“So you will never speak for me again?”
Auburn eyes swimming in tears looked up at him. She had never been more beautiful as she sobbed. “No.”
* * *
Rebecca chewed on the last of her portion, trying to suppress her gag reflex. How she wished that python tasted like chicken. It did not. Not at all. It tasted like…well, charbroiled snake. She would not recommend it.
But with some food, no matter how gross, in her belly, some fresh water, and a few more Kola seeds, Rebecca was feeling almost as good as new. And from the girl next to her’s beaming face, she was feeling pretty darn good as well.
“Do you speak English?” Rebecca asked.
“Un peu,” the girl responded.
Which of course was French for “a little bit.”
And Lord knew Rebecca’s French was a bit atrocious. She looked over to the older man, who had taken to butchering the rest of the python. All twenty feet of him. While she was grateful for all that the man had done for her, Rebecca had to look away. Besides, he didn’t even seem eager to speak the native language, let alone English.
“Is that your grandfather? Grandpère?”
The girl shook her head. “Just lehrer.”
Teacher. Rebecca knew that term in German. Hell, she knew it in just about every language.
“I am Rebecca,” she said, extending her hand. The girl took her hand, then cupped her own elbow. A sign of respect across Africa.
Even though the gesture was usually used to show reverence to elders, Rebecca mimicked the action, nodding in synch with the little girl, whose smile radiated nearly as brightly as the fire.
“Vakasa,” she answered.
“Thank you, Vakasa,” Rebecca said, but when the girl looked confused, she added, “Merci beaucoup.”
Vakasa shook her head, though. “Non. Guro.”
“Thank you” in Filipino. “For what?”
The girl spoke quickly in like five languages. The words whizzed past so quickly that Rebecca wasn’t sure if she’d translated properly. For what is to come.
Rebecca had started to ask the girl what she meant when she heard the distinct sound of helicopter rotors. Since they were not squealing in complaint, Rebecca could only assume it was not Lopez.
That wasn’t good.
As the old man grabbed his spear, he seemed to agree. Their eyes met over the fire. Then his gaze slid from Rebecca to the girl. The message obvious. I will hold them off. You get the girl out of here.
Or at least that’s what she meant, because that was Rebecca’s plan.
* * *
Bunny watched as the screen bloomed to life. The green of the African jungle punctuated with orange blobs. A lot of them.
“What’s going on?”
Prenner leaned against his fists on the desk. His eyes scanned the data. For a remote forest, there were a lot of blips. Some much smaller than a human. Some much, much bigger. The jungle seemed abuzz with activity. Given the aftershock of a few hours ago, it wasn’t surprising. Then there were the human-sized blips. But which of those were Brandt’s team, the Disciples, and which were just villagers going about their business?
In addition to the bright oranges, there were stark-yellow markers that slowly turned a light blue. The dead. So many of them too.
“There,” he said, pointing northeast. “Those four blips. They are on the move. It’s got to be Brandt and his men.”
“You didn’t order any air support, did you?” Emily asked the lieutenant.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Everything we have is tied up in Somalia.”
Bunny was about to inquire why Emily had asked. Then she noticed two fairly large blobs moving at a very fast speed toward the peek of the mountains.
“No,” she groaned. They were helicopters. The damn Disciples were well outfitted. Too well outfitted. And here Brandt and the rest were traveling on foot.
“Looks like they are converging on these three figures,” the tech stated as he drew a bright-red circle around a small hut in the middle of the jungle. That had to be Rebecca and Levont. But who was the third small blip? Bunny watched as the helicopters quickly made up the distance. “And it looks like those choppers are going to win the race.”
Bunny gulped and turned to Emily. “And what are you going to do about it?”
Emily grabbed Bunny’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Pray.”
* * *
Davidson set up his shot with patience. He would not get another like this. Not only to take out the lead helicopter, but with any luck at all make sure the second chopper hit the debris.
He ignored the squeaks of the forest’s insects. He ignored the large frond that had draped over his leg. He ignored his own impatience.
Nothing mattered but the bull’s-eye on the Disciples’ helicopter’s rear rotor. He needed their crash to be messy.
Davidson had squared his shoulder, ready for the impact of the recoil, when a bullet flew past his ear. He jerked his rifle to the left and fired in the same motion. He put a hole in the side of the second chopper, but it was cosmetic damage at best.
Through his scope, he could see the Disciples’ sniper haul himself back into his chopper. A broad smile on his face. Davidson almost cursed. Almost. He had been too shortsighted. Apparently, the sniper hadn’t died back in Jordan. Just because the man hadn’t let off a shot didn’t mean he wasn’t attached to the mission.
Snapping his gun up, Davidson made his way down the tree as the other men shot at the fleeing helicopters. It did no good. The choppers were too far away for the range of their guns. It had been Davidson’s duty to neutralize the helicopters.
His.
Another failure atop of losing Rebecca.
He landed hard on the ground, right next to Brandt. The pain in the man’s eyes seared Davidson. Those choppers were headed only one place. Straight to Rebecca’s staging site. The Disciples might be after the girl—clearly, they had found out about her—but now they were on the trail of Rebecca as well.
“I am—”
“Save it,” Brandt grunted, rolling his neck from one side to the other.
“But the Disciples are—”
Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “I know what the Disciples are doing.”
Everyone stood silent as Brandt stretched out one arm, then the next.
“Um, Sarge?” Lopez asked. “What are we going to do?”
“Run.”
With that, the sergeant charged up the forest slope, heedless of the steep grade or the thick underbrush.
Lopez grinned. “Last one up writes the after-action report!”
Davidson strapped his rifle onto his back. This was one race he was not losing.
CHAPTER 8
══════════════════
Northeast Congo Jungle
10:42 p.m. (CAT)
Since Rebecca’s rescue from the python, the jungle had descended into darkness. The constant chatter of African gray parrots had transformed into the unnerving creaks and squeaks of unseen wildlife. The forest pressed down upon her as she held the girl close. They followed the old man wordlessly through the rain forest.
To the south, the helicopter had landed, and the men had already trashed the hut. Search parties had quickly been sent out. It would only be a matter of time before they were caught.
And when they were caught—there was no doubt they were going to be caught—the only weapon they had was the old man’s long, hollow stick.
The old man stopped, sniffed the air, then urged her deeper into the jungle. It seemed this was where he planned to make his stand. How this spot was different than the other hundred they had passed in their silent trek, Rebecca had no idea.
As she moved past him, Rebecca reached out and touched his ritually scarred arm. “Thank you.”
His response was an annoyed grunt and head jerk toward the path he had set them on.
Taking no offense—she was used to Brandt, after all—Rebec
ca went to oblige, but the girl wouldn’t budge. Taking her small hand from Rebecca’s, Vakasa hugged the old man. At first, the elder did not seem to know quite what to do. Then he put a hand on the girl’s back and gave it a pat.
The girl murmured something in Romanian, Ancient Greek, and Swahili.
As much as Rebecca could cobble together, it meant, “I’ll see you again.” Or Vakasa wanted a mocha latte.
The old man shook his head sharply, but the girl only hugged harder. “Promesse.”
Promise. Or at least that’s what Rebecca thought. Her French wasn’t exactly Grade A.
With one final, awkward pat, the man forced Vakasa away from him and put her hand in Rebecca’s.
“Go,” he whispered in heavily accented English.
Squeezing the girl’s hand, Rebecca headed out into the forest, still dripping from the latest downpour. Moonlight streaked through in thin slices, edging its way through the thick canopy.
Vakasa’s hand was warm in her palm. So little. So trusting. Rebecca was the one used to being protected. She wasn’t built to be the protector. Was she?
Shots sounded behind them. A war cry that resounded in Rebecca’s bones was the answer. The battle headed north. The warrior was drawing the men away from her and the girl. Not wanting to waste his efforts, Rebecca broke into a run. The sound of their flight masked by the fight to the north.
She had absolutely no idea where they were running. Rebecca only knew that she had to get as far away from the hut as possible, as quickly as possible. Then Vakasa stopped cold, nearly jerking Rebecca’s shoulder out. She tried to coax the girl forward, but the child’s lip trembled as she pointed ahead.
Three men stalked from the trees.
Rebecca’s heart sank so hard that she was sure she heard it hit the ground. The Disciples had set up a perimeter. Bastards.
She pushed Vakasa behind her. The men wanted Rebecca. Perhaps if she gave up, they would let the girl melt into the forest.
“I’ll go quietly,” Rebecca said as she stepped toward them.
The nearest man backhanded her. The force snapped her head to the side as she fell to the ground. What the…?
He then lunged and grabbed the girl, jerked her toward him. He laughed harshly, speaking in broken English. “So much dollars for something so small.”
The men wanted Vakasa?
Seriously, Rebecca couldn’t get kidnapped to save her life today.
* * *
“They’ve got the girl,” Bunny whispered to no one in particular.
“You were right,” Emily stated.
Prenner just frowned, staring at the small dot surrounded by three much larger dots. A fifth dot lay off to the side. Rebecca? The dot held a steady orange, so she must be alive, but for how long?
Not far, but too far away, Brandt and the men surged ahead. Bright-red flashes marked their gunfire. The splashes of color made the forest look afire. This was another reason why Bunny didn’t get on that helicopter with Davidson. Yet her heart lurching at each burst and the smell of gunpowder in her nose, she might as well be there.
“At least they are able to hone in on the enemy,” Prenner said, indicating the live feed to the men’s devices.
Bunny glanced to the blobs that appeared to be Rebecca and the girl. How had the Disciples honed in on them so well? They were out in the middle of the jungle. Bunny presumed they had stayed quiet. Then how?
“Turn it off!” Bunny shouted, realizing that the Disciples were honing in on Rebecca the same exact way Brandt was honing in on the enemy. By the satellite feed.
“What are you—” Prenner tried to demand, but Bunny elbowed him out of the way and got up along side the technician.
“Cut it!”
“Are you kidding me? Do you know how hard it is just to keep the damn thing aligned and transmitting?”
Bunny slipped off her stiletto and smashed the heel into the keyboard. “I take it that might make it harder?” The screen warped and fuzzed, losing detail, but not enough. Bunny turned to take on the CPU, but Prenner caught her wrist.
“Oh, no, you don’t.”
Well, Bunny had two shoes, didn’t she? Kicking backward, she plunged a heel into the CPU, which sparked and hissed. The screen went an icy blue.
“You just took away the slim advantage they had!” Prenner growled.
“Yes, I did,” Bunny responded, then glanced to Emily. “The Disciples’ advantage. We’ve got to shut down the British feed in case they are getting their intel from there.”
“On it,” Emily said, flipping open her phone.
Prenner looked from the CIA operative to Bunny. “You can’t really think they are live hacking us.”
“That’s exactly what I think,” Bunny said as she jerked her wrist out of his grip. She turned to the tech. “We’ve got to find the source of the hack.”
The guy indicated to his fried keyboard and CPU. “Kind of need a work station to accomplish that.”
Bunny nodded to the glass walls revealing dozens upon dozens of options. “I think we can find a replacement.”
The tech looked to Prenner, who gave a sharp nod.
“Sure.” The tech rolled his chair back from the desk, then stopped. “I just gotta say…”
“Yes?” Bunny urged.
“That was kind of hot.”
Bunny shoved the guy toward the door. What was he, nineteen? Still, it was nice to know she still had it.
Now to just figure out a way to give the advantage back to Rebecca and Brandt.
* * *
Fuck.
The damned feed was still down.
There was no fucking waiting around for Command to get their asses together. They knew Rebecca’s last known location. That was going to have to be enough.
“Now!” Brandt yelled, laying down cover fire.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Davidson sprinting east. They had to get ahead of the bulk of the forces. And damn it if Davidson wasn’t the fastest amongst them. Brandt wanted to be the one running to Rebecca right now, but this was a shit storm and seldom did one get what they wanted in the middle of a fucking shit storm. Lopez, ducking, running low, headed north. That left Brandt and Talli to not only keep these fuckers busy, but advance their position.
No biggie.
“Let’s do this,” Brandt ordered Talli, who dropped to one knee.
He fired broadly as Brandt scrambled forward, pushing aside underbrush. A thorny branch snapped back, slicing his cheek. Even the forest was against him. Brandt fought a few more feet, then dropped to his knee and began firing.
“Go!”
Talli made his way by, passing Brandt and establishing a forward position about ten feet in front. The corporal dropped to his knee. “Go!”
As leaves shredded all around him, Brandt took a bullet to the upper bicep. Great. Another stain on his tuxedo. They were so not getting their security deposit back. However, he made it a good twelve feet forward. Of course, they were nearly a quarter of a mile from Rebecca.
Did she know to hold on? He had to believe that she did.
That they were coming for her.
* * *
Rebecca tried to push the foot planted on her chest off, but the mercenary just chuckled, putting enough pressure so that she could barely breath. Vakasa was faring no better as the other two men tossed her back and forth between them, taunting her. Rebecca couldn’t follow the native language, but she could imagine what they threatened.
“Frellan wants her unmolested,” the man holding Rebecca down barked when one of the other mercenaries went to kiss the young girl.
“Who cares what the farang wants?” the other man spat.
She might not speak Lingala. However, she knew a racial slur when she heard one. Frellan must be white. And more than likely a Disciple. The master to these mercenaries.
The man holding Rebecca down brought his gun to bear against his own men. “The farang pays us, and I won’t lose my bonus.” Rebecca was momentari
ly relieved when the men released Vakasa, until it became clear why the mercenary was using English. “However, he said nothing about the enquncu ocha.”
White devil.
All eyes turned on Rebecca. She was a member of Amnesty International. She knew what these men were capable of. The war crimes they had already committed a hundred times over. She swore she could feel her spleen squeeze in terror. Even though the thought of their hands on her body nauseated her to the core, Rebecca couldn’t let them hurt the girl.
She had to place her trust in her men. They would get here. Brandt would get here before…before she became another statistic.
“Yes,” Rebecca blurted before she lost the courage. “Take me,” she added, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. She failed.
The man removed his foot and jerked her to her feet. He pressed his body against hers. “Not a virgin, I see, but you will do.”
Rebecca couldn’t watch as he put his nostrils against her skin and inhaled up her neck. Instead, she found Vakasa’s eyes. “Look away,” she whispered desperately. But the girl did the oddest thing.
She winked.
Then she bit the hand of the man holding her. He howled in outrage, shaking the wounded appendage. The other man laughed at him. Even so, the mercenary holding Rebecca let his grip loosen just a bit. Using every bit of close-quarter training Brandt had ever showed her, Rebecca used her shoe and scraped it down his shin. Then as he bent over in pain, she brought her elbow straight up into his solar plexus.
In a pained rush of air, he teetered, then slumped to the ground. The other men’s guns snapped up, aiming at her. Rebecca guessed she had about a second before they pulled the trigger.
As Vakasa rushed over to her, one of the men’s necks split open, gushing blood. Yet he strangely turned and shot his partner.
“Get down!” a vaguely familiar voice yelled.
Not worrying about who it was that had come to their rescue, Rebecca dragged Vakasa down to the ground with her. Even as they hit the dirt, she watched the last mercenary stagger up. One hand on his sternum. The other on his gun. There was no way their rescuer was going to get him in time.
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