The Depository

by E Y Mak

  “Someone’s watching our convoy. There’s no way they don’t know we are coming now. Stay down. I see two sets of guards on the southeast tower. They’ve seen the dust that we’ve been kicking out for the last hundred yards.” Ricardo relayed the same message to the Humvee convoy on the secured radio. “It looks like we should get to the compound by about seventeen hundred hours, when the sun is setting.”

  After another minute, they reached the edge of the clearing and were soon once again under cover of the forest canopy. The exposure had been fleeting, but it would have had been enough to draw an attentive eye from the compound. She craned her neck trying to get a good glimpse of it up ahead. She could not see through the trees.

  “It is time we did something about this Mauritius,” said Patrice, who was also looking into the distance at the compound. “We say something in the village that I am from.” He then said something in Afrikaans, and when he was finished, he repeated himself in English. “If you see a mouse and do nothing, tomorrow your house will be overrun. It means to deal with small problems before they become big.”

  Patrice paused to slowly maneuver the Humvee around a puddle in the road. The passage had become much more convoluted, with twists and turns and bumps and overgrowing shrubbery and holes. The vehicles could handle the road surface, but the movement forward was much slower.

  “When this guy, Mauritius, came to our country, we knew right away the kind of person he was. We’ve seen all sorts of people come to our land, drilling for oil, building mines. They all have a purpose. But we allow it because they promise wealth. And jobs. It’s an investment, you know? Now, Mauritius, he only hired the people who . . . had trouble. Had problems. The kind of people he hired, not good people. Murderers. Thieves. People you can’t trust. How can you build a good company with these types of people? We knew who he was, but he knew the right people. He knew who to pay to keep people away.”

  Patrice continued, his eyes never leaving the road.

  “Now, you come. I don’t know you guys. But your company must have a lot of money if you could get our government and military to help. Mauritius is strong, but not invincible. He is the mouse right now. We need to take care of him before he overruns our house. I don’t know how much longer we can wait.”

  Candice took it as good of a motivation speech as any at the moment. Patrice was with a group of soldiers that had been chasing and protecting his people from the scourge of Boko Haram for the last two years. The sun-soaked creases around his young eyes betrayed the sights that he had seen. Patrice had earlier told her about the screaming women that had been raped, the children killed, the villages that had been burned down.

  After another two hours of slow progress, the Humvee convoy came to a halt. The trees here were tall—the treetops fifty feet high. They provided cover from the compound. Ricardo collected his binoculars and his pack and got out of the vehicle. The rest of the occupants of their vehicle did the same, including Candice.

  Ricardo walked ten steps towards a gigantic tree stump measuring about three yards in diameter. The soldiers and Phineas agents circled around him as he began to review his plan once more. After looking skyward, Ricardo started talking.

  “Alright, all of you are probably fatigued from the day of driving. But to be honest, I hope you got some rest on the ride over. The evening will be . . . eventful.”

  He stared into the distance, northeast, towards the compound.

  “First of all, the Mercs are still standing by. I understand that their airspace privileges were temporarily revoked. Order must have come from really high up since they were already cleared. Phineas HQ is sorting it out. Hopefully, they will launch shortly and should arrive at the compound when we arrive.”

  “We abort mission?” asked Petri, whose eyes were bugging out their sockets. He looked like he was about to defecate in his pants from the news.

  “Negative,” said Ricardo from his perch on the stump. We’re not turning back at this point. Stopping on this road just makes us vulnerable. We are better off moving forward and waiting for the Mercs to arrive.”

  Candice was unsure about this. She wasn’t sure why they ought to continue towards the compound when there was no certainty that the Mercs would arrive at all. Ricardo seemed to be very pushy about the whole thing. He also seemed very confident about the helicopters.

  “Regardless of whether the Mercs have already arrived, we will maintain our designated positions around the compound. Once they do get here, I will lead the Merc alpha squad with our Cameroon friends and approach from the front door to initiate retrieval. If there is any resistance, merc gamma and beta squads will storm from the north and the south. Our attack choppers, Predator 1 and Predator 2 will provide air support. Again, our goal is to assist in the arrest and extraction of Mauritius and destruction of the data held in the repository.”

  “All of you know your positions. We’re going to separate into groups. Myself, Patrice, Francois, and Jean-Luc will be stationed near the main road, ready to head up the main entrance. Agents Schmidt and Mueller are currently positioned on the northeast corner of the compound and are scaling the cliff. We don’t have the drones airborne during the day, but the Israelis will relaunch them once nightfall hits. We’ll have a live feed of the compound in the evening when the Mercs arrive.”

  “Candice, Benita, Bob, and Patrice are to monitor the south of the compound. You’ll have Petri with you. The terrain to get there is rocky, so we don’t expect there to be a significant amount of enemy movement on that side. You’ll hold until the Mercs confirm that they have secured the target and the servers. Once they give the signal, Petri Ulanov will link into the repository’s network, identify all locations of the servers, and digitally destroy it. Our Mercs will then locate and physically destroy each server. The remainder of you will eliminate any opportunities to escape from the north.”

  "It’ll have to do for now,” said Agent Connolly.

  Bob said, “The latest intel shows a helicopter pad in the Northeast corner of the Compound. Who is preventing escape from that vector?”

  “The Israelis are tasked with disabling the helicopter. Predator 1 and Predator 2 will engage if necessary.”

  Candice asked, “Did we get any additional information about the Chinese secret service agent on the inside?”

  “No, we don’t know yet who he or she is or where he or she is located,” said Ricardo.

  With no further questions, Ricardo dismissed everyone, and they separated into their respective teams.

  “Alright everyone,” he said as he shut the door to the lead Humvee. “Let’s roll.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Back inside the compound

  Russell did not resist as he walked down the cold steps with Dominique and Fabron. Dominique, perhaps appreciating the orderly fashion in which Russell complied, had loosened his grip on Russell’s left arm. Fabron noticed this and, using the stock of his rifle, walloped Russell in the small of his back. He lurched forward in pain.

  “Eyes forward,” Fabron commanded in French. Russell stared ahead, trying to anticipate where Mauritius was taking him and what kind of interrogation he would be subject to. His eyes darted in front of him, trying to identify a means of escape. There was none.

  Two flights of stairs and six hallways later, he was in another cold concrete cell, bereft of anything save an old rattan chair, a metal table, and a trough of water. A large window on the wall opposite the door allowed starlight to shine in. As Fabron and Dominique stripped him naked, he saw Mauritius roll up his sleeves. The two thugs then forcefully sat him down and tied him to the chair. They signaled to Mauritius and the Spaniard walked over.

  Brace yourself. Russell had never been tortured in the field. The closest experience had been his crash course in resistance training at Phineas Academy. That was six years ago. Mauritius walked to the right side of the chair.

  “You’re obviously not smart enough to know how to get past the encryption protocols of P
hineas,” said Mauritius. “We’re not going to waste time on that, senor. We already have people working on using your phone as a portal to get onto PhineasNet. But I don’t need your brain. I just to need to know a few pieces of information. Number one, your password, senor.”

  “Why would I help you?” Russell said. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I am a very wealthy man. I can make you very rich. And then you can go on your way. You’re a practical man, and there is a straightforward solution to this.”

  Mauritius paused.

  “I also need the name of someone particular in the Phineas command center. Someone that can help me with inside access to the Phineas internal network.” Mauritius smiled. “I’ll make it easy for you. Name your price.”

  Petri, Russell thought. He just wanted a name.

  Someone that he could leverage and blackmail and use for his own means.

  Someone that he could kill, if necessary.

  Russell looked down at his own naked body. “Trying to build some leverage in this negotiation?” he mused out loud.

  Mauritius smiled. “Beats coffee and pastries in a meeting room.” His face darkened. “This is an easy decision for you. Take the money.”

  Russell contemplated his options. If Phineas knew that he was here, it would only be a matter of time before a squad of Mercs would try to retrieve him. He hoped. Or maybe he could make his own way out. He needed time.

  “What kind of money are we talking about? You said you stand to make billions of dollars. I’d expect a big cut of that.”

  “I could have ten million dollars in crypto in any wallet of your choice within the hour,” said Mauritius.

  Russell laughed out loud. Ten million dollars. That’s a lot of money. But not enough for him to disappear and to live a very comfortable life for the rest of his days. Even if he would ever entertain such a proposition.

  “That’s at most one percent of what you’re going to be making off this information. Forty million sounds better.”

  “Mr. Woo, I think you fail to realize that you have very little bargaining power here. Ten million saves you from any pain that I might otherwise put on you.”

  “Can I sleep on it?” Russell said.

  “Should I have a meeting with Senorita Sato then?” said Mauritius.

  Russell’s blood ran cold. He wouldn’t.

  “Yes, Russell. I will go there. You were on the phone with someone when you were interfacing with my computer in Hong Kong. Who was it?”

  “Nope,” Russell retorted with a smirk on his face, pretending to be unphased. He wasn’t going to give it up just like that.

  Fabron came up to him, wound up with his right arm, then punched Russell across his face. Defenseless, Russell had never taken such a hard hit in his life. Stars appeared in front of him and a stinging pain radiated through his left cheek.

  “Give us what we need and this is all over Russell,” said Mauritius.

  “No.” Another punch from Fabron, as strong as before. Same place. A numbness began to dominate his face. He gasped and spat out a tooth.

  “Just like Sunday-night hockey,” said Russell.

  Between slitted eyes, Russell saw Dominique step forward and close his fist. He punched Russell hard in the right cheek. Russell’s head snapped to the left. Dominique’s hit was quite a bit lighter than Fabron’s. Maybe Russell’s mind was blocking out the pain. He turned his head back slowly, feeling the coppery taste of the blood pooling in his mouth. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to feign unconsciousness. The pain was unbearable. Another slap reopened his eyes.

  “Stay awake, asshole,” said Mauritius, continuing to slap Russell’s face.

  The beating continued for another five minutes without Russell yielding. They had moved to his feet, squeezing, pinching, and hitting before returning to his face. By the end, his vision was starting to go in his right eye, and he could no longer feel his toes. He had tried all of the techniques he knew of to dissociate himself from the pain, but all the training in the world wouldn’t have prevented this feeling.

  “That’s enough on his face for now. He’s no use to us dead. But leave him there. We’ll come back to him later,” said Mauritius.

  Mauritius, Dominique, and Fabron filed out the room. Before leaving, Fabron kicked over Russell’s chair. Russell winced once more as he landed on his right bicep. The new sensation of the cold floor woke him up and he gasped in pain. He then heard a metallic squink and fading footsteps.

  Assured that he was alone in the room, Russell closed his eyes to rest and recover for the next round. For the first time since he had arrived, he began to wonder if someone was actually going to come for him. He closed his eyes with this thought in mind.

  He was awakened by the sound of the door swinging open. He turned his head towards the door and saw Dominique come in. He watched as Dominique walked over to him and gave him a light kick on the leg.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” Russell complained.

  Dominique then bent over and grabbed the chair, lifting it, and Russell, with ease. Russell’s head bobbed backward as he felt his weight resting back in the chair. The right side of his body was numb.

  “I know what Mauritius has on you, you know. You don’t have to keep doing this,” Russell lied. He noticed a hesitant pause by Dominique, who looked like he was attaching some ropes on the metal table on the side of the room. “You know what I’m talking about. Help me get out of this and I’ll make sure that he gets what’s coming to him.”

  “Shut up,” Dominique said as he again kicked Russell lightly in the right shin.

  He watched as Dominique took a rag out of his pocket. It looked wet. He walked over to Russell and smothered the cloth against his face. It smelled strongly of gasoline.

  It was the last thing he thought before passing out.

  When he awoke, Mauritius, Dominique, and Fabron had returned to the cell. Without hesitation, Fabron walked up to Russell and grabbed him by the throat with both hands. Russell began gasping for air as Fabron raised him higher and higher.

  “Come on,” Mauritius said. After ten seconds with no response, Fabron simply let go. Russell’s face contorted as the full impact of the chair hitting the cement floor resonated through his body. The chair bounced once on all four legs before it keeled over backward. Russell instinctively tucked his head into his chest as the chair hit the cold cement floor.

  Through tearing eyes, Russell saw Mauritius motion to Dominique. Dominique nodded before untying Russell from the chair. Russell offered no resistance as they laid him onto the table. For the first time, he noticed that the table was very oddly sloped in a gentle decline position, so that when they laid him on it, his head was lower than his body. They bound his legs first, then pulled them outwards and tied them to the table as well.

  Russell heard the rush of water on the cement floor, interrupted by the muffled sound of water on wood.

  Suddenly, his senses came back to him as the water was poured on his face. He felt the water going up against his nose. He choked and choked as he tried to gasp for air—but each breath felt as though it only drew more water into his lungs.

  “The password,” Russell heard someone say as he gasped for air. His body was urging him to talk, to give up.

  He couldn’t think anymore. He was drowning.

  He heard the sound of water hitting the bottom of the bucket. More water in the face. Russell shut his eyes, his body breaking down, his mind closing off from reality.

  More water, more pain.

  Give it up, stupid.

  More water, more pain.

  Then darkness.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Outside

  As she breathed in the warm, humid air of the Cameroon jungle, Candice saw the bushes rustling in front of her. Peering through her binoculars, she saw dark clouds heavy with rain looming above the compound and, eventually, a light shower began to drizzle down. In the distance, illuminated by the moonlight, Candice saw a thick
curtain of rain blanketing the Ndian drilling site.

  The silhouette of a single guard staring over the ramparts broke her otherwise-streamlined vision of the top of the compound.

  “Whirlies are live,” Schmidt reported in the radio. Candice focused in the darkness but could neither hear the soft hum nor see their spherical presence in the dark.

  “Tango one, southeast side, rooftop,” she whispered into the boom mic attached to her encrypted walkie-talkie.

  “Copy,” Ricardo’s voice crackled in her ear.

  She heard the crunch of leaves beside her. Benita had shifted over and was now lying flat on her stomach beside Candice. Her hands were wrapped around her own set of binoculars, and her eyes were fixed on the compound. About five yards away, Bob and Patrice were stationed beside a large mahogany tree. Patrice was also on his stomach, peering through the scope of an M4 Carbine. Bob stood with his back to Patrice, a Glock in his hands, watching for threats in the immediate area.

  After a forty-minute trek through the thick of the jungle, the five of them had remained stationary at this location for the better part of three hours. Patrice stayed frozen, his capacity for patience commensurate with the decade he had spent with the Cameroon special forces. Candice had noticed him unmoving from his sniper’s pose, while everyone else occasionally fidgeted for whatever reason appropriate at that particular time.

  “Any update on the Mercs?” asked Benita, directing her question to Bob. Bob shook his head.

  After another few tense moments observing the compound, Candice reached into her backpack and pulled out her tactical tablet. The tablet emitted red light, minimizing illumination of her surrounding areas and preserving night vision. She tapped the part of the screen that opened up to the tactical map. It was being updated live from data fed by the drones’ infrared scanners. At this point, the three-dimensional model only highlighted the one guard on the northeast corner.