Last Man Standing

by Cindy Gerard

  She squeezed out a tear and pressed her forehead against Joe’s chest. He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  “Can you do anything?” he asked over the top of her head, a humble man who knew there’d be hell to pay if the little woman didn’t get her pound of flesh.

  “That one is long gone. You must be more careful where you drive from now on.” The pack leader’s tone clearly relayed that he thought they’d gotten exactly what they deserved and he had no more interest in them.

  With a hitch of his chin, he motioned the others to follow him back to the Rover, where they would continue their search for the American fugitives.

  “Jesus.” Joe kept patting her back, consoling her as the soldiers sped off down the street.

  “Close,” she said, climbed into the limo’s backseat.

  Close? He swore as he followed her inside. If it got any closer, they’d both be riddled with bullets.

  He slumped back into the leather seat, his heart still jackhammering at the thought of something happening to Stephanie, when the privacy glass slid down and the driver glanced over his shoulder and tipped his cap.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Joe said.

  “At your service, boss,” Suah said, and shifted into gear.

  “What’s he sitting on?” Joe asked as they glided down the street in the luxury vehicle. “The kid isn’t big enough to see over the steering wheel without help. And when did he learn to drive?”

  Stephanie pulled her top away from her body and leaned toward an air-conditioning vent, clearly enjoying the blast of cool air. “Seriously? That’s your biggest concern?”

  If only. “He’s not going to fool anyone if we’re stopped.”

  “We’re not going to be stopped.” She leaned back into the plush seat. “He’s not speeding. Not running lights. Not drawing attention. Besides, we just had our ‘chance’ run-in with the bad guys. The odds are now in our favor. But just in case, we have a little insurance on board.”

  When he frowned, she said, “Under the front seat. I’ll do it,” she added when he started to lean forward. “No sense stressing those ribs.”

  She was right. Leaning forward was still a killer. Watching her drop to her knees on the floor, then point that premium, heart-shaped ass his way didn’t exactly slow down his heart rate, either.

  She dug around under the seat, pulled out a couple of frag grenades, half a dozen smoke grenades, and a pair of AK-47s with folding stocks, short barrels, and three extra ammo clips. Christ. Did the woman have a direct pipeline to every arms dealer in the city?

  “You know,” he said, dumbfounded after she’d shimmied up into the seat beside him, “I have assets all over the world. Assets who’ve been on the ground for years and still don’t have the connections you’ve made in four days.”

  “Maybe you need to say ‘pretty please’ more often.” She expertly set the stock, fit a full magazine into the rifle, then chambered a round and switched on the safety.

  “Or maybe not.” He continued to be amazed by her resourcefulness and by how accomplished she’d become with the weaponry. “When did you get so comfortable handling guns?” He nodded toward the rifles she’d laid on the floor at their feet.

  “You slept a lot. Suah gave me lessons.”

  Joe glanced toward the privacy screen and the boy who had been so instrumental in keeping them alive and now, in getting them out of the country.

  “You care about him, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

  He looked out the window at the crumbling façade of the city passing by. “The little shit’s grown on me, yeah.”

  “He worships you.”

  He turned to look at her then, and saw in her eyes that she’d become as attached to Suah as he had.

  But they couldn’t take him with them. Even if they could, he’d be too stubborn to go. Suah, Bekah, the rest of the boys . . . they were among thousands whose fate had been decided long before he and Stephanie had come on the scene.

  “I hate it that we can’t do anything for him,” she said, frustration thick in her voice.

  He stared down at his clasped hands. Yeah. He hated it, too.

  16

  The docks teamed with civilian men, women, and children, along with a hefty contingent of city police and military when they rolled down the street fronting the pier twenty minutes later. Motor traffic was as thick as the crowds and clotted together like an army of ants.

  Suah expertly ran the gauntlet and maneuvered the big limo through the crawling procession of cars, vans, trucks, and motorcycles, into one of three lines waiting to drive up the ramp onto the ferry that would take them to the airport.

  Clouds as gray as Joe’s mood and heavy with rain hung over the mountain range surrounding the city, and drifted down to skim the bay and mingle with the smoke from barbecues, trash fires, and car exhaust. Hundreds of shanties and Quonset huts rimmed the sloping land, virtually piled on top of each other as they spilled haphazardly down to the shore.

  A disorganized crew of dock men orchestrated the boarding of vehicles and passengers. Verbal fisticuffs sporadically broke out as the motley crew worked to jockey too many vehicles into position in too little space. Straggler vehicles driving off the ferry added to the confusion and the slow progress as they approached the ramp and waited their turn to board.

  “What a goatfuck,” Joe muttered, his tension mounting as heavily armed military guards wearing cammos and sour looks patrolled the disorganized disaster, clearly searching for him and Stephanie.

  The tinted glass privacy screen slid down. “They will make you get out soon,” Suah said.

  Yeah. He was dreading that. “What about you?”

  “Unlike the other drivers, they will allow me to park the car on board. Limos get special passes. There have been too many damaged. The dock crew no longer wants the liability.”

  “And you think you can actually park this big boat in one of those little slots?”

  Suah’s response was a glare that managed to make Joe grin.

  “Okay,” he said, “you can do it. Don’t get huffy.”

  “Once we’re on board, we blend,” Stephanie said, watching the action with as much concern as Joe. “We make the thirty-minute ride across the bay, get back in the limo, and Suah drives off the ferry and directly to the airport.” It was as much a prayer as a statement.

  At the airport, Brown would be waiting to fly them back to the States.

  It was a good plan. And he knew Rafe and B.J. wouldn’t let them down. This wasn’t their first rodeo. They would send Brown fully equipped to make things happen.

  It was exactly how he would have laid things out. But as they rolled closer to the ferry ramp and the moment where they’d have to leave the anonymity of the limo, adrenaline started mainlining through his blood like rocket fuel. Even the best plans had a way of going south, especially when there were so many variables. Like the ferry departing on time. Like the police and the military buying their tourist personas. And like Brown actually getting to Lungi, and if he made it, being able to spread around enough payola to convince the airport officials to turn a blind eye to a fudged flight plan and the addition of two undocumented passengers, without raising suspicion that those special passengers were the fugitives the police were after.

  Yeah. A lot of fucking variables.

  If it was just his neck on the line, it would be different. But if Stephanie and Suah got caught . . . He couldn’t go there now. Now was all about execution and keeping cool.

  “Better stow those,” he said with a nod toward the AKs.

  She tucked them under the front seat just in time. A crewman motioned for Suah to pull ahead, and onto the ferry they went.

  On board, someone rapped on the window. “Out, out, out.”

  Stephanie’s gaze flew to his.

  He nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  She drew a bracing breath. “I’m right behind you.”

  Joe opened the door and stepped out i
nto the heat and the smells and the noise. He turned back to extend a hand to Stephanie, ignoring the four soldiers marching in their general direction. When she stepped onto the deck in her four-inch heels and clingy silk, and adopted a regal air, he couldn’t help but grin and follow suit.

  They immediately transformed into Dick and Jane American—rich Dick and Jane American—suffering the misfortune of having to mingle with the unwashed masses, but determined to make the best of a bad situation as they watched their driver maneuver their air-conditioned limo into the dark, congested cargo bay.

  It was some relief to see that they weren’t the only Caucasians and therefore didn’t stick out as drastically as he had feared among the sea of locals who used the ferries on a daily basis. Since the RUF had been squashed ten years ago, the tourist trade had steadily grown. Europeans now flocked to Sierra Leone to enjoy the sandy beaches and bargain prices West Africa offered.

  “Ignore them,” Joe said close to her ear as he steered her away from the approaching soldiers and toward a metal walkway painted a peeling industrial orange.

  “Oh, look, darling,” she said, with animation. “They’re not really going to jump from there, are they?”

  Cool as a cucumber, she made a sun shield for her eyes with one hand and pointed with the other.

  Twenty yards to the left, an old, rusted-out dredger rode low in the shallow water. Three teenage boys stood at the very tip of the bow, looking down into the water as if trying to decide whether they wanted to make the long plunge.

  “They’re boys,” he said, guiding her toward the walkway again, “of course they’ll jump.”

  The foot patrol drew closer, and Joe had to step out of their path to avoid getting run over as they passed.

  “Nice work,” he said, then grinned with her when the three boys took a flying run and leaped off the old boat, landing with a big splash and a lot of laughter.

  They were bumped and jostled by their fellow passengers in the line that funneled toward the stairs leading up to the passenger deck. Except for the military presence, it could have been a party. Music played in the background, an African reggae fusion that blended with the drone of chatter, revving motors, and honking horns. A pretty, young woman wearing a white dress and a red scarf wound round her neck balanced a basket of bottled water on her head, stopping occasionally to make a sale. Old men and boys leaned on the upper rail, watching the loading process, talking and laughing while police cars patrolled.

  “Quite the parade, what?”

  Joe turned toward the voice. A middle-aged, overweight Brit decked out in a ridiculously close copy of the suit Joe was wearing grinned up at him, mopping the sweat from his bald head.

  “A colorful culture, to be sure,” Joe agreed and extended his hand. “Richard Wentworth. My wife, Jane,” he added, including Stephanie in the introduction.

  “Albert Pritchard. Pleasure to meet you. You’re American, correct?”

  “Mississippi born and raised,” Stephanie said brightly. “Although for the life of me, I cannot recall ever experiencing heat like this even in our southern states. Ghastly, isn’t it?”

  Pritchard wholeheartedly agreed, and accepted their invitation to join them.

  Another squad of soldiers marched past, searching for two disheveled Americans, dismissing the well-dressed, happily chatting threesome out of hand.

  Last call was announced over the scratchy PA system, then the creak and groan of the ramp being hoisted reverberated beneath their feet. The ferry lurched, then pulled away from the dock, finally leaving Freetown behind.

  “Bon voyage, darling.” Stephanie smiled up at Joe.

  It was too soon to breathe any sighs of relief, but the salt air smelled a little sweeter, and freedom felt a little closer, as they cleared the bay and headed out toward open water.

  Suah stared at the wad of cash Stephanie tucked into his hand. “I cannot—”

  She closed both hands over his, squeezed tight, and forced back tears. “Please take it. We wouldn’t be alive if not for you.”

  They stood beside the limo in front of the Lungi International Airport after a quick and thankfully uneventful drive from the ferry.

  Even though she’d tried to steel herself for this moment, she wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotions that hit her. Joe stood beside her, looking as miserable as she felt.

  “Watch your back,” he said gruffly, then rested a hand on Suah’s narrow shoulder.

  “I need to get back to the docks or I’ll miss the next ferry.” Suah shoved the cash into his pocket.

  Though his expression was as unreadable as ever, his eyes were suspiciously glassy. He did his damnedest to look anywhere but directly at them.

  Unable to stop herself, Stephanie threw her arms around him and drew him close. When his slight body softened, and he gave her a clumsy pat on the back, she lost it. A soft sob escaped. “Please take care of yourself,” she whispered, and forced herself to pull away before she embarrassed him further.

  Looking shaken, Suah didn’t waste any time reaching for the driver’s door.

  “You’ve got our cell numbers,” Joe said, his expression grim as he watched the boy. “I expect you to keep in touch.”

  “You stand here much longer and the police will spot you,” Suah grumbled, opening the door. “What good will these numbers do me then?”

  Joe grinned. “Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?”

  “Like I wish to be rid of that wart,” Suah said with the barest trace of a smile.

  Then he got in the limo, shifted into gear, and pulled out into traffic.

  For a long, silent moment they both stood there, watching him go.

  “What will happen to him?” Stephanie asked.

  “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry. He can take care of himself,” Joe said.

  Stephanie wanted to believe him.

  “I’m going to miss him.” She brushed a tear from her cheek. “And I’m going to worry, no matter what.”

  “Yeah.” Joe grabbed the handle of the larger suitcase and nodded for her to take the other. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but so am I.”

  He breathed deep. Squared his shoulders. “Let’s go find Brown.”

  After a last look down the street, Stephanie turned and followed him, knowing she’d feel this hollow ache for a very, very long time.

  Inside, the airport terminal was as noisy and hot and crowded as the ferry. Rows of lazy ceiling fans barely pushed the muggy air around, and the overly bright fluorescent panels in the dingy white ceiling cast harsh light on the cream and gray tiled floor.

  The constant chatter of people, the static garble of called flights over an antiquated PA system, and the jet roar bleeding in from the tarmac raised the decibel level and added to their sense of urgency.

  They’d been inside for ten minutes and still hadn’t spotted Brown.

  “He’ll be here,” Joe assured Stephanie, as well as himself. They turned around and started another pass through the terminal, walking past rows of metal gates where passengers were herded through security like cattle.

  They were halfway through their second pass, Joe silently cursing his lack of stamina, when he spotted Mike Brown strolling toward them decked out in dress blues, a cap, and spit-and-polished black shoes, working the hell out of his professional pilot look.

  “Holy crap,” Brown said when he realized the man walking up to him was Joe. “Starve much?” he asked with typical irreverence.

  Joe grinned, happy as hell to see him. “So the diet’s working?”

  Beneath the tall, tanned, broad-shouldered pilot’s jovial expression was real concern. “Where’d you get that suit? Pimps R Us?”

  “You’re giving me crap? You’re the one with a diamond stud in your ear.”

  “Hey, don’t diss the bling. It’s sacred. And before you ask, no, I’m not smoking again.” He ran a fingertip along the cigarette tucked behind his other ear. “This is just—”

  “A crutch?” Joe sugg
ested.

  Brown grinned. “Insurance. Never know when I’m going to have a really bad day.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s hope you don’t need it today. Stephanie,” Joe said once the requisite insults had been passed, “meet Mike Brown.”

  So far they hadn’t spotted any uniforms other than a smattering of airport security cops, and the terminal was so noisy, Joe wasn’t afraid of being overheard.

  Stephanie extended her hand. “Mr. Brown. I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you.”

  “Don’t even start.” Joe read Brown’s mind as the pilot’s gaze raked appreciatively over Stephanie, cutting off what was sure to be a come-on of epic proportions.

  “Stephanie,” Brown said, ignoring Joe and turning on the charm. “It’s Mike. I was told to look for a blonde, but good Lord, woman, you’re so much more bombshell than I pictured you.”

  Okay, fine. If Brown could make her laugh, as he just had, he could BS all he wanted.

  “Let me take those for you.” Mike relieved them both of the weight of their luggage. “Bricks?” he speculated with a grunt as he started tugging them along.

  “Had to make it look real,” Joe said.

  “Speaking of things looking real, your passports are in my jacket pocket.” He stopped and pulled them out, handed them to Joe, and started walking again.

  The passports were works of art. BOI kept the best ink man in the business on retainer. He could produce documents from any country in any name in a matter of hours. Only this time there had been a little miscommunication.

  “Riene and Gretchen Gruenwalt?” Joe glanced at Brown as he handed Stephanie her passport.

  “You speak German, right?”

  Joe shook his head.

  “Good thing you don’t have to do any talking, then, huh? We’re greased through at the last gate. Just keep your mouths shut, smile at the nice man who relieved me of a lot of cash, and walk through to the ramp. We’ve already kicked the tires and lit the fires. Both engines are running, ready to spool up for takeoff. Ty’s in the cockpit, ready to rock and roll.”