Gray walked over to where the dirt was being sifted and shook his head. They had found almost nothing new of any value. A few more small diamonds, a buckle from a shoe and a few more musket balls was all they had brought out of the ground. Gray knew that he was wasting his time here. They had to move to the next site and they had to move now.
He grabbed his map from the front of his vehicle, unfurled it, and studied the area around the second possible location of the long-buried Arab trader’s fort. He turned his head and called for Taylor.
With a look of bored indifference on his face, Taylor sauntered over to Gray. “Yes, what do you want now?”
“I need you to move everything you have, people included, to the next site,” said Gray.
Taylor shook his head. “Mister Gray, do realize how difficult that would be? I don’t have the trucks to move that many people all at once.”
“Then shuttle them,” snapped Gray. “We are running out of time. The fighting has begun to die down in the capital. Unfortunately, it would appear that the army has become quite efficient at putting down revolts over the past couple of decades. Not to mention, American and British Marines have occupied the airport and are busily evacuating their nationals. With the fighting turning against the rebels, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that the army will soon push out into the countryside to put an end to this rebellion. I suggest that you get a move on and start moving people and equipment to the next location, posthaste. Unless you want to find yourself up against a wall and shot as a traitor. Like I told you earlier: no diamonds, no money. Got it?”
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. He fought back the growing anger in his heart. Looking over his shoulder, he called for his deputy. He ordered him to stop what they were doing, he told him to commence shuttling the people and all their equipment farther up the Lofa River. With the orders given, Taylor took a deep breath through his nostrils and then turned to walk away. He was going to the next site to oversee the operation. His mind was busy pondering his dwindling options. If they were wrong and there were no diamonds there, he would have to flee the country. Unknown to Gray, Taylor had a substantial amount of money already stashed away in a Swiss bank account, just in case he ever needed it. Abandoning his men to certain death or imprisonment didn’t bother him at all. As long as he came out on top, that was all that mattered to him.
Mitchell warily crawled out from under the cover of the jungle and moved into the tall grass surrounding the dig site. Mitchell crept up beside a mound of dirt and dug out his binoculars. He gritted his teeth when he saw women and children being forced into the back of a couple of old military trucks. Soldiers moved about unplugging generators, while others were busy disassembling the lights around the pits.
“They’re on the move,” said Mitchell into his throat-mic.
“Got it,” answered Jackson, still hidden under cover. “Can you see Mister Martinez or any of the other Americans?”
Mitchell adjusted his position and looked over the dig site. “It’s pretty dark at the dig, but I can most definitely see at least four whom I believe are foreign nationals being herded along with the rest of the people.”
Cardinal, perched high up in a tree, said, “I’ve got visual on Mister Martinez; he’s climbing into the back of a truck as we speak.”
“Damn, we’re too late to help again,” said Mitchell bitterly.
“At least we know that he and several of the other hostages are still alive. What do you intend to do?” said Jackson.
“I’m going to see if I can grab one of the hostages. We need to find out what’s going on before they leave,” replied Mitchell.
“Do you need help?” asked Sam.
Mitchell grinned. Sam was chafing at playing bodyguard. “No, just stay where you are. I need you to protect Mrs. Martinez.”
Sliding down off the mound, Mitchell began to crawl through the grass until he was barely three meters away from a group of people being guarded by a couple of soldiers. Slowly raising his head up to look around, Mitchell spotted a young Asian man sitting down on the ground, covered in sweat and dirt. If he was going to grab him, he was going to need a diversion. Mitchell looked around and saw a couple of soldiers struggling to attach one of their generators onto the hitch of a jeep.
He keyed his throat-mic and said, barely above whisper, “Nate, do you see the two men fumbling with the generator near you?”
“Got them,” replied Jackson, a second later.
“I want you to move from where you are and toss a grenade under the generator. I want you to cause a little mayhem.”
“Understood,” said Jackson, as he edged forward. He took the grenade from his vest and pulled the pin. He tossed it underhand at the generator.
It landed unnoticed near the soldiers’ feet. Two seconds passed before the grenade exploded with a dull boom. Thousands of razor-sharp fragments flew through the air, killing both men.
Everywhere people screamed and dove for the ground.
When he saw the men guarding the prisoners look over at the explosion, Mitchell dashed over, grabbed the disheveled hostage, and pulled him back into the tall grass and cover, before the man knew what was going on.
With a hand clasped tight over the frightened man’s mouth, Mitchell brought up a finger to his lips and shushed the man. He glanced over at the two guards and was relieved to see that they hadn’t seen a thing.
Pandemonium and confusion like a wave swept through the dig site as the soldiers tried to determine what had happened. Several soldiers spooked by the blast fired wildly into the night.
Sergeants cursing at the top of their lungs sought to control their frightened men.
“Can you crawl?” Mitchell asked the man, as he lifted his hand from his mouth.
With eyes as wide as saucers, the man quickly nodded his head.
“Follow me and keep your butt down,” said Mitchell.
Five minutes later, in the safety of the darkened jungle, Emily Martinez broke out crying as Mitchell, followed by Terry Trang, walked into their makeshift camp. Throwing her arms around Terry, Emily held him tight.
“Let me check him out,” said Sam, digging out a small, red-filtered flashlight.
“Oh God, I never thought I would see you again,” said Emily, stepping aside to let Sam work. She wiped the tears from her face and looked around and found a water bottle, which she handed to Trang.
“I didn’t think I would see you, either,” replied Trang. “Cristoval is okay, but I saw him being loaded onto the back of an army truck.”
“The others?”
“Dan and Robert were shot trying to escape earlier today,” said Trang mournfully.
“God, no,” said Emily, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth.
“Do you know where they are taking the people?” asked Mitchell.
“I think to another spot about twenty kilometers upriver,” answered Trang.
“That makes sense,” said Mitchell. “Did they say or did you hear anything that might help?”
“Who are you people?” asked Trang, noticing for the first time the odd mix of people all around him carrying weapons.
“They’re friends,” said Emily, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Sir, please answer the question,” said Mitchell.
“They only told us to dig. I overheard a couple soldiers talking about a fortune in buried treasure; that’s how I learned what was really going on.”
“How many of them are there?” asked Mitchell.
“I’m not sure, but I think there are about one hundred of them. Are you with the army?”
“No.”
“I wish you were. They’re going to kill all of the people after they find what they’re looking for. They’re animals. They don’t want any witnesses left behind who could finger them for the crime,” said Trang bitterly.
“Get some food into yourself and get then some rest,” said Mitchell.
Sam said, “I’m going to check him out for any injuries befor
e he goes to ground.”
“It’s too bad we don’t have a few more people with us this time,” said Jackson, looking over at Sam as she cleaned up Trang.
“I’ll take us four over a hundred mercenaries any day. I’d just feel a hell of a lot better if I knew Yuri had a working helicopter waiting on standby to come pick us up,” said Mitchell.
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” announced Jackson. “The boss must have made some calls to his contacts in the Sierra Leonean military. They have agreed to loan us one of their two working MI-8s. It’s being flown from Freetown and should be in Kenema within the hour.”
“Hallelujah for that.”
“It’s probably a good thing the Liberians are leaving, or the jungle would be swarming with soldiers by now.”
“I doubt that. Did you see their reaction when the grenade went off? I suspect we killed their best men back at the ambush site. The ones left behind aren’t as good as they think they are. They probably think it was an accident caused by the men’s carelessness.”
“Regardless, they still outnumber us twenty-five to one.”
“Too bad for them,” said Mitchell, grinning.
Mitchell turned to face Sam. “Have you been able to learn anything from Mister Trang?”
“Not much. He said that the site was a bust,” said Sam, packing up her medical bag. “They didn’t find anything of value.”
“If we follow them to the next site, we need to be careful. We can’t risk running into an ambush, like the mercs did,” said Jackson.
“Well, thankfully, we have NVGs. All we need to do is stay off the main road and drive slowly down the narrow trails that meander through the jungle without our headlights on. If we follow the Lofa River, it’ll lead us straight to the next dig. It won’t be that difficult with all of the lighting equipment they have with them. We’ll see them long before we stumble into them.”
“I’ll brief Cardinal that we’ll be getting underway soon,” said Jackson.
“Thanks,” said Mitchell. He took a seat on the soft ground to collect his thoughts. He still had no idea how he was going to get all of the hostages out alive. Digging out his canteen, Mitchell took a long swig of water. He turned his head to look up at the star-filled sky. He wondered how Jen was doing, and if she been able to find the missing journal.
She and Fahimah were in greater danger than he could have ever imagined.
27
The Devil’s Revenge
New Haven, Connecticut
“Peter, you’ve got more company,” called out Roberta Jurkowski.
“I already have enough friends down here,” yelled back Peter.
“Well, you’ll just have to make room for one more.”
Jen and Fahimah stopped what they were doing and looked at the bottom of the stairs as the shadow of a person coming down crept along the wall.
A feeling of dread seeped into Fahimah. She reached over and pulled her purse close to her. Hidden inside was a Glock 42 compact pistol, a gift from Mike Donaldson. After being wounded earlier in the year, Fahimah had spent countless hours on the range learning how to defend herself with her new pistol.
With a smile on his weathered face, Marius walked into the basement. A momentary look of surprise crept across his face when he saw a man dressed as a pirate and two women standing on the deck of what looked like the replica of an eighteenth-century ship. When he saw the journal in Fahimah’s hands, his dark eyes lit up.
Before anyone could say anything, Marius deftly slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a 9mm automatic.
“I’ll take that,” said Marius to Fahimah, his voice cold and threatening.
“Ahoy there, you can’t just barge in here and threaten my friends,” said Peter, walking straight at Marius.
“No, Peter, this isn’t a game,” said Jen, reaching out to stop him.
She was too late. Like a cobra striking its prey, Marius smashed his pistol down hard onto Peter’s face, breaking his nose.
With a howl of pain, Peter brought his hands up to his shattered nose. Tears filled his eyes as blood gushed from his wound. He spun around in his leather boots and staggered back from Marius.
Fahimah made a move for her purse.
A shot rang out.
The bullet struck the wooden deck at Fahimah’s feet.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” warned Marius. “Now, very carefully, toss your purse over by my feet.”
With a look of anger in her eyes, Fahimah reluctantly threw her purse onto the floor.
“Now give me the journal.”
Fahimah hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do.
“Give it to him,” said Jen calmly. “It’s not worth dying over.”
“Listen to your friend and give me the journal,” said Marius.
With the journal held out in front of her, Fahimah slowly walked over and placed it in Marius’ outstretched hand.
He grabbed it from her. A wicked smile crept across Marius’ scruffy-looking face. “You will have to come with me,” said Marius to Fahimah.
“Why?” asked Jen.
“I don’t want anyone calling the cops on me. She’ll be released unharmed when I am safely out of the country.”
Jen looked over at Fahimah. She looked terrified. Neither woman believed a single word.
“Time’s wasting. Let’s go,” said Marius, reaching for Fahimah’s hand.
“She’s not going anywhere,” announced Peter firmly.
Marius pushed Fahimah out of the way and saw that Peter was standing next to a miniature replica cannon. In his hand was a long, lit match.
“What are going to do, shoot me with your toy cannon?” asked Marius contemptuously.
“Yes,” said Peter, bringing his match down onto the cannon’s fuse.
With a look of disbelief on his face, Marius saw the flash from the fuse as it lit the gunpowder packed tightly inside the cannon. A split-second later, the cannon fired. With a deafening boom, a small, one-pound projectile flew out of the end of the cannon and struck Marius in the center of his chest, sending him flying back against the wall. He died a second later; his chest was a bloody mess.
Fahimah stood there looking over at Marius’ dead body in disbelief.
Smoke from the fired cannon filled the room.
“My God, do you keep them all loaded?” said Jen, looking over at the other four miniature cannons on the deck of his replica ship.
“That I do,” replied Peter proudly.
The smoke alarms throughout the house went off.
“Peter Jurkowski, did you fire off another one of your blasted cannons?” called down his mother.
“Sorry, Mom,” hollered back Peter.
Fahimah looked over at Jen and mouthed, “Let’s get out of here.”
Jen nodded her head. “Come on, Captain, let’s get that nose of yours seen by a doctor," said Jen, as she took Peter by the hand and led him upstairs.
“Oh my God, what happened downstairs?” asked Roberta when she saw her son’s blood all over his face and clothes.
“Mrs. Jurkowski, call the police. Tell them there’s been an attempted kidnapping in your home, and that the man was killed in self-defense by your son,” said Jen firmly.
Roberta hesitated for a moment. Seeing the determined look in Jen’s eyes, she quickly grabbed her phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“Now what do we do?” asked Fahimah.
Jen said, “After the police arrive and take our statements, we get the hell of here and head back to Albany.”
“The journal?”
“We accidentally borrow it for a few days and then return it.”
“I thought you’d say that,” said Fahimah, opening her purse to show the journal hidden away inside.
“You little sneak. You’d better phone Mike and let him know what just happened here,” suggested Jen.
With a quick nod, Fahimah dug out her phone to call Donaldson.
In the distance, the sound of sirens be
gan to grow louder.
Jen took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. It had all happened so suddenly. She looked down at her watch and saw that it was closing in on two in the morning in Liberia. She wondered how Mitchell was doing. Was he safe?
Worrying wouldn’t help him, or her. She knew that her focus now must be to work with Fahimah to discover where the treasure was buried before anyone else died.
Outside on the street, the passenger-side door on a black BMW SUV opened. A heavy-set man with a bald head slid in.
“Did anyone see you?” asked the driver, an athletic-looking, African-American man in his late thirties.
“No. I placed the tracking device under their rear bumper. They’ll never find it,” replied the baldheaded man.
“Marius?”
“I think he’s dead. I heard a loud explosion from inside the house.”
The sound of sirens closing in on the house grew louder.
“Okay, let’s go,” said the driver.
Casually pulling out onto the street, the SUV blended in with the rest of the late rush-hour traffic. They parked less than a block away. Both men lit cigarettes and patiently waited for Jen and Fahimah to leave. A small, hand-held monitor showed a map on it with Jen’s Jeep appearing as a bright red dot.
After torturing and then killing Templhof, Marius’ accomplices knew who now had the journal. Police or no police, they weren’t going to give up. A hundred thousand dollars each was all they cared about, and they intended to collect their reward.
28
Second dig site
Lofa River, Liberia
Within minutes of digging, the long-hidden relics from the past began to emerge from the ground. The first thing found was a man’s skull. It didn’t take a forensic expert to see that the man had died from a blow to the head. A deep crack split open the back of the skull. Soon more and more bones began to be found along with small pieces of tattered clothing. Buttons, buckles, and steel swords were also found lying next to the remains. Several rings and earrings worn by the men when they died turned up, but no treasure.
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