by Vanessa Kier
“Montgomery Enterprises.” The name of the team’s cover company was spoken with a slight Swedish accent, and a bit of Dev’s tension eased. Lars was his team’s communications expert and the one most likely to pull up the info he needed quickly.
“Hey, Lars,” Dev replied.
“What’s wrong?” Lars demanded. “It must be life and death for you to interrupt your vacation.”
“Ja, it is.” Dev blew out a breath. “I just learned that my sister is in the area and she’s riding a public bus. I’m afraid the rebels will target it. I need the schedule for the VTE local bus from Cotonou to New Accra and directions to the closest scheduled stop to this location.” Dev stopped the Jeep so he could pull up his phone’s map feature—a compass and map being one of the few features the phone did possess. He rattled off his coordinates from his phone’s GPS.
“Hold on a sec…You want to head to Tokorou.”
Dev studied the map. “Brilliant. I’m perhaps an hour, hour and a half away. Thanks.” He threw the Jeep back into gear and stomped on the accelerator.
“My pleasure. Good luck with your sister. Once she’s safe, try to enjoy the rest of your vacation.” The worry in Lars’s voice made Dev wince. Yeah, he’d been skating a little too close to the edge these past few months. But Jesus, seeing what Natchaba’s men had done to their fellow citizens during the Hospital Massacre had completely thrown his view of war into a different realm.
Dev had witnessed brutality before. But in all of his years in special forces he’d never come across such vicious, dehumanizing violence. Some of the people they’d found alive had been nothing more than faceless torsos without arms or legs. Their eyes, for the ones who still had them, had begged Dev and his teammates for a quick, clean death. Which they’d provided.
Simply remembering it made him feel ill. But it also made him more determined than ever to stop Bureh’s rebels and this mindless campaign of violence. And to make certain that his sister didn’t become their next victim.
Damn his parents. If they’d spent as much time raising their children as they had fighting for political and social justice, then maybe they’d have reined in Kirra’s wildness. Prevented her from becoming the type of woman who would follow their example and ignore the danger inherent in visiting West Africa.
As Dev raced toward the main road, he settled into battle mode. His target was the bus his sister was on. His mission was to get his sister’s butt into his Jeep then onto the next plane home.
God help anyone who stood in his way.
The rebel leader stabbed the tip of his knife into the lining of Kirra’s backpack.
A gunshot sounded from the front of the building, followed by the bark of a command. The rebel leapt to his feet and bolted out of the room with his comrade hot on his heels.
Kirra sagged against the handcuffs. That had been too close.
“You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” Dev chided.
She winced.
A cacophony of shouts, screams, and pleas in both English and the local languages filled the air, accompanied by more gunshots.
Footsteps pounded outside. Kirra raised her head and looked out the part of the window not blocked by vines. Past the weed-infested dirt that surrounded the building, a wide stretch of head-high grass led up to a grove of coconut trees. A second later, George came tearing around the corner of the building, two rebels on his heels. He’d almost made it to the protection of the grass when one of the rebels fired his AK-47. Bullets tore into George’s legs, creating dark red patches across his trousers.
His cry of pain covered up Kirra’s own scream as George pitched forward onto the ground. He hit the dirt and immediately started crawling toward the tall grass.
The rebels reached George. One of them stomped on George’s legs to hold him in place while his comrade quickly searched him.
What on earth were the rebels looking for?
The rebel who’d been doing the frisking gestured angrily, then bent close to George. He must have asked a question, because George shook his head.
“Where are they?” the rebel shouted, kicking George in the ribs.
Kirra flinched, feeling an echo of pain from when Franz’s kick had broken her own ribs.
George must not have given the rebel the answer he wanted. After a few more questions, the rebel shot George in the head, then kicked his injured legs for good measure. He took George’s wallet and phone, then he and his comrade stomped toward the front of the building.
Kirra’s gorge rose and panic tried to choke her. Her gaze skidded away from George and the bloody hole in his head. Since the attack, she couldn’t bear the sight of fresh blood on skin.
Tears stung her eyes. George had been so nice to her. And now he was…was…
Another shot from the front of the building galvanized her into action.
She twisted her wrists inside the cuffs, shooting a glance toward the door to confirm that from this angle no one could see her from the front. Then she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the handcuffs tear her skin.
It didn’t take long to manipulate herself free. The gang of thieves she’d belonged to had made a game out of who could escape from handcuffs and other restraints the fastest. They’d also practiced blindfolded, in case they needed to escape in the dark. Kirra had always been one of the top three.
She shook out her hands, then opened her eyes. As expected, the escape had bloodied her wrists. Her stomach lurched.
No! Concentrate.
Averting her gaze, she took a deep breath. Okay, what would Thabo do? Her self-defense trainer was retired from the South African military. He’d drilled into her head that when faced with a dangerous situation there were four things she needed to do. Stop. Assess. Plan. Execute.
In other words, she had to use her brains to get out of here. Brains Dev didn’t think she had. Well, she’d just have to prove him wrong, wouldn’t she?
She studied her surroundings.
A few meters to the right of the window, a door led to the area behind the building. That’s how she’d leave.
Kirra crammed her strewn belongings into her backpack, removed her plakkies—the plastic beach sandals would only slow her down—then slipped her arms through the pack’s straps. She dashed over to the back door and yanked on the handle, but the door didn’t budge. Bracing against the wall with one foot, she tugged again. This time the door gave with giant crack, pulling entirely away from the frame.
She jumped back, barely avoiding having her toes pinned as the door crashed to the floor. Dust rose in a cloud and she shoved her arm against her mouth to muffle her coughing.
A quick glance toward the main door showed no approaching rebels. They must not have heard the noise over the screams and gunshots.
Her stomach clenched. The rebels were likely killing people, but if she went out there she’d also die. Once she was safely away she’d find a place with a public phone and call the authorities.
She peeked out the back door and did a quick visual scan. Not spotting any rebels, she raced across the strip of dirt and into the tall grass.
Hoping that the late afternoon shadows would help mask her passage, she burst through the grass and into the grove of coconut trees. She’d only made it a few meters into the trees when one of the rebels raised the alarm. Kirra swore mentally and ran faster, ignoring the pain of stones and sticks under her bare feet. Dammit, the coconut grove was not meant for hiding prey. The trees were spaced too far apart and the underbrush was sparse. She had to make it to the beach and the safety of the rocks.
Just…a little…farther.
Pausing only a millisecond at the edge of the trees where the coconut grove met the road, she checked that she wouldn’t be visible to any oncoming groups of rebels, and that there were no approaching cars. Then she bolted across the road and scrambled down the rocks bordering the strip of beach. Beaches she understood. She and her twin had spent hours hiding from Dev along the beach near thei
r home.
Those years of experience helped her keep her balance against the bulky, uneven drag of her backpack. The wind drove sand in her nose and eyes, and whipped her hair into her face. She shoved her hair behind her ears and picked her way from rock to rock, avoiding the sandy places that would show footprints.
She climbed over a spit of rocks and palm trees that divided the beach. Once the rocks blocked her from the sight of any pursuers, she paused and listened. She heard shouting, but it sounded distant, as if the rebels hadn’t yet made it onto the sand. Good.
Hands shaking, she lowered her backpack to the ground and yanked out a hunter green scarf. While a little voice inside her head frantically chanted at her to hurry up, she hastily wrapped the scarf around her face and head both to hide her wild mass of blonde hair, and to protect her nose and mouth from the blowing sand. Her light pink top would be a beacon for the rebels, so she tore it off and shoved her arms into the sleeves of a dark blue shirt. Then she grabbed the hem of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband to give her more movement without exposing all of her white legs that would be a beacon against the darker rocks.
The shouts from the rebels drew closer. Kirra shouldered her pack and peered through a gap in the wall of rocks. A group of rebels stood on the sand near the spot where she’d entered the rocks. One man directed a group of six to search in her direction, then motioned for another half dozen to head in the opposite direction.
Kirra eased back into the shadowed recess, then turned silently and hurried through the rocks. With so many potential hiding places, it would take them a long time to complete a full search.
She hoped.
Plus, the tide was coming in. Soon it would completely submerge the few spots between the rocks where she’d been forced to set her foot down on sand, hiding her trail.
A fierce gust of wind ripped the scarf away from the lower half of her face. She grabbed it before it could break completely free and repositioned it, tucking it more securely. A quick check out to sea showed fast approaching clouds blotting out the sunset.
Maybe the storm would drive the rebels away.
She moved toward a curve of rocks that formed a finger jutting several meters into the ocean. Okay. It appeared as if there might be a—
Her foot slipped. She barely bit back her scream as she fell between the rocks, landing in an uncomfortable sprawl with her ankle wedged between two lower rocks.
Her pulse raced. Kirra attempted to calm her choppy breathing as she glanced around to make certain none of the rebels were within sight. As she completed her visual scan, a patch of darkness high up on the cliff beneath the road caught her eye. The space had been hidden from view by vegetation, but this angle revealed what might be the opening to a cave.
A dark, enclosed space. Her breath stuttered under a wave of remembered fear and pain. But she had no choice. If she spent the night outside, she’d be at the mercy of the storm and of any rebels who didn’t give up the hunt. Even if she spent the entire night startling at every sound, that would be better than being recaptured by the rebels.
With a gentle tug, she freed her ankle from the rocks. Blood trickled from a scrape across her ankle bone. She swallowed heavily and looked away. Keeping her eyes averted, she gently probed the area with her fingers. When that produced no pain, she stood up. The ankle bore her weight without problem. Brilliant.
A rebel called out to one of his mates, sounding too close for comfort.
Shifting so that she could look between the rocks, she watched the rebels jump onto the sand at the opposite end of this section of beach. She cursed under her breath, then spun around and quickly slipped through the rocks. Her pulse pounded, partly in fear but partly in excitement. Except for the whole life-and-death thing, this wasn’t any different from when she and Kyle had hidden from Dev as kids.
Careful to step only on rocks, she hurried toward the base of the cliff, then scrambled up the rocky incline, using the rocks and bushes as cover. As soon as she passed the water line, she shoved her backpack into the gap between two waist-high rocks.
Crouched behind the rocks, she watched the progress of the rebels. Once she’d determined that they weren’t looking in her direction, she grabbed her torch from the outside pocket of her pack, then quickly climbed up to the next ledge of the cliff.
She eased herself over the rim, flattened herself on her belly behind a thin line of bushes, and watched the rebels draw nearer. She hadn’t had time to cover her tracks up this path, but she’d mostly kept to the rocks. With the failing light, she hoped the rebels wouldn’t spot the few, faint tracks she’d left. The steady wind aided her by tossing sand over her trail.
One of the rebels pulled out a pair of binoculars.
Kirra pressed her cheek harder against the rock and slitted her eyes.
The rebel scanned the rocks, sliding past her location.
She let out the breath she’d been holding.
The rebel slowly quartered the area again. This time he paused his search just below Kirra’s hiding spot. Had he somehow spotted her backpack? She’d thought she’d hidden it better than that.
Her mind raced with possibilities. If the rebel discovered her, she’d have to bolt for the top of the cliff. The few rocks and bushes wouldn’t offer much cover, but they might confuse watching eyes enough to allow her to reach the road. She had no way to tell if rebels also patrolled the road along this section of the beach, but she’d deal with that when she reached the top.
She shifted her weight, ready to run.
Down below, one of the other rebels spoke to the man with the binoculars and gestured toward the cliff. The rebel raised his binoculars a fraction.
He’d spot her in a second.
She took a deep breath to oxygenate her muscles. Her senses went into overdrive, sifting through sights and sounds for any threats.
The rebel shook his head and lowered the binoculars.
Kirra remained still and tense as the rebel and his teammates searched the rocks below her. Water now covered half the beach. Thanks to the storm clouds, dusk had already fallen. A few of the rebels pulled out torches, shining them in between the rocks.
Kirra’s attention bounced between the rebels and the place where she’d hid her pack. She calculated distances and the probability that the rebels would climb up that far. To have caught up with her this quickly, they must have conducted only a cursory search of the rocks along the other beaches. Hopefully, they’d soon give up this search, as well.
Unless additional rebels had joined the search and were combing the other beach. Damn. She wished she could see back to where she’d entered, but the contours of the coastline hid that area from sight.
A gust of wind peppered her with precursor raindrops.
Come on. Come on. Rain, already. Drive the rebels away.
Chapter Four
Spurred by panic, Dev pushed his Jeep to its limits. The dark storm clouds building over the ocean turned the sunset into a brilliant display of purple, pink, and orange—a physical representation of the tension riding him.
Kirra’s bus had never reached the way station. The agent there had shrugged when he gave Dev the news, and waved to the vendors sprawled around the small lorry park waiting to offer their wares to the passengers. “Sometimes, the passengers demand that the bus make an unauthorized stop to buy food or relieve themselves,” the agent had explained. “It will come when it will come.”
Dev’s gut didn’t buy that. So he’d jumped back in his Jeep and headed in search of the missing bus. He spotted official vehicles blocking the road ahead and his concern spiked into alarm.
He brought the Jeep to a screeching halt a hundred meters away from the roadblock. The muted sunset light did nothing to soften the blow of seeing police loading body bags into an ambulance.
“No!” He leapt out of the Jeep and raced toward the scene.
A uniformed officer blocked his way. “I’m sorry, sir, this is a crime scene. No one is allowed past
this point.”
Dev looked beyond the ambulance. A repurposed school bus sat in the middle of the road. The front end had been blackened and torn apart by an explosion. Dead bodies lay scattered across the road and in front of the vine-infested building to his left.
“Constable, was that the VTE bus from Cotonou to New Accra?” Dev demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“My sister was on that bus!” Dev tried to muscle his way past the man.
But the constable had training and determination, and he continued to block Dev. Dammit, he couldn’t risk the political fallout if he assaulted a constable of the law. WAR already struggled to get cooperation from law enforcement. But he had to know what had happened to Kirra.
Dev noticed a man wearing the insignia of a sergeant and motioned for the man to join them. The man took his time approaching, then gave Dev a thorough visual check. His raised brows indicated that he was less than impressed.
Ja, okay, Dev still wore only board shorts and surf shoes, so he didn’t look like a highly trained operator. But maybe that would work to his advantage here.
“Is there a problem?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes, sir,” Dev said with as much respect as he could muster given the urgency riding him. “My sister was on that bus and I need to know if she’s among the dead.”
The sergeant glanced back at the scene. “We have found no white people,” he said.
Tension slipped from Dev’s shoulders.
“All of the bodies are African,” the sergeant continued.