“Maybe it didn’t happen.”
Alex sighed. “That’s not like Blunt though. I get the feeling he trusts me implicitly.”
“You’re in the world of espionage, Alex. Nobody trusts anybody implicitly.”
“Perhaps not, but I find it difficult to believe he made everything up.”
“He could be creating a trail with you, building some alibi before he goes off the grid.”
“That’s not his style, either.”
“Desperate times—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, thanks anyway for being willing to help. Just keep your ear to the ground for me, will ya? If Searchlight is for real, I want to know about it.”
“You got it.”
Alex then called Blunt to deliver the bad news. He didn’t answer.
She decided to ask General Johnson if he’d ever heard of Searchlight, but he wasn’t at his desk, files and documents strewn across it. Lingering longer than she should have, she glanced down at his desk and a word caught her eye on one of the papers: Searchlight.
She reached down to slide the page out of its folder when the sound of a man clearing his throat from startled her. She spun around to see the General standing there.
“Is there something I can help you with, Agent Duncan?” he asked.
“I was wondering if you’ve spoken with Blunt lately.”
He walked past her and settled into his chair behind his desk. “Not lately. Why? Is everything all right?”
“I think so, but he asked me to look into something for him, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”
“Well, when you do, would you let him know I’m trying to reach him?”
“I will.”
She turned to leave before he spoke, halting her progress. “And Agent Duncan?”
“Yes?” she said without turning around.
“Don’t ever enter my office again if I’m not in here. Understand?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good. Now, get back to work.”
Alex swallowed hard and hustled back to her desk. She wanted to see if she could find out something else, but not now. Not with General Johnson possibly knowing something about Searchlight.
The idea that such an organization existed both perplexed and excited Alex. And now she had a link, albeit a tenuous one. Even more important, the fact that perhaps General Johnson was the link complicated matters more than she'd imagined.
And she’d have to tread more carefully now.
CHAPTER 18
ON THEIR DRIVE BACK to the outfitters, Visser asked Hawk how large of an item he could sneak out of the country using his taxidermy skills. Hawk explained that it had to do with the size of the animal as well as the creativity of the client. Fully embracing his legend, Hawk shared the story of how Martin Exporter’s once smuggled five hundred kilos of cocaine out of Peru and into Canada for one client.
The story almost tripped up Visser. “I thought you said you never asked what your clients ship.”
“I don’t. But some things are obvious.” Hawk paused. “Though it could’ve been five hundred kilos of powdered sugar from a client who was trying to avoid paying import tax.”
“If I’m going to work with you, I need to know that you will use utmost discretion in talking about us to other clients.”
Thinking on his feet, Hawk looked to assuage Visser’s fear. “I understand. I only tell that story because those clients are dead. They both drowned in a boating accident, if you know what I mean.”
Visser knew exactly what he meant. The Diego brothers were renowned in the organized crime world for their ability to move large volumes of drugs across various borders. They’d also both drowned several years before while fishing near the Florida Keys.
Hawk never breathed their name, but he figured Visser would connect the dots.
“The Diego brothers?” Visser said. “Those are some high-end clients.”
“High end, low end—it makes no difference to me. The only kind of clients I’m inclined to work with are paying clients.”
Visser grinned. “We fit into that category.”
“Good. You just let me know whenever you need help. I’ll be here.”
“Nothing super urgent, but I’ll let you know when we’re ready to move.”
Hawk shook Visser’s hand and patted him on the back. “It’s always a pleasure meeting new business associates.”
***
WHILE HE WASN’T YET CERTAIN as to Visser’s reason for being in Sierra Leone, Hawk assumed it wasn’t simply for the hunting. He’d been around enough lowlifes to know what they smelled like. Based on their shooting ability and other vague comments, Hawk figured Visser and his men had to be more dangerous than previously imagined. Hawk surmised that they had to be connected to Demby, if not loosely then very tightly.
Hawk texted Alex photos of Visser and his crew and asked her to look them up. In the meantime, he decided to grab something to eat at The Errant Apostrophe’s again.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting at a table and looking over the menu. Hungry for some red meat, he ordered a steak.
“Our bongo steak is the best,” the waitress said.
He shot her a funny glance.
“I know, I know. It’s raised on a farm. I have to remember to say that first. It might cut down on all the strange looks I get.”
Hawk snickered. “Someone in this part of the world is getting conscious about their food choices?”
“Never the locals. They’re more concerned with survival. But you’d be surprised at who comes through these parts.”
“Bongo steak it is.”
She smiled. “I’ll have that out for you in about twenty minutes. Ciao.”
Hawk opened up the latest edition of Taxidermy Today and started thumbing through the pages. He found an article about hair-on tanning and started to learn about the “wet scrape” technique. He knew enough of the craft’s basic terminology to fake it, but the more he could learn, the better. It didn’t take him more than ten minutes before he was done with the article and ready to move on to something else when he noticed an American woman who’d just taken a seat at the table next to his.
With long dark hair worn up in a bun, the woman wrung her hands as she glanced around the restaurant. Hawk thought she looked down to earth and even slightly ragged, but the glimpse of her smile that he’d caught arrested him. Whatever she did, she worked hard—though Hawk suspected she would be a stunner once she cleaned off a day’s worth of African dirt. He never expected to see such a beautiful woman in a location like this.
She put on a pair of spectacles, peering through them at the menu. The waitress delivered a glass of wine to her table, which went briefly ignored.
“So, Dr. Ackerman, are you going to mix it up today and order something different or are you just reminding yourself that you order the best dish on the menu every single night?”
The woman took her glasses off and smiled at the waitress. “Carley, I think I’ll take the usual.”
“Excellent choice, as always,” Carley said before disappearing into the kitchen.
Hawk glanced back down at his magazine, hoping to avoid eye contact.
Dr. Ackerman caught his lingering glance and leaned toward his table. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.”
Hawk looked up from his magazine and forced a smile. “Is that your best pick up line?”
The woman didn’t bat an eye. “I only engage in polite conversation. Nothing good ever came of me trying to pick up a man—herniated discs, lower back pain. No. I just never pick up men.”
“Quite the sharp wit, too,” Hawk said with a wink. He offered his hand to her. “Oliver Martin.”
She took it. “Alissa Ackerman.”
“Alissa? Isn’t it Dr. Ackerman?”
She nodded and leaned down, trying to peek at the title of his magazine.
He held it up. “It’s just a boring taxidermy magazine.”
She rolled her eyes and took a gulp of her wine.
He closed the magazine. “Sorry, it’s not as noble of a profession as medicine, but it pays the bills.”
“You’re here hunting, aren’t you?”
Hawk nodded.
“Figures. Just come and exploit the last shred of survival that’s left in this country. Kill it and take it home.”
“Just because I’m hunting doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
She held up her hand. “Please. Save the self-righteous act for someone who might believe you. I’m not impressed.”
Before Hawk could respond, a young boy ran into the restaurant, shouting. “Doc! Doc! We need you!” The child grabbed Dr. Ackerman by the arm and started to pull her out of her seat.
“What is it, Solomon?” she asked, almost falling out of her chair before she stood up and stopped the boy from pulling her any farther.
“The mine! The mine! It’s collapsed. My father is trapped inside, and Mr. Demby is doing nothing about it.”
She got up and ran.
Hawk followed her.
“Can I help?” he asked as he chased after her.
“Please. For the sake of everyone here, why don’t you just get on a plane and go home?”
“I can’t,” Hawk said. “It sounds like there are some people who need help. Getting on a plane and escaping this place is the last thing I’d do.”
“Look, Mr. Martin, you don’t have to impress me. I get it. You’re altruism is unmatched."
“I’m not trying to impress anyone; I’m trying to help.”
“Whatever. Get in.” She pointed at the Jeep in front of them. It was covered with rust spots and plenty of caked on dirt, yet possessed four new tires.
Hawk obeyed, and Ackerman fired up the engine. Solomon hopped in the back, as did a couple of other younger boys.
“Has this happened before?” Hawk asked.
“Not since I’ve been here,” she said, shouting over the whine of the engine and the breeze caused by her speeding along the dirt road.
Hawk played dumb. “Who runs this mine?”
“My boss,” she said as she shifted gears. “I run his humanitarian organization here, SLAM.”
“SLAM?”
“Sierra Leone Aid & Medical Supply Company. I know. It’s a terrible acronym, but it’s Africa. I’m just grateful there’s someone funding my work here.”
“And your boss, what’s his name?”
“Musa Demby.”
“Musa Demby—why wouldn’t he be doing something about this?”
“He’s full of contradictions, but I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
“How much farther?”
She shot him a look. “The kids are in the back. With a question like that, I wonder if you’d like to join them.”
Hawk chuckled and glanced at the back. They’d started with three kids, but Hawk noticed the number had now doubled.
“Six kids?” he said, pointing behind him.
She smiled. “Welcome to Africa, Mr. Martin.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the mine. Hawk had been so shocked by the multiplication of kids in the back of Ackerman’s Jeep that he’d barely noticed the train of vehicles behind them. When Ackerman finally skidded to a stop at the top of the Sefadu Holdings mine, more than a dozen vehicles had fallen in line behind her. Mostly young men and boys along with a few frantic mothers and wives unloaded and joined Ackerman and Hawk as they jogged down the pit road. A few of the boys ran ahead.
Once they reached ground zero, one of the foremen held up his hands. “Whoa! Whoa! You shouldn’t be here.”
Ackerman pushed her way past him. “Where’s Demby?”
One of the men pointed toward the western portion of the pit.
She marched in that direction, Hawk trailing behind her in an attempt to keep pace.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as she interrupted Demby’s conversation.
Demby looked at her. “Dr. Ackerman, it’s so kind of you to join us.”
“This isn’t a social call. We need to get these men free.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. It’s too late for them. We’re going to detonate the mine, give them a merciful ending.”
“Like hell you are,” she said before whistling toward the boys and pointing toward a portion of the mine. “Start working right here.” She turned to Hawk. “You, come with me.”
Hawk followed her closely. “You really think we can save these men by simply pulling out a few beams and pushing over some boulders?”
“I don’t know, but we’re sure going to try.”
Hawk rolled up his sleeves and yanked a beam out of the rubble. He rushed to another pile of debris and pushed a large rock out of the way with his feet. A few moments later, an opening large enough for a man to escape through appeared. Two arms popped out of the hole.
“Help me!” the man called.
Hawk grabbed the man’s arms and lifted him out.
Solomon rushed toward him before stopping short. The man wasn’t his father. Instead, another young boy leapt into the arms of the man they’d just rescued.
Hawk took in the bittersweet scene. For a moment, it whisked him back in time to when he worked in the Peace Corps, giving him the satisfaction of what it felt like to help others yet the emptiness of not being able to help everyone.
A firm punch to his bicep snapped him out of his trance.
“Let’s go, Mr. Martin,” Ackerman said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Hawk stooped down and noticed a small black cinch sack being pushed through a tight opening between two large support beams.
“Help me!” a man said with a gravely and raspy voice. “Take this. Just get me out.”
Hawk took the bag and tossed it up and down for a moment to see how much it weighed. “What’s your name?”
“Amad,” the man answered. “I know it’s a lot of money, but I don’t care. I want to see my family again. Just get me out of here so I can be with my family again.”
Hawk knew the protocol: talk about the person’s family, keep them awake and alert, don’t let them lose consciousness. But knowing what to do and actually achieving the desired result were two different things, ideas that didn’t always materialize like people hoped.
Hawk glanced at Solomon standing near several other men who’d been rescued. He looked lost, hopeless. Hawk reached down and pulled up a stone, determined not to let Solomon live the rest of his life with that despondent look on his face.
CHAPTER 19
ONCE HE ARRIVED HOME, Blunt wasted no time in retreating to his study and pouring himself a glass of scotch. It’d been a long day, one he wished to forget quickly. But as much as he wanted to erase it from his memory, he couldn’t.
He settled into his favorite chair and threw his head back, exhaling and hoping for a better tomorrow.
It can’t be any worse than today, can it?
Just as he’d started to unwind, his encrypted phone rang.
What is it now?
He got up and wandered over to his desk, ripping out the charging cord from the phone.
He recognized the number. It was Thor's.
“Yeah,” Blunt answered.
“I’m calling you with an update.”
“What happened? Is it done? I’m watching the news and haven’t seen a thing.”
“No,” Thor snapped. “Your intel was wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that I found Jepsen, identified him, posed as a hotel employee delivering room service to him, slipped him the drug—and he died of a heart attack hours later.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“It wasn’t Jepsen.”
Blunt took another much-needed long pull on his drink. “What do you mean, it wasn’t Jepsen?”
“Whoever had a heart attack was a body double for Jepsen.” Thor took a deep breath and exhaled. “It was almos
t as if he was surgically altered to look like him.”
“You were sure it was him?”
“Sure as I’ve ever been.”
“So how do you know it wasn’t?”
“When I returned to the kitchen, I heard one of the other employees talking about how he’d just come back from the Prime Minister’s room. Someone either tipped them off or knew of our operation in advance.”
“So, what’s going on now?”
“Jepsen’s cavalcade just left for his speech that he’s scheduled to make here in Vienna in a couple of hours. They’re having some kind of breakfast for diplomats before he speaks. What do you want me to do?”
Blunt finished off his glass of scotch and got up to pour himself another.
“Senator?”
“Just hang tight. I’ll be in touch.”
Blunt hung up and slammed his phone down on his desk. He drained the entire glass of scotch before slinging it across the room and letting out a string of expletives.
Without hesitating, he shuffled toward his window and drew the blinds.
He was wrong.
His day could—and did—get much worse.
CHAPTER 20
DEMBY BENT OVER next to Dr. Ackerman and watched as she worked frantically to pull the rubble away from one of the mine’s openings. He admired her determination and grit, even if it annoyed.
“Dr. Ackerman, I think I told you it’s too late. You need to back off,” he said.
She stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm. “Tell that kid right there that we’re too late,” she said, gesturing toward Solomon. “We just reunited him with his father. And if you had it your way, we would’ve just made him join the vast number of children on this continent who are fatherless for legitimate reasons.”
Demby inhaled a long breath as he watched his doctor ignore his directives.
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Demby said.
“No, you were crystal clear,” Ackerman said, refusing to look up as she continued working. “But I always respond to cries for help over threats. So you can either help me free some of these men or you can get out of my way.”
“I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”
Brady Hawk Box Set Page 22