Lords of Corruption

by Kyle Mills

  With no other options to consider, Josh slipped out of the crowd and walked as calmly as he could toward the boy. All eyes were suddenly on him, but the boy was too focused on Annika to immediately notice. When he finally spun, Josh was only a few feet away.

  He lunged and grabbed the barrel of the gun, pushing it skyward as the boy pulled the trigger. He could feel the heat of it as it jerked in his hand, drowning out the sudden panicked shouts of the people around them.

  With his free hand, Josh pulled Gideon's pistol from his waistband and slammed it into the top of the kid's head. He sank to the ground, and Josh just stood there, heart pounding in his chest and machine gun burning in his palm. The crowd that had partially scattered reassembled, and he looked at the individual faces, wondering what to do. He'd nearly decided on firing the machine gun into the air and making a break for the Land Cruiser when a man emerged and pointed to the stack of New-Africa documents at Annika's feet.

  Whatever he said was met with a smirk and roll of her eyes. He spoke again, and a noisy argument broke out between them. Despite this, and the fact that Josh was still standing there with a gun in each hand and an unconscious soldier at his feet, the people around them quickly lost interest. They began talking among themselves and went back to their shopping as though this kind of thing happened every day.

  Annika waved a dismissive hand in the air and started back toward the Land Cruiser. "Annika! What's going on?"

  "He wants ten euros."

  "Are you nuts? Give it to him."

  "I'm not paying ten euros for a bunch of papers no one wants."

  Josh dropped the machine gun and fished around in his pocket for the money, but by the time he found it, the man had run up behind Annika and put a hand on her shoulder. After another few seconds of discussion, a triumphant smile spread across her face and she peeled two one-dollar bills off the wad in her hand.

  Chapter 45.

  Josh penetrated deeper into the cave, trying to ignore a stench that he'd decided was a leopard lying in wait. Only when it became too dark to safely continue did he turn on Stephen Trent's sat phone, confirm that there was no signal, and disable the GPS function. Satisfied that the phone couldn't be tracked, he walked back out into the sunshine, where Annika was organizing the supplies they'd purchased: a water purifier, food in bags emblazoned with A Gift from the American People, a tent, a solar stove.

  "How long do we have?" he asked.

  Annika slid out of the vehicle's backseat and chewed her lower lip for a few seconds. "Three weeks. Maybe a month if we don't eat much."

  It was longer than they needed. If they were in the same situation in a month, their chances of survival would have shrunk to about zero. Mtiti would be closing in to finish off whatever the sweltering bush and malarial mosquitoes had left.

  "Five messages," he said, holding up the phone.

  "Can you play them?"

  He shook his head. "Password. But they've all come in the last few hours, and they're all from the same New York number."

  "Aleksei Fedorov wondering what happened?"

  When he glanced down at the phone again, the number of messages had increased to six. "Seems like he's getting pretty agitated."

  Despite the heat, Annika wrapped her arms around her torso and looked off into the distance. They were on a high knoll that afforded them a view of the lone dirt road winding in and out of the jungle below. So far it seemed all but abandoned -- traveled only by a handful of people on foot and the occasional animal-drawn cart.

  "What's wrong?" he said. "This is what we wanted. For them to --"

  "Is this what we should be doing?"

  "What are you talking about? Mtiti is wiping out the Yvimbo right under the noses of the rest of the world. As soon as he can figure out how to cover it up, he's going to burn your village to the ground with everyone in it. We're trying to stop that."

  "And to save ourselves."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "What happens after? If Mtiti loses power, is my village really saved?"

  Of course she was right. The universe abhorred a vacuum, and the one that Mtiti's implosion would leave had the potential to throw the country into complete chaos. Many of her friends would die in the ensuing violence -- or in the disease and starvation that followed.

  "If this isn't what you want, now's the time to say it."

  She continued to stare out over the landscape. "All I asked God for was a little piece of Africa. Something small enough that I could make a difference. A place where I could see people's lives getting better and know I had a part in it. If you try to do any more than that -- if you pull back and see too much at once -- it looks hopeless."

  Below them a dust plume became visible, moving toward them at a speed that only a four-wheel-drive could sustain. Josh pulled a pair of binoculars from the car and peered through them, thankful for the interruption. This was no time to get paralyzed by philosophical questions.

  Katie eased the Land Cruiser to a stop, eying the machine gun hanging across Josh's back and the pistol tucked into his shorts. The young boy in the passenger seat, who was more accustomed to such accessories, jumped out and headed straight for Annika. She patted him on the head and said something in Yvimbo before handing him five euros. He examined the bills for a moment and then ran off at a speed that suggested he thought she might change her mind.

  Josh had initially resisted Annika's plan to hire the boy to courier a message to Katie at the compound, but in the end he couldn't come up with a better plan. Phone service and power were still intermittent all over the country, and he wasn't sure if Fedorov had the ability to listen to or trace calls made over Trent's sat phone. So hiring a disinterested ten-year-old had made sense by African standards, anyway.

  "So what the hell's going on?" Katie said, stepping from the vehicle but keeping the hood between her and them. "Where've you been, Josh? And what's with the guns?"

  "Maybe you should sit down," he said. "It's kind of a long story."

  * * * *

  "I'm not sure what to believe," Katie said after an hour sitting beneath a tree listening to Josh's account of his time in Africa. She had her fatigue-clad knees pulled to her chest and kept glancing back at the road. Her increasing nervousness made it clear that she knew exactly what to believe. The question was whether or not she wanted to get involved.

  "We've told you everything as accurately as we can," Josh said. "We want you to know exactly what you're doing if you decide to help us."

  He'd chosen her and not one of the other people he knew from the compound because of her personality: idealistic and a little angry. But now he was wondering if it was enough. As he'd listened to himself talk, he'd started to think that anyone in their right mind would run screaming from this.

  Annika obviously had the same feeling. "Katie, we'll both understand if you get back in your car and just drive away. If I was in your place, I know I might."

  "But all those people," Katie said quietly, the indignation she always displayed lost now "All those dead people . . ."

  She was right. There were already a lot of people dead, and they had no right to make her next on the list.

  "I'm sorry, Katie. We should have never contacted you. We've already screwed you just by getting in touch. Go back to the compound, get your things, and get out of

  "No!" she blurted suddenly, showing some of the passion that Josh remembered in her. "Fuck Umboto Mtiti. And fuck NewAfrica. All I ever wanted to do was go to work for an NGO and come to Africa. My whole life. And now they've twisted it into something evil. They can't get away with that."

  "Are you sure?" Annika said. "Even if you're careful, there's no guaranteeing that someone won't find out you're helping us. And if they do, there won't be anywhere to hide from them. JB was --"

  "I liked JB Flannary," Katie said. "He was a cynical asshole, but I liked him. And I think in his way he cared about Africa. Hell, maybe he cared more than any of us. They can't just murder him. It's no
t right."

  Josh picked up the documents he'd taken from Trent's files and held them out.

  Katie hesitated, clearly aware that once she started down this path there would be no turning back.

  "Do you think she'll do it?" Josh asked as Katie's vehicle disappeared into the jungle.

  "I don't know. It's a long drive back. A. long time to think about what could happen to her and her family."

  "That actually wasn't an honest question. I was hoping for a little reassurance."

  She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "In that case, yes. I'm certain she will."

  "I feel so much better now."

  "And what about you? Are you going to do what you said?"

  "I suppose we're committed."

  She released him, and he turned on Trent's phone, dialing the number of the person who had now left nine messages. It rang only once before being picked up.

  "Where the fuck have you been, Stephen? Didn't you get my messages?" The voice was slightly accented and full of rage. Exactly the way he'd imagined Aleksei Fedorov would sound.

  "Stephen's dead. I killed him."

  There was a brief silence. "Who is this?"

  "Josh Hagarty," he responded, trying to keep his voice completely emotionless. Fedorov would undoubtedly see him for what he was -- a twenty-something American kid way out of his league. He needed to change that image.

  When the Russian spoke again, a hint of uncertainty was audible. "I have your fucking sister, you piece of shit. You start playing games with me and I'll mail her to you in pieces."

  "I understand, Aleksei. But I have a foot-high stack of documents from Stephen Trent's office that I think you'd prefer not to have out on the street."

  "Bullshit. How would you get those?"

  "I'd stroll past the guy guarding his house, wipe Trent's blood off the key to his filing cabinet, and walk out with them. Have you even been here? The security's a little halfassed, you know?"

  Annika gave an impressed nod. His bad-ass act must have been coming off better than he'd expected. Who would ever have thought that the things he'd learned in prison would be so much more valuable than the things he'd learned in school?

  "Do you have any idea who you're fucking with --" Fedorov started, but Josh cut him off.

  "I don't have time to go back and forth with dumbass threats. You're thousands of miles away, and you can't do dick, so just shut up and listen."

  Annika actually looked a little surprised at the ferocity of his outburst but then shrugged and gave him a thumbs-up.

  "Let's get this all out on the table, Aleksei. I don't give a shit about you, Mtiti, or the Africans. I just want my sister back, and I never want to set foot on this godforsaken continent again."

  "So what's that mean to me?" Fedorov said.

  "I propose a trade. You give me my sister, I give you your documents, and then we forget we ever heard of each other."

  "How do I know you haven't made copies?"

  "Are you kidding? There aren't exactly Kinko's on every corner here. And Mtiti's cut off power to the entire country."

  The ensuing silence was broken only by Aleksei's strained breathing. There was something in the uncontrolled rhythm of it that made Josh sweat even more.

  "Okay. Have it your way. Where and when?"

  Chapter 46.

  Aleksei Fedorov leaned toward the window as the plane began to descend, examining the dirt runway cut from dense jungle. Josh Hagarty's sister showed no such interest, slumped in her chair across from him, spit running from the corner of her mouth. It had been hard to gauge how many tranquilizers to give her, and he'd erred on the side of caution.

  The trip had taken more than forty hours on three very expensive private planes. And now he was about to land in Africa, a dangerous, unpredictable shithole in which he had no real power base -- less now that Stephen Trent was dead.

  The wheels touched down, and the plane bounced to a stop next to a building that wasn't much more than a shed.

  "Wake up," Fedorov said as he unbuckled the girl's seat belt. Her eyes fluttered open as he jerked her to her feet. The pilot apgeared in the cockpit door, smiling politely as he opened the hatch in the side of the plane. And why wouldn't he be smiling? For the amount of money he was being paid, he could afford to be cheerful.

  "How's your daughter doing?" he asked as Fedorov made a show of carefully helping her up the aisle. Explanations had been tricky. He'd had to convince three different flight crews that she had an intense fear of flying and had taken sedatives prescribed by her doctor. And while they'd taken him at his word, he was painfully aware of the loss of anonymity he'd suffered. Stumbling, drooling girls being ferried to the middleof-nowhere Africa tended to stick in people's minds.

  "She'll be fine," Fedorov said, forcing a grin. "It's not the first time we've done this, and it won't be the last. I swear I don't know why she doesn't just stay home."

  The pilot nodded sympathetically and helped him get her out of the plane before carrying their bags to the shed.

  "Where's my car?" Fedorov asked a young man sitting in the shade provided by the structure. No response other than a confused stare.

  "I've got some things to take care of before we lift off again," the pilot said.

  "Don't worry, though. I won't leave until you've got everything straightened out."

  Fedorov ignored him and grabbed the seated man by the arm, pulling him to his feet. "I arranged for a car," he said, enunciating slowly. "A four-wheel-drive. Where is it?"

  "Car?" the man responded in almost incomprehensible English. "They come."

  God, how he hated this fucking continent. The same stupidity, dishonesty, and laziness that made Africans easy to exploit also made them almost impossible to deal with.

  He released the girl and shoved the man back against the building as she sank to the ground. "When? When is my car going to get here? If you think I'm going to --"

  The sound of an approaching engine made him fall silent. As it got closer, though, it became clear that it wasn't just one engine. It was many. He stepped out from behind the shed and looked up the dirt road, spotting a long line of vehicles as it appeared from the trees. Two uniformed men led the motorcade on motorcycles, and at its center was a black limousine with flags flying on the fenders.

  "Fuck!" Fedorov said, grabbing the girl and pulling her to her feet as the motorcade continued to close. He'd kept this trip quiet, using one of his many aliases, paying in cash, and flying into this remote airstrip well away from the country's capital. His plan had been to meet a group of South African mercenaries he'd worked with in the past, deal with Hagarty and Annika Gritdal, then be gone before Mtiti knew he was there.

  Behind him the pilot slammed the plane's hatch closed, and a moment later the props started to turn.

  Fedorov tried to calmly reevaluate his position and run through the available options. He could make a break for the plane and hope the pilot would open up for him, but that was an all-or-nothing strategy with almost no chance of success. Instead he raised a hand in greeting as the motorcycles passed by. The limousine pulled up a few seconds later, and a man jumped out, opening the rear door in what appeared to be an invitation to get inside.

  He put one of the girl's arms over his shoulders and dragged her to the limo, pushing her into a seat and then following her inside.

  "I wonder," Umboto Mtiti said as the door was slammed shut and Fedorov's pupils struggled to adjust to the interior gloom, "why you wouldn't have informed me you were coming to my country?"

  "You asked me to come, Excellency, and I chartered the soonest available plane. I was going to call you as soon as I got to the house."

  Mtiti just stared at him, and he used the time to refine his story. Mtiti was a monkey, but he was a smarter monkey than most.

  "Who is this woman?"

  Fedorov glanced over at her and saw that she'd slipped fully into unconsciousness again. "Josh Hagarty's sister, sir."

&nbs
p; "And what is it you intend to do with her?"

  "I plan to flush out Josh Hagarty and kill him."

  Mtiti nodded. "With your South African mercenaries?"

  Fedorov tried not to let the sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through him show. In the United States he was surrounded by guards at all times, he had informants keeping an eye on his competition, and he killed anyone who was a threat to him well before they could become dangerous. But this wasn't the States. Here Mtiti dominated everything. Soft leather and air conditioning notwithstanding, Fedorov knew he had become a prisoner the moment he'd passed through the limousine's door.

  "I can only assume that you feel my people aren't good enough?"

  "Excellency, you made it clear on the phone that it was my responsibility to deal with this problem. So now I'm here personally with a team of men to resolve this issue and prove my loyalty."

  Mtiti smiled, but it was impossible to tell if it was because he believed what he was hearing or merely admired Fedorov's skill at lying. "Unfortunately, things have changed in a way that will make your plan impossible."

  The implication was clear. The South Africans were all dead.

  Mtiti leaned forward and patted Fedorov's knee. "I appreciate your commitment, Aleksei. And to show that mine is equal, I want to make you a guest at my palace. And to offer you the use of my best people."

  "I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality," Fedorov said. "I'm happy to stay at Stephen Trent's house."

  "I insist."

  Fedorov forced a smile. "Then I accept. Thank you."

  "And where is Stephen, Aleksei?"

  It was impossible to know whether Mtiti was genuinely looking for information or if he already knew the answers to his questions and was testing. Lies had to be considered carefully. The wrong one could be fatal.

  "He's dead, Excellency. And I suspect Gideon is, too. I'm sorry. I know he was a relation to you."

  Mtiti didn't react other than to reach beneath his seat and hand Fedorov a stack of file folders. They were all empty, but their prior contents were noted on labels relating to various NewAfrica bank accounts, bogus projects, and payoffs.