“If there’s anyone inside, come out with your hands up,” said a battle-scarred Sierra Leonean rebel.
Silence answered him.
“I’m serious. Come out, or we’ll kill you,” warned the man. To emphasize his point, he cocked his weapon, an old rust-covered AK.
The Congolese mercenary pointed at the closed door on the side of the helicopter.
With a quick nod, one of the rebels warily edged his way to the door, as if expecting it to burst open at any second. He tried the door handle and found that it wasn’t locked.
“Last chance, man,” said the rebel by the door, trying to sound intimidating.
Looking at the man by the door, the Congolese mercenary said, “Open it.”
Still anticipating a trap, the man by the door felt his mouth turn dry with fear as he yanked the door open. With his AK in his unsteady hands, he turned and aimed his weapon inside the empty doorway.
An eerie, discomforting silence greeted the rebels.
Nervously laughing to the others, the man at the door placed his hand on the entrance to the helicopter and then went to step inside.
In the blink of an eye, the MI-8 disappeared. C4 strapped to the fuel tanks detonated precisely five seconds after the door was pulled open, causing a massive explosion. Like a living animal, a blisteringly hot redish-orange fireball consumed the helicopter and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing within ten meters of the blast.
The driver still sitting in the Rover was hit by flaming debris from the fuselage of the helicopter as it flew at him like pieces of molten steel. A second later, the heat from the flames exploded the Rover’s fuel tank, incinerating the hapless driver.
Mitchell had been counting on someone to be foolish enough to poke their nose where it wasn’t wanted. The instant the MI-8 blew apart, he dove down inside the tunnel crawling as fast as he could through the darkened tunnel. Working from memory, Mitchell scurried through the rocky passage until he finally came out in the main cavern. He hurriedly dug out his flashlight, turned it on and, as he had before, pulled himself over his rope bridge until his feet were on the other side of the river. He looked about and saw that everything was still in order. Mitchell stepped back from the treasure and into the shadows. He drew his pistol from its holster behind his back, removed the safety, and turned off his flashlight. The cave turned as black as pitch.
Mitchell took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. His mind was also racing. His plan hadn’t been designed for two groups of mercenaries coming for the treasure. He realized that he would have to count on his plan the way it was and hope that dumb luck would also help him out this time.
The sound of the helicopter tearing apart came as a total shock to Chang. He dropped to the ground, brought up his rifle, and looked back at the flaming wrecks of the MI-8 and the Rover the rebels had been riding in. A black plume of smoke, like a dark, malevolent genie escaping from its bottle, crept up into the sky, marking the scene of death and destruction for all to see.
He swore when he saw Mitchell disappear from sight down into the tunnel.
He and his men had been set up, and he knew it. Chang called Grace to his side “Wait here at the entrance with two of the remaining men. I’m going after Mitchell with everyone else. I want to take possession of the treasure before Seras gets here.”
“Good luck, sir,” said Grace.
“You, in the tunnel, now!” said Chang to a terrified-looking rebel fighter.
Hesitation and fear filled the man’s eyes.
He placed the barrel of his rifle against the rebel’s skull and repeated himself.
“Yes, sir,” said the rebel, his voice cracking in terror.
“Good man,” said Chang as he handed the terrified rebel a small flashlight to guide him through the darkened maze.
The rebel reluctantly crawled into the darkened passageway.
“You eight next,” said Chang to the other rebels standing outside of the tunnel. He turned to look at his men and told them to follow him inside. The men resolutely nodded. Unlike the rebels, these men knew their jobs. They quickly stripped down their gear so they could crawl around inside the narrow tunnel.
After the last rebel disappeared from sight, Chang put his rifle down. It would be of no use in the narrow confines of a tunnel. He picked up his pistol, bent down, took one last look at the sun hanging high in the sky, and crawled inside the rocky passage.
Up ahead, he could hear the rebel fighters cursing as they bumped into every jagged rock sticking out from the sides of the constricted tunnel. Chang broke out in a sweat. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but crawling around in a tunnel with a group of antsy rebel fighters was not something he enjoyed doing.
After a couple of minutes of crawling about on his hands and knees, Chang stepped out into the main cavern. He dug out his flashlight and shone it all around. He was astonished to see how large the cave was. It seemed to go on forever. Off to one side were the nervous-looking rebels. He could see that they were busy talking among themselves in a local language he had never heard before. Some of the men clutched small wooden idols in their hands. He had heard of juju before but had always thought the West African practice of witchcraft was just a tall tale.
“What is the problem?” asked Chang.
A short rebel with a large belly pointed at the underground river flowing through the cave. “This place has bad juju. A water spirit lives in the river,” said the man.
“Nonsense. Look, someone has been here already,” explained Chang, pointing over at the rope tied across the river.
“Where is he now?” asked the man.
“Good question,” replied Chang, realizing that he had forgotten about Mitchell. He moved his flashlight along the pile of treasure on the far bank. Chang saw that there were at least a dozen tall rocks, any of which Mitchell could be hiding behind. Cautious, Chang moved over by the rebels, intending to use them for cover.
Behind them, Chang’s men crawled up into the cave and switched on the flashlights held under their assault rifles, helping to illuminate the darkened cave.
“We’re wasting time,” said Chang to the rebels. “Let’s get a move on.”
As one, the rebels refused to move. With a look of fear in their eyes, the men were going nowhere.
“I said, let’s go,” said Chang, his voice sharp and demanding.
“No, sir,” said the short rebel.
Without bothering to aim, Chang pointed his pistol at the man’s chest and pulled the trigger. The sound of the pistol firing echoed loudly throughout the cavern.
With a stunned look on his face, the rebel staggered back on his feet, tripped over a rock, and then fell into the fast-moving river. His friends watched in horror as he disappeared under the black water, never to be seen again.
“Who wants to be next?” asked Chang.
Slowly, warily, one of the rebels turned about and reached out for the rope. He was about to climb out onto the rope when his foot triggered a tripwire running along the floor of the cavern, releasing one of the slender trees Mitchell had brought down into the cavern. Flying out of the dark, a tree branch covered in small sharp sticks struck the stunned rebel hard in the chest, impaling him. His friends saw what happened and panicked. They pushed at one another as they stepped back away from their dying comrade. One man, his eyes fixed on the sprung trap took another step back. With a scream of terror and pain, the man’s foot disappeared into another booby trap hidden in the ground. Long sharp sticks buried in the ground easily punctured his sandals and then his skin. Wailing in pain, the man reached out and begged his friends to pull him free.
Chang and his men dropped to one knee, their weapons up and ready to fire on their unseen opponent. They hurriedly searched the ground for any more traps. The sound of the man screaming for his friends to pull him from the booby trap grated on Chang’s nerves. He turned and fired off a shot into the man’s skull, ending his torment. Chang warily edged over to the rope and looked about for any mo
re surprises. His trained eye did not see any. Chang looked over at the rebels and pointed to the rope bridge.
Realizing that if he refused, he was a dead man, the closest rebel reluctantly stepped forward and, with his hands shaking, he climbed out onto the rope. With his eyes fixed on the water below, he hurriedly pulled himself across the river. The instant his feet touched the other side he jumped off the rope and excitedly told his friends that it was safe to cross.
In the shadows, Mitchell hugged the tall boulder he was using for cover. He could see the rebels crossing the river one by one until they were all on his side. Patiently, he watched Chang reach out for the rope. He thought about firing on him, but decided to wait until everyone one was across. Hoping they took the bait, Mitchell felt the tension building up inside him. Like a trap waiting to spring, Mitchell waited for his chance to strike.
Chang crawled off the rope and then placed his feet on the rocky cavern floor. He looked about and smiled when he saw the extent of the treasure long hidden inside the cavern. He knew Mitchell was somewhere hiding in the shadows. His instincts told him that he was nearby. He roughly grabbed one of the rebels and placed the man in front of him. After all he had been through, Chang quickly decided to help himself to one of the chests of precious gems. His employer would just have to do with the tens of billions sitting meters away from him, waiting to be picked up and moved to the surface. Chang turned his head and told his two men to come over and take possession of one the chests.
The sound of voices growing loud and excited made Chang turn his head. He could see the rebel soldiers standing around holding gold coins in their hands. He was about to chastise them and order them to look for Mitchell when one of the men reached down and pulled the nearest leather sacks filled with gold coins toward him.
The last trap sprung.
A bright, blinding flash of light, followed a split second later by an ear shattering-explosion, filled the cavern. The sack had been resting on a block of C4 rigged to explode the instant the weight was removed. Hundreds of gold coins flew through the air like the deadly projectiles of an exploding grenade. Effortlessly tearing through flesh and bone, the coins mercilessly killed the rebel soldiers standing near the trap. Their shattered bodies flew back with dozens of coins embedded from their midsections to their heads.
The force of the blast killed the poor rebel Chang had been using as a shield and sent him flying backwards. Chang’s left leg snapped like a dried twig when it collided with a tall stalagmite. His pistol flew from his hand and clattered across the floor until it slid from sight into the river. His ears rang agonizingly loud as the explosion reverberated throughout the cavern. The impact with the ground shattered several ribs and forced the air from his lungs. Rolling about on the floor in agony, Chang struggled to get air back into his burning chest.
Of the two men on the other side of the river, one fell dead when a coin struck him right between the eyes; the other man still stood on wobbly feet.
Mitchell stepped out from behind cover, took deliberate aim at the mercenary still standing, and then fired off two rounds into his chest, killing him.
The acrid smell of dust and explosives hung heavy in the air.
Mitchell’s heart was pounding away in his chest.
A pained moan came from somewhere in the dark.
Mitchell turned on his flashlight. With his pistol held out, ready to react, he cautiously edged forward. Mitchell grinned when he saw Chang struggling to sit up, a look of surprise and agony etched across his face.
“Well, well, I should have known that you of all people would have survived my little trap,” said Mitchell.
Chang gasped for air. “I think I broke my left leg and a couple of ribs when I hit the floor.”
“Shame it wasn’t your neck,” said Mitchell.
“Now what, Mister Mitchell, are you going to kill me in cold blood?”
Mitchell shook his head. “As much as it would give me great pleasure to send you to meet the guy with the pitchfork, I still may have need of you. How many of your people are waiting for you outside?”
“Three,” answered Chang honestly. A second later, a painful spasm wracked his body. Coughing, Chang brought up his hand to his mouth and saw blood. He was hurt far worse than he had first thought.
“I hope they’re good, because Seras should be arriving shortly,” said Mitchell, glancing down at his watch.
“If you help me up, I’ll help you fight them,” said Chang weakly.
“Not likely,” said Mitchell. “You just became part of my escape plan.”
Before Chang could object, Mitchell roughly grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him back to Lucifer’s treasure.
After kicking all of the dead rebel soldiers’ weapons into the river, Mitchell propped Chang up against a chest filled with precious stones and then, as silent as a ghost, he faded back into the safety of the shadows, waiting once more for Seras and her people to try their luck.
37
Grace heard the explosion and felt the ground shake under her feet. She turned her head toward the tunnel entrance and watched as a cloud of dust and smoke crept out from the ground.
Something had gone wrong.
Her heart told her that Chang and her mercenary comrades down inside the tunnel were in danger.
She quickly pulled off her tac-vest.
Grace was about to charge headlong into the tunnel, when she heard the sound of several vehicles turning off the nearby road. Biting her lip, she saw a couple of SUVs racing across the open ground, accompanied by two jeeps filled with soldiers.
She swore. Seras was here.
Grace turned to face the two men with her. “Take cover. I’m going in to check on Colonel Chang. Whatever you do, keep those bastards away from the entrance until I return.”
The men nodded and dashed for the cover of a clump of trees about twenty meters away.
Without looking back, Grace climbed down into the tunnel. Blinded by the swirling cloud of dust, she groped her way forward, hoping that she wasn’t going to arrive too late to help her friends.
Seras sat quietly in her air-conditioned SUV as it came to a sudden halt at the side of the tree-covered hill. In front of her SUV, a cordon of soldiers quickly formed.
The second she opened her door, she felt the heat and humidity of the jungle reach out and grab hold of her cool skin. She ignored the discomfort. All Seras could think about was the unbelievable fortune in precious gems waiting for her somewhere beneath the hill.
“Ma’am, we’re not alone,” warned Gray, pointing to the still-smoldering MI-8, and the two camouflaged Rovers parked near the edge of the jungle.
“You told me that you killed the other team of mercenaries,” said Seras bluntly.
“I thought I had.”
“Obviously not!”
“Spread out and look sharp,” said Gray to the soldiers.
A young sergeant waved his hand and then barked orders to his men to fan out and be ready to engage anyone who tried to stop them.
Seras’ close-protection detail formed up around her. Unlike the rogue Liberian soldiers, these men were all highly trained killers who knew their job.
“Take me to the tunnel entrance,” said Seras to the head bodyguard.
As one, Seras and her men walked straight for the opening.
From behind them came the sharp crack of automatic gunfire flying through the air, just above their heads.
The head bodyguard flung Seras to the ground and then pivoted about on his heel, his weapon already up into his shoulder.
A Rover came charging out of the jungle at the SUVs.
It was Chang’s man Roberts, who had followed Seras to the treasure. When he saw the wrecked helicopter and the two empty Rovers, Roberts feared the worst had befallen his comrades and decided to make Seras pay.
Firing like demons as they sped forward across the field, Roberts’ men were soon struck by accurate and deadly fire from Seras’ close-protection deta
il. In seconds, Roberts and most of his men were dead or wounded. Turning the Rover away from the hail of bullets striking their vehicle, Roberts tried to make for the safety of the jungle, only he wasn’t quick enough. Woken from their lethargy, the Liberian soldiers added their weight of fire onto the stricken Rover. Riddled with bullets, Roberts’ hands slid off the wheel. He died slumped over to one side, his lifeless body held in his seat by his seat belt.
After watching their comrades die under a hail of bullets, the two men who had taken cover under the clump of trees opened fire, dropping several soldiers before they knew what was going on. Confusion gripped the Liberians. Some stood where they were and returned fire, while others died under the fire of the mercenaries. A couple of men turned on their heels, dropped their AKs, and then fled for their lives into the jungle.
Gray stood in the open, swearing at the soldiers as they ran past him. He brought up his assault rifle up and opened fire on the men firing from the trees.
The mercenaries sold their lives dearly. Before they died, they accounted for two of Seras’ men and over a dozen rebel soldiers.
After the fight was over, Gray walked over to the bodies of the mercenaries and saw that they had both been wounded numerous times before dying. To the end, they displayed a fierce loyalty and fanaticism to their cause. Gray silently admired the men. They had outfought his soldiers and had only died when Seras’ men brought their considerable weight of fire onto them.
Seras stood up and brushed off the dirt and grass from her clothes. The end of the firefight brought with it a sudden and oddly discomforting silence. She could see bodies strewn across the open ground. She felt nothing for the men who had died. Some had died for her, and others died trying to kill her.
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