

  Dassie glanced at her over his shoulder. “Does anything look out of place?”

  “It looks fine, but it feels—weird. Like something’s not right. But maybe it’s because it’s so empty, or I’m projecting—”

  He shook his head. “Trust your instincts. You know the site, you tell us if anything is off, no matter how insignificant.”

  Dassie parked the car beside the Land Cruiser in the spaces outside the office and checked his phone. “Still no signal.”

  “And no welcoming committee. Guess we have to go find him.” Bronnik opened the door and stood up, and Dassie was right behind him. Nicola followed their lead and then all three of them were squinting in the sunlight, surveying the desolate mine.

  “We did get here a little faster than expected,” Bronnik offered.

  Dassie huffed dismissively. “He’s probably way out on the perimeter blowing something up.”

  But their tones were unconvinced. They’d expected Warren to be here, waiting. And there was no sign of him.

  She stiffened her shoulders, refusing to allow their uncertainty to affect her resolve. He was here, and he was fine. Just out of earshot, probably.

  “Where should we start looking?”

  It took her a second to realize Bronnik’s question was directed at her. “Uh, we could start by walking through the office, but his plan was to bring the explosives out of the mine and destroy them.”

  “And inevitably he’d go down there by himself to start moving them, rather than wait for backup.” Dassie sighed. “I guess we know where to start.”

  “The entrance is over there.” At her nod, they set off in that direction.

  She studied the mine head as they approached, but other than its ominous inactivity, she didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. She motioned the men into the locker room in the nearby outbuilding, flicking on the light as they entered.

  “At least he had the good sense to wear a hard hat,” Bronnik muttered. She followed his line of sight and froze, unable to tear her eyes from the space where a hat was missing from the rack.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered, sensing Bronnik and Dassie snapping to attention.

  “What is it?” Dassie
asked, pivoting to watch the open door behind them.

  “Warren already has a hard hat. I saw him with it last night. He found it in the office, he joked about how well it fit, and then he was propping his feet on it while he kept watch. There’s no reason why he would’ve come in here to get a new one.” Her mouth was bone-dry, the words barely audible. “Someone else is in the mine.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Bronnik held up his palms. “Why wouldn’t Warren get another hat? Maybe he left the first one in the office. Or maybe he came in here for something else, forgot he had that one and picked up a new one.”

  She shook her head. “The one that’s missing is a smaller size—see how it’s from one of the lowest rungs? It wouldn’t fit him.”

  “No chance it was put back in the wrong place?” Dassie asked.

  “Even if it was, he would take one from the right-size rack.”

  “So maybe the hat is just missing, full stop.” Dassie shrugged. “Left somewhere when the site was evacuated. Or maybe it’s the same one Warren found in the office.”

  “Maybe,” she acknowledged skeptically. “Check that closet, there.” She pointed over Bronnik’s shoulder. “Let’s see if any of the boots are missing. Warren was already wearing his work boots and I doubt he’d change out of them.”

  He opened the door, which creaked on its hinges. Inside were three perfectly orderly rows of steel-toed rubber boots—with one pair missing.

  Bronnik muttered what she assumed was Afrikaans profanity under his breath. “How do we get down there?”

  After five solid minutes spent convincing the two men they had to at least wear helmets and self-rescue kits, Nicola guided them the short distance to the entrance.

  “The elevator is here. That means someone sent it back to the surface.” She peered through the grated door for any sign of interference, but the interior looked perfectly normal.

  “Maybe Copley sent it back for us,” Dassie suggested.

  “Possibly.” She yanked open the door and stepped inside carefully, checking out the cage. “Normally the elevator is operated by someone in the hoist house, but there is a manual override function in case of emergencies. Sending it back up unmanned is annoying but not impossible.”