Congo Dawn Page 23

“It’s happened before. To yours truly, in fact. No barge, but a torpedoed gunboat I scouted out sneaking into a Vietcong command post. Boat was half rusted away, but I found air down there. When the mission went sour, I hid out forty-eight hours while Ho Chi Minh’s goons scoured the jungle for me, sneaked out once they gave up. Here that wouldn’t even be necessary.” Ernie was now tapping the aerial map. “Notice this stretch of water is right around the first bend from the mine.”

  “That’s right,” Trevor Mulroney said slowly. “The ore barge had barely left the mine when it blew. A hundred tons of molybdenum ore still sitting on the bottom of that river.”

  “Which means the sunken barge would be completely hidden from mine security. At the same time, these trees right here—” Ernie pointed to tree trunks reflected in brown water—“are tall enough that if you climbed into their upper canopy, you’d have a perfect line of sight into the mine itself. Let’s assume this Jini discovered an air pocket, maybe doing some salvage after sinking the barge. And that he’s sophisticated enough to know about aerial surveillance. All he’d have to do is get his team underwater at the first sound of an approaching chopper. Meanwhile, does anyone notice that as the crow flies, it’s a pretty easy trek from this river bend to the mine itself? I’m guessing we just may have located Jini’s forward operating base.”

  “He could be right,” Pieter Krueger admitted. “In fact, that’s the same direction the logging party was cutting trees for charcoal. Why did I never notice this before?”

  “Maybe I’ve appointed the wrong leader for this mission,” Trevor Mulroney commented with a malicious grin. As Pieter Krueger stiffened angrily, Mulroney’s grin widened. “So, Miller, you got any suggestions on how to smoke this guy out? For one, let’s get a chopper back out there ASAP for a closer look.”

  But Ernie was shaking his head. “I’d hold off on the chopper. If this is Jini’s FOB, we don’t want to tip him off. My suggestion is a small, discreet insertion party after dark on foot. Our own guys, no Wamba militia to mess things up. Night vision goggles will cancel out a local advantage in this jungle. Oh, and one other thing. The mole. Say this Jacob was Jini’s runner for getting that last bomb into the mine. What field commander’s going to depend on a kid? And whoever tipped off last night’s killers, it sure wasn’t the kid because he was buttoned up tight. Only two groups knew about that medivac. Those at the mine. And here. Unless we’re seriously pointing fingers at the Taraja medical personnel, the mine’s a more likely leak.”

  “Or if you’re right about the rest, maybe Jini just saw the choppers land and take off for himself,” Pieter Krueger pointed out.

  “Possibly. But how would he know where they were headed? No, our ghost has got to have another mole at the mine. Someone not on that logging party or the kid wouldn’t have been needed. An adult. Maybe more than one. And they’ve got to have a means of getting messages out to this Jini.” Ernie Miller paused before adding ­laconically, “So how about we offer them another urgent message to pass along.”

  Once the former Green Beret had explained, Trevor Mulroney nodded. “Let’s do it. Ernie, you’ve earned yourself the ground mission. Krueger, as team leader you’ll continue to move forward with the bush hunt. And take Samuel Makuga with you to do the saber rattling­ out at the mine. They’re scared to death of him enough already to swallow anything. Be on notice I’ll be flying back your way within forty-eight hours. I want this Jini in front of me when I get there.”

  Trevor Mulroney’s screen went blank. Energized at the prospect of a worthwhile mission, operatives crowded around Ernie to volunteer. Robin found herself at the Vietnam vet’s heels as they threaded out of the communications trailer. She seized the opportunity to ask a question nagging at her. “Ernie, does it seem to you our employer knows more about this Jini guy than he’s passed on to us?”

  Ernie swung around to cock an eyebrow. “I always assume Trevor Mulroney knows more than he’s saying. Believe me, it’s safer that way. I’ve worked with and for Mulroney since back when he started Ares Solutions. He always knows what he’s doing. And he always gets what he wants.”

  Heading toward the supply depot, Ernie tossed over his shoulder, “So don’t let the civilized shell fool you. I say that as a compliment. Mulroney also rewards generously those who get him what he wants.”

  Robin tagged on his heels, still curious. “And Pieter Krueger? You must have worked with him before too, then.”

  “Krueger?” Ernie didn’t slow his stride. “Krueger’s a company man. He’ll do what he’s paid for, no questions. And do it well, make no mistake. Why do you think he’s still working for Mulroney? Mulroney doesn’t suffer fools, believe me, whatever that little exchange back there. He figures pitting us at each other keeps us on our toes.”

  “Speaking of Krueger—” At the roar of rotors picking up speed, Robin glanced toward the airstrip. She gave an exclamation of dismay as she caught sight of Pieter Krueger and Samuel Makuga striding rapidly toward the executive helicopter. “Oh, great! They’re leaving already. I was going to ask about arranging a ride-along to take Rachel back to her mother.”

  Ernie punched a code into the supply depot’s lockbox. “That little girl we brought in? You need to get her home? No problem. The mine’s our takeoff point for this op. I was just thinking an on-the-ground translator might prove handy if we take any prisoners. You want in, we can swing by the clinic to take on a passenger.”

  “That would be great!” Robin dug out her cell phone and punched Return on her most recent call. If Taraja’s Internet phone service was up and running, she wouldn’t have to make a trek up to the clinic.

  It took several rings before Miriam answered the phone. Yes, she’d have Rachel ready and be watching for a helicopter. Robin spent the next hour helping Ernie sort out NVGs, ammo, radio batteries, and other mission gear from the supply depot before grabbing her own knapsack and slinging her M4 over her shoulder. She shouldn’t need either for a brief run to the mine and back. But one unbending maxim both Colonel Duncan and the Marines had drilled into Robin was that you went into the field planning for the best but prepared for the worst.

  As the Mi-17 hovered down where the trail from the airstrip opened up into the clinic lawn, Robin jumped out. But it wasn’t Miriam she spotted waiting as promised on the veranda, Rachel in arms. Rather a much taller, distinctly masculine figure. Bent over to shield his burden from wind and dirt kicked up by the rotors, Michael ran forward. But instead of handing the child to Robin, he climbed through the Mi-17’s open side door, swinging a large brown medical bag in with him.

  “What are you doing?” Robin demanded above the noise.

  “As her doctor, I’d like to hand her over myself. Make sure her caregiver understands what’s needed to follow up with that injury,” Michael shouted back.

  His only reason? Or an excuse to nose around the mine situation? Michael’s next words gave the answer. “In any case, after last night, I’d like to see for myself what’s happening out at that mine. Check out those other survivors you referenced. You mentioned all they had was some prisoner with paramedic training.”

  Robin looked at Ernie, seated in the copilot’s chair next to the pilot. The Vietnam vet simply raised noncommittal eyebrows, but Marius, the Afrikaner pilot at the throttle, waved an impatient hand. Robin clambered inside after Michael.

  Robin couldn’t blame Rachel for breaking into a wail as the noise of rotors and engine rose to full throttle and the Mi-17 lumbered skyward. Michael offered no resistance when Robin eased his burden into her own arms. From the cockpit, Ernie called, “Hey, you two, up here!”

  Supremely conscious of Michael’s warmth at her back, Robin worked her way forward through a half-dozen teammates hunkered down with their combat packs. When they reached the cockpit, Ernie reached for Robin’s charge. “Here, let me take the little one.”

  Evidently recognizing the burly warrior who’d cradled her on her last helicopter ride, Rachel broke off her wail. Within mo
ments, she appeared asleep, face buried against the Vietnam vet’s Kevlar vest. Which permitted Robin to shift her attention to the windshield. Her last flight in an Mi-17 had been spent crouching on the floor, holding a pressure bandage in place. Now she could see the entirety of Taraja spread out below. The straight ribbon of trimmed grass and dirt. Overgrown fields and broken buildings stretching well back on both sides of the airstrip. The relatively small cleared area around the clinic that was Taraja’s new beginning.

  Then the medical compound fell behind. Now the only break in endless green billows was a winding brown snake. The river down which last night’s killers had disappeared in their canoes. The Mi-17 swooped low enough for Robin to spot the sudden slither of a crocodile from the riverbank into the water. Ahead on the horizon, a smudge of gray-brown rising above the rainforest canopy grew quickly into individual hillocks. At this distance, there was no evidence of mining activity, only serene, untouched beauty as far as the eye could reach.

  Michael leaned in beside Robin to look out the windshield, his exhalation brushing her neck as he shouted against her ear, “Really something, isn’t it? I won’t say I didn’t enjoy college stateside, medical school, seeing the world in the Navy. But this—well, this is coming home. What the—?”

  Michael’s warm breath had abruptly pulled away from Robin’s ear. She felt the stiffening of his lean body before he exclaimed sharply, “What is that?”

  Off to the helicopter’s left, a second gray-brown smudge rose to bifurcate the paling cerulean of late-afternoon sky. Its lazy curl as the Mi-17 drew closer made clear this one was no rock formation but smoke. A lot of smoke.

  Ernie had leaned forward to see what Michael was pointing out, but it was the Afrikaner pilot, Marius, who spoke. “That? Looks like one of the villages that put up resistance to this morning’s raid. Bow and arrow against assault rifles is plain stupid, but you’ve got to admire their nerve. Wamba’s boys weren’t too impressed, as you can see. Good thing we were there to keep them from doing to the residents what they did to that village.”

  Robin felt Michael’s withdrawal, the evaporation of that tenuous restored camaraderie she’d so eagerly latched onto these last hours, even before the American doctor straightened away from her. When he spoke, Michael’s expression was blank, his tone carefully neutral. But Robin knew him too well to miss the subdued fury. “I was in that village just last month. Held a surgical clinic there.” Michael clamped his jaw shut. Nor did he speak again during the remainder of the brief flight. But as the dynamited rock face came into view and the Mi-17 hovered down into churned red mud outside the mine enclosure, Robin could see one hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

  Before the rotors stopped, her Ares Solutions teammates were on their feet and grabbing combat gear. Handing Rachel back to Robin, Ernie climbed out to direct his field team toward the gate. Robin juggled a now wide-awake Rachel to reach for her own knapsack and weapon. Stepping over, Michael resolved her dilemma by shouldering both along with his medical bag, then offered a hand to help Robin step down from the helicopter’s high threshold.

  He still had not spoken. Remembering her own initial consternation, Robin tried to see the place through Michael’s eyes as they headed through the gate. No pick-and-shovel work was happening on the rock face. But that didn’t signify a halt to the molybdenum ore processing. Most of the workers appeared to be occupied in an assembly line of hammering and chiseling at mounds of stockpiled raw ore. At each station, the rock handled was of smaller dimensions, until the final step closest to the slurry vats involved sledgehammers pulverizing gravel-sized pieces of rock to dust.

  It was, in fact, a low-tech manual duplication of what the steam-powered rock crusher had accomplished before Jini’s bomb blew it apart. Other workers were wearing a circular groove around the slurry pits as they pushed on the same long poles employed to move carts around the camp, their steady tread turning the huge paddles that stirred the mix of crushed rock, water, and chemicals. Female workers were scooping out sludge previously suctioned off by pump and pipes.

  If an excruciatingly laborious method of processing molybdenite, Robin could see a sizable mound of filled ore sacks. She wasn’t sure why she felt impelled to offer some defense to Michael’s tightened mouth and critical survey. “If it’s a mess now, you can thank Jini’s destructive efforts. But once we can secure stability and open transportation, Earth Resources will be able to bring in some heavy-duty mining gear. Make this place a model for mining here in the Congo. Offer a chance for a real life to the locals.”

  “They have a real life.” Michael clamped his teeth together as though the words had escaped him against his will.

  “You know what I mean.” Robin looked around for the young woman from whose arms Rachel had been dragged aboard the helicopter. Something she could not put a finger on was nagging at her. Something out of place. But other than the shift in work assignments, the only difference she could see in the mine clearing was that the debris from the explosion had been cleared away.

  “Yes, I know what you mean.” Michael’s own scrutiny was focused on the workers. “And believe it or not, I’ve nothing against reaping the natural resources God provided this country. So long as it’s done right and benefits the Congolese people, not just some expat mining conglomerate. I’ve seen government gold and coltan mines a whole lot worse than this. If Mulroney really means to do the right thing, more power to him. But this used to be such a pretty spot. I just hate to see that completely destroyed.”

  Robin glanced at Michael. “You know this place?”

  “Not necessarily this place. But those hills are unique in the Ituri region. I remember visiting a village somewhere at the base of one of them when Miriam and I were kids. Climbing up to look out over the rainforest while my parents were holding a clinic. That was back before the fighting shut down all the roads.”

  A wail broke into Michael’s commentary. “Mama! Mama!”

  Immediately a scream responded from the nearest slurry pit. “Rachel! Rachel!”

  The little girl in Robin’s arms began to struggle as a young woman abandoned her skimming to rush toward them. “Give her to me! Give me my daughter!”

  “Mama!” As the little girl heaved herself from Robin’s arms, the young woman caught her close. Tears streaming from huge, dark eyes, she patted her daughter all over as if to reassure herself the child was truly whole and well.

  The passionate relief in the woman’s face tightened Robin’s throat. I did something good here. In this time, in this place, at least, I did the right thing.

  Then Robin spotted a white-haired man hurrying forward from the brush corral. “The boy Jacob—did you bring him, too? Is he well?”

  Robin glanced at Michael. “That’s him. The camp healer who said he knew your family. Do you recognize him?”

  Robin saw Michael’s tawny gaze narrow as he turned his head toward the old man. Saw the elderly healer stop abruptly in his tracks as he caught sight of Robin’s companion. But Michael was given no opportunity to respond because now others were abandoning the stone-crushing assembly line and slurry pits to rush toward them. The elderly healer disappeared from view as workers swarmed around Robin and Michael.

  “My son, where is he?”

  “My daughter, is she well?”

  “My woman, why has she not returned?”

  Robin was stunned by the demands. This, she realized, was what had seemed out of place. The Mi-17 had evacuated the massacre victims from Taraja hours ago. A funeral, rather than a normal workday, should have greeted their arrival.

  “What is going on here?” At the furious exclamation, workers fell back to reveal Pieter Krueger striding from the Quonset hut that served as mine headquarters. Samuel Makuga loomed huge at his side. Following behind were Ernie Miller and Clyde Rhodes, the South African mine administrator Robin had met on her last visit. The rest of the Ares Solutions team had vanished inside the Quonset hut.

  “You all! Return to
work immediately, or there will be no food rations tonight.” Makuga’s harsh Swahili scattered the crowd as the group reached Robin and Michael. Robin saw Rachel’s mother dart with her daughter into the brush corral instead of heading back to the slurry pits. The healer followed.

  Robin spun around and addressed Pieter Krueger in low, urgent English. “Why are these people asking about the other patients we airlifted? How is it they don’t know about last night? I thought the bodies had been returned to their families.”

  “They don’t know because they haven’t been told yet. We didn’t want anything to seem outside the usual before tonight’s op. Which is why if I’d wanted you hauling the kid back at this juncture, I’d have said so! And dragging an unauthorized civilian into the middle of an op? Is that one of our weapons he’s carrying? Are you out of your mind?”

  Robin had actually forgotten Michael was still shouldering her knapsack and M4 until Pieter Krueger snatched the weapon from him. “This one you’re not going to just brush off, Duncan. When I get done reporting to Mulroney, maybe this time he’ll be smart enough to fire your sorry—”

  “But . . . I was told—” Robin broke off her defense. In fact, Ernie hadn’t actually given verbal permission for Michael’s presence, and she was not about to pass along any blame.

  But now the Vietnam vet was stepping forward. “Hey, ease up, Krueger. I’m the one who gave the kid and doc a green light. Mulroney assigned me this op, and I saw no harm. In fact, I figure some medical insurance for tonight isn’t such a bad thing.”

  “That wasn’t your call! Mulroney may have handed you this op. But I am still team commander here.”

  Body language bristled between the two operatives. Michael took a step forward. His interruption held no appeasement. “The question isn’t what I’m doing here, Krueger, but what you are! I saw the village your men burned down. I thought you claimed Wamba’s men were under strict control of Ares Solutions.”

  Pieter Krueger’s glance toward Michael held contempt. “Yeah, well, it’s called rules of engagement. Villages that didn’t resist got rounded up nice and peaceful. Your peaceful villagers took out a dozen of Wamba’s troops this morning. Surely you don’t expect Wamba’s men to just roll over when they’re attacked!”