State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8)

by R. J. Patterson

  Black flexed his bicep as he looked down at the man. The man jumped back, his eyes widening. Then Black turned directly toward the villager and started flexing his pecks, making them bulge in a rhythmic dance as he grinned.

  The old man took a step back before he broke into laughter. The rest of the villagers followed suit, creating an uproar that echoed through the jungle.

  “I think they like you,” Shantu said.

  The old man turned to all the other people and shouted something.

  “What’s he saying?” Black asked.

  “He said that everyone is to welcome the funny white man.”

  Black looked at Shantu, who’s complexion had suddenly turned pale. “Are you all right?”

  “I think I’m—”

  Shantu collapsed as he fell to the jungle floor. Villagers rushed over to him, while Black loomed over the boy and tried to assess what had gone wrong. Checking his breathing passageways, Black determined that the boy was breathing fine. But then after taking his pulse, Black realized it was weak.

  “He’s in shock,” Black said. “He needs to lie down on a bed and get some water.”

  Two young men helped Black carry the boy into a hut where they laid him on a blanket spread out across the floor. Black removed the boy’s shirt and started to poke and prod around the entry and exit wound.

  “He needs some food and water,” Black said, making hand gestures that he hoped would convey what he wished he could say in their language. “But I will call for a doctor.”

  Black wasn’t sure anyone understood him, but he pulled the cell phone out of Shantu’s pocket and feigned dialing a call. Help was already on the way, if Shields’ medical team didn’t get apprehended along the way. But Shantu’s fainting spell gave Black a chance to make the doctors’ entry into the village seem even more legitimate.

  Black knelt next to Shantu as he started to wake up. The boy eased up into a sitting position while Black supported him.

  “What happened?” Shantu asked, rubbing his head.

  “I think you fainted,” Black said. “You’re dehydrated. Here, have some water.”

  Shantu didn’t need to be told twice. He took the wooden cup from Black’s hands and drank all the water, never once stopping to take a breath.

  “You were thirsty, kid,” Black said. “Want some more?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Black nodded at a boy who was standing at the doorway of the cramped hut. Understanding Black’s signals, the boy took the cup and darted off to get more water. The process repeated twice more before the boy returned the final time with a large pitcher filled to the brim. Black thanked the child and filled up Shantu’s cup yet again.

  “So, someone is coming to get us?” Shantu asked.

  Black nodded. “Don’t worry. They’ll be here soon enough.”

  He meandered toward the doorway, easing through the onlookers gathered inside the house. Black stared into the jungle and down the pathway from the direction he expected the doctors. Even though he was helping Shantu, whenever Black closed his eyes he saw the image of Patrice’s face as he pled for Black to save his little brother. Black wouldn’t rest easy until the job was done.

  He checked his watch and returned to Shantu’s side.

  “How much longer?” Shantu asked.

  “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

  Shantu tried to stand up, but Black prevented him from doing so.

  “You need to rest, Shantu,” Black said. “You need some more sustenance and rest. I’ll get you all the help you need, both now and in the future.”

  Shantu scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “I will get you the best education possible. I will get you the best medical care available in the world. I will do everything I can to ensure that your life in five or ten years from now looks nothing like it did last week.”

  “Who are you to say that your way would be better?”

  Black shrugged. “I’m no one to say that. But I know Patrice wanted the best for you. And this is what he wanted for you.”

  At the mention of Patrice’s name, Shantu started crying. Tears streaked down his cheeks before he grabbed Black’s waist and hugged him tightly.

  After a few seconds passed, Black put his hand on Shantu’s back and rubbed it. “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  Shantu sniffled as he drew back. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, trying to dry the tears. “I can’t tell you the pain I feel knowing I’ll never see him again—or my father or my mother. But I have you.”

  Black put his hands on Shantu’s shoulders and looked the boy directly in the eyes. “You will get through this—all of this. And those things that were used to weaken you, they will make you strong. I have no doubt you will grow up to be a great man one day.”

  The rumbling of a vehicle outside the hut arrested Black’s attention. He jumped to his feet and strode toward the door.

  “Mr. Black,” Shantu called. “Mr. Black!”

  “I’ll be right back,” Black said. “It sounds as if our ride has arrived.”

  “No, Mr. Black, don’t go outside. Stay here with me.”

  Black paused at the door, the boy’s eyes begging him to stay. “It’ll only take a minute and then we’ll both be on our way out of here.”

  “But, Mr. Black—”

  Black emerged from the crowd and looked in the direction of the noise. But instead of seeing a convoy of motorcycles to transport them to the medical convoy just off the main highway, he saw a handful of dirt bikes.

  “Where’d they go?” Black wondered aloud.

  It was the last thing he said before he felt a prick in his neck as his knees buckled.

  CHAPTER 29

  Kwango Province, Congo

  BLACK SLOWLY OPENED his eyes and tried to adjust to the bright light shining on him. He tried to shield his face with his arms, but they were bound behind him, fastened together with a rope. Closing his eyes, he fought against the bindings for a moment before realizing his struggle was futile. A guard stepped in front of the light as he cocked his head to one side and inspected his American prisoner.

  “He’s awake,” the guard said in French.

  Within seconds, armed men swarmed around Black, poking and prodding him with the barrels of their weapons. Black drew back, irritated by all the people hovering over him. They all discussed features about Black, from the size of his biceps to the expression on his face, which oscillated between perturbed and irate. This continued for a couple of minutes before a man ordered everyone to be quiet.

  Silence fell over the cramped space in the tent before the guards parted for their leader. A man strode toward Black and finally stopped six feet away. Black recognized the man immediately.

  “If it isn’t Agent Black in the flesh,” Bahiri Zahid said. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again, but here you are.”

  “I was certain I’d never see your ugly face again,” Black said with a sneer. “But then I remembered what a chicken shit you are—the terrorist too afraid to blow himself up, which is the only reason why you’re still alive.”

  “All in due time, my American friend,” Zahid said with a smile. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that things rarely go like you expect them to, so be prepared for anything.”

  “Then I hope you’re prepared this time to stay locked up forever,” Black said with a wry grin.

  Zahid chuckled and shook his head. “All you have is hope and a prayer. Isn’t that right? However, as the more benevolent man here, I’m not going to keep you locked up forever. I’m going to release you very soon—and if you don’t do as I say when I release you, there will be dire consequences.”

  With Black’s vision restored, his predicament appeared even more dire. A pounding headache made him more agitated as he realized that he’d only be able to think his way out of this situation, if he could even do that.

  “Can we not talk about this right now?” Black asked. �
�My head hurts and I feel nauseous.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” Zahid said. “It’s just a special concoction my friend Mr. Kazadi cooked up for you. I know how you Americans like to experience new cultures, so to speak. And around the Kwango River, the poison from the Forest Cobra is how you subdue your enemies—right before you kill them.”

  “Perhaps you have me mixed up with someone else,” Black said, his wrists starting to burn from the rope. “I’m rather content with American culture and not at all interested in your games.”

  Kazadi laughed as Zahid crossed his arms.

  “Should I tell him?” Zahid asked, looking at the ADF leader.

  Kazadi nodded and then snapped his fingers. One of the guards hustled across the room and snatched a laptop off the table in the far corner. A pair of men picked up Black’s chair and moved him to the small desk in the center.

  “What’s going on?” Black asked.

  Zahid stroked his scraggly beard. “I think we have a game you might be interested in.”

  Black narrowed his eyes. “I don’t play games.”

  “Now, I could be wrong, but I have a feeling this particular one might be of interest to you,” Zahid said. “The stakes are high. Want to know what you’re playing for?”

  “I don’t care,” Black said. “I’m not going to read one of your stupid statements either. If you’re going to kill me, go ahead and get on with it because whatever you think I’m going to do for you, isn’t happening.”

  Zahid raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that, Agent Black? I haven’t even shown you what the prize is if you decide to play along?”

  “I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but I don’t care.”

  “Suit yourself,” Zahid said. “But I think you might want to rethink that decision once I tell you what happens if you win.”

  “Or what happens when you lose,” Kazadi added with a smirk.

  “You can’t win or lose if you don’t play,” Black said, “which is why you’ll have to find someone else to help you.”

  Zahid wagged his finger. “Again, Mr. Black, I set the rules—not you. And that’s not how we’re going to do things. You will play one way or another. And if you choose not to, you lose. Consider it a forfeit.”

  Black glared at Zahid. “I’ll gladly forfeit my life to prevent you from using me as propaganda for your failed cause.”

  “I expected that much,” Zahid said. “That’s why it’s not your life that you’ll be forfeiting if you lose. Instead, it’ll be her life.”

  Kazadi turned the laptop around so the screen was facing Black. For the next few seconds, he stared blankly at the screen, summoning all his strength not to break into a full-fledge rage. He closed his eyes and imagined himself tearing through the ADF camp, killing every last one of the bastards attempting to ruin his life.

  On the screen, Black watched Christina Shields sitting in a small bedroom on a cot without sheets. She was blindfolded and screamed as she was jabbed with a small spear-like object. Black could only imagine how confused she was in the dark. Terror was written all over her face, at least the part that Black could make out. Even with the mask covering her eyes, Black could see tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Want to play now?” Zahid asked.

  “I will kill you when this is all over,” Black said.

  Zahid smiled. “Your government tried that already, and look where it got them. It couldn’t even keep me locked up at Guantanamo Bay. You think I’m concerned with your threats? Think again.”

  Black seethed as he studied Zahid, who seemed to ask his question again with arched eyebrows before being more direct about it.

  “What’s it going to be, Agent Black?” Zahid asked. “Would you like to take me up on my offer? Or are you willing to concede a loss and move on? The latter would be a bold choice, one that, frankly, I’d be disappointed to see from you. I always pegged you for a stand-and-fight kind of guy.”

  “I’d hate to disappoint someone who is a world leader in spreading terrorism,” Black said.

  “That’s more like it,” Zahid said.

  “What do you want me to do?” Black asked. “Do you have one of those statements you want to record me making?”

  “So, stand-and-fight, it is,” Zahid said. “I will give you all the details.”

  Black cringed as he watched the computer monitor. Shields flailed around for a few more moments as Black cringed.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “I have a special mission for you,” Zahid said.

  When he finished explaining it to Black, the American operative’s mouth was agape as he shook his head. “I can’t do that. Are you insane?”

  “Find a way,” Zahid said.

  “That’s right,” Kazadi added. “Just think of it as your next mission for your government.”

  Black frowned. “It’s literally against my own government. That makes the situation much trickier.”

  “I never said this game would be easy,” Zahid said.

  “No,” Black said with a shrug. “I guess you never did.”

  Their conversation nearing an end, they were interrupted by Shields screaming and shouting.

  “Don’t do it,” she said. “My life isn’t worth it. Don’t do it.”

  Zahid and Kazadi looked at each other. “I guess you don’t have to play,” Zahid said. “But I wouldn’t listen to her if I were you. I doubt she wants to be turned into Muhammed’s little play thing. But that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you choose not to participate.”

  Black sighed and glanced up at Zahid. “Okay, l’ll do it.”

  Shields continued screaming until her feed went dead.

  Zahid clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “That’s more like it.”

  Black didn’t like playing when the game was rigged—but he didn’t see any other viable options. And it was killing him.

  CHAPTER 30

  Washington, D.C.

  JANA SHADID INHALED the aroma of her coffee as she closed her eyes. It wasn’t quite as tasty as the batch her grandfather roasted weekly back home in Jordan, but it was a close second. The Arabian blend in her cup was similar to the kind she used to drink when her mother said she was old enough to drink it. And it made her think of home. She missed it—or more precisely, she missed them—her parents, her grandparents, her siblings, her cousins. But she didn’t miss living there or the fear looming over her daily. Blunt had delivered the coffee to her ten minutes earlier. He was her family now, along with Agent Black and Shields. And she was growing fond of them.

  Jana checked her email and noticed a coupon for a local shooting range. Shields had mentioned several times about taking Jana there and teaching her how to shoot. With a wink, Shields said she’d teach her to shoot better than Black. And based on the banter Jana had heard between the two, Shields had won a pair of friendly marksmanship contests, convincing Jana that she’d have an excellent teacher.

  She printed off the coupon on her printer and wandered down the hall to find her colleague. But Shields wasn’t in her office.

  Blunt shouted at Jana as she passed by his open doorway. “Hey, Jana. Have you spoken with Shields this morning? I needed to talk to her about some things, and I haven’t seen hide nor hare of her.”

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Jana said.

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Around noon yesterday. She left to go work out at the gym during lunchtime as usual, but I haven’t heard from her since.”

  “No texts or emails?”

  Jana glanced at her phone and scrolled through the message before shaking her head. “Nothing since yesterday morning.”

  “How odd,” Blunt said. “Give her a call and see if you can reach her. I’ve tried her twice but without any luck.”

  Jana remained in the hallway outside Blunt’s office and dialed Shields’ number. The phone rang several times before goi
ng to voicemail.

  “Nothing, sir,” Jana said.

  “This is so unlike her,” Blunt said, pausing before continuing. “You know how much I value all my agents’ privacy, but is there any way you can find out where she is?”

  “I can track every agent’s phone in case something happens to them.”

  “You can do that?”

  She nodded. “But I have a policy that I only do it in case of an emergency.”

  “Well, I think this qualifies as an emergency,” Blunt said as he pulled a cigar out of his drawer and clipped the end off. “See what you can find out.”

  “Give me a second, sir,” she said. “I have an app right here that will give me her phone’s location.”

  Shields tapped on the screen and, within seconds, was looking at a map where the phones of all the Firestorm agents were located in the world. Shields’ displayed that she was still in Washington.

  “She’s in the city,” Jana said as she zoomed in on the location.

  “At her apartment?”

  “It looks like she’s at the gym still.”

  “Still?” Blunt asked, his eyebrows arching upward. “She’s a creature of habit and leaves here every day around noon to work out. It’s only ten o’clock.”

  “That does seem odd, sir. But maybe that would explain why she isn’t answering your calls.”

  Blunt placed the cigar into his mouth and bit down on it. “But that doesn’t explain why she’s missing. I don’t know if I ever recall her working out this early in the day.”

  “Maybe she has some other appointments to attend to around that time and wanted to get her workout in early,” Jana suggested.

  “I’ve worked with Shields long enough to know that she moves everything around so that it doesn’t interfere with her gym time. Can you go down there and check on her for me? It’d really put my mind at ease.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Let me know the minute you find out something.”

  * * *

  JANA APPROACHED the woman at the front desk at Vida Fitness.