Congo Dawn Page 24

  “And it never occurred to you attacking a sleeping village might provoke some defense from the locals? You punish that by burning their homes over their heads?”

  Pieter Krueger turned furiously on Robin. “And this, Duncan, is why you don’t drag civilians into an op. They can’t grasp the simple principle that to have power and not use it is weakness. And weakness gets people killed.”

  The worst was that by every standard of Robin’s own training, the Ares Solutions team leader had a point. Michael shouldn’t be here. In truth, she’d been allowing herself to think of Michael as the comrade-in-arms she’d served with in Afghanistan, not the civilian outsider he actually was to this mission. It was not enough to say that the American doctor had barged in without Robin’s invitation. That her teammates had raised no objection. Her concern for a young mother frantic about her child had overridden the professional judgment in which Robin took so much pride. Mingled shame and anger tightened her vocal cords so that she could only nod.

  “To have power and not abuse it is courage, not weakness,” Michael responded tightly. Then he glanced at Robin’s miserable expression, and his taut posture eased slightly. “But, hey, you’re right that I’m a civilian now and this isn’t my op. I do apologize for intruding without authorization. Please believe it was none of Ms. Duncan’s doing. I rather barged onto your helicopter without asking. But since I am here, I hope you’ll allow me to make myself useful. I’d like to check out the other explosion victims. Maybe have a chat with your site medic on any other health issues among your workers.”

  Pieter Krueger’s own body language did not ease at all. “Are you kidding? You think I’m going to allow you to compound one breach of protocol with another? You shouldn’t be here to begin with. Now you know things you shouldn’t. You’ve seen things you shouldn’t. And not just last night’s events. You’ve made your sympathies clear enough that I wouldn’t trust you near our suspect pool! You’ll spend the rest of this op inside that Quonset hut.”

  As the South African turned to Robin, the bite in his tone grew more pronounced. “Since you, Duncan, aren’t part of tonight’s action, I trust I can at least count on you to make sure your pal here remains out of sight and incommunicado until this all goes down.”

  It could have been worse in a thousand ways, if none came immediately to mind. Ernie Miller was already heading toward the Quonset hut. Robin turned to Michael. “This way, please.”

  But Pieter Krueger held up his hand. “Wait. Since you’re here, Duncan, you might as well do your job first.” The South African turned to Rhodes. “It’s time.”

  The mine administrator headed toward a shiny new shed that had replaced the one destroyed in the explosion. In the brief passage of time since the Mi-17 had touched down, the sun had finished its plunge below the treetops, and in the swift onset of an equatorial night, the sky overhead was rapidly fading from twilight’s pale green to dusk. Robin knew from the team briefing what was about to happen. As Rhodes ducked inside the shed, a generator that had replaced the shattered steam engine rumbled to life. Security spotlights blinked on from a total of seven watchtowers spaced along the perimeter fence. Above the Quonset hut’s front entrance, an additional fluorescent tube flickered to pale white-blue light.

  Once the lights were on, the door of the Quonset hut opened. Seven men in militia uniforms emerged. Each headed to a tower. As they climbed up, the guards atop the platforms handed the newcomers their weapons and climbed down.

  The evening shift change.

  The new generator’s limited capacity did not provide sufficient lighting for the work zones. As though its rumble signaled the end of the workday, laborers who’d dispersed back to their work stations began gathering tools and heading for the brush enclosure. Pieter Krueger turned to Samuel Makuga. “Do it.”

  Stepping forward, the huge militia commander lifted a bullhorn. Pieter Krueger glanced at Robin. “Okay, I want to know exactly what he’s telling these people.”

  Robin obediently set herself to translating the militia ­commander’s shouted Swahili. “‘The Congolese army has now successfully evacuated this region of civilians. Any individuals remaining outside the mine perimeter fence will be assumed to be insurgents. Beginning at sunrise, the Congolese air force will begin—’ I don’t know the Swahili, but I’m guessing he means a strafing campaign—‘which will proceed until the rebel leader Jini and his men are killed or captured. To avoid—’ again I don’t know the Swahili, but I’m guessing he’s referring to collateral gunfire from the choppers—‘all camp residents must remain inside their living quarters until they receive orders to leave. Mining operations will be suspended until it is over.’”

  The workers had frozen in place during Samuel Makuga’s speech. A security beam spotlighted the elderly healer, standing in the opening to the brush corral. He melded into a stampede toward the corral as the militia commander lowered his bullhorn. Pieter Krueger offered Robin a grunt that might have been satisfaction, if not approval, before walking off with Makuga toward the generator shed.

  Twilight had now completely faded to black. With the moon not yet risen, the rainforest night beyond pools of artificial light was as dark as it would get. To Robin’s relief, Michael offered no resistance to following her toward the Quonset hut. They’d reached the white-blue glimmer cast by the fluorescent tube above the Quonset hut entrance when the door opened. The Ares Solutions team that had been on the Mi-17 stepped through into the light.

  In synchronicity, the Mi-17 outside the perimeter fence rose from its muddy resting place to touch down again moments later in the now-vacated work area. The Mi-17 cut its engine, its rotors winding to a halt.

  The commotion inevitably drew curious eyes. Human shapes scrambled to the top of the brush corral and crowded into its opening to watch the mzungu soldiers in their safari clothing and bulky body armor. But just as the Ares Solutions team headed for the helicopter, the generator’s smooth rumble became a rough chug-chug. The lights flickered. Steadied themselves for a few more heartbeats. Then came a loud hiccup. An even louder clank from the shed. Simultaneously generator and lights went dead.

  Consternated shouts from the shed echoed from watchtowers to brush corral. It took some moments before a pale glimmer of battery-powered lanterns blinked on from each watchtower platform. The only other available illumination was the Mi-17’s running lights.

  Bodies milled outside the Quonset hut. Then a flashlight came on, its narrow beam lighting a path for dark silhouettes threading their way toward the helicopter. The running lights created odd patterns as the group heaved ore sacks from the stockpile Robin had noted earlier into the helicopter. Once the pile was gone, the silhouettes climbed in on top of the ore sacks and the helicopter roared back to life. Standing in the Quonset hut’s open doorway, Robin blinked away a grit of dirt stirred up by the rotors as the Mi-17 lifted from the ground.

  Only Robin and Michael had been close enough to note that the dark silhouettes clambering aboard the helicopter were not the Ares Solutions operatives who’d originally stepped out into the light, but the group of day shift security guards who’d climbed down earlier from the watchtowers.

  The helicopter roared into the sky. “And that’s one of the things you probably shouldn’t have seen,” Robin tossed over her shoulder to Michael as he followed her into the Quonset hut.

  Inside, this proved to be a single large, octagonal room. Around the walls, stacked crates and padlocked metal storage lockers alternated with bunk beds. At the rear, an office setup with both satphone and radio hookup jostled a propane stove and fridge. A narrow fiberglass unit stood open to reveal a camper-style chemical toilet and shower. A small television and DVD player perched precariously on a bunk were a reminder that the mining camp headquarters also served as Clyde Rhodes’s personal living space.

  A lantern on another bunk revealed the missing Ares Solutions team rummaging through duffel bags, stuffing ammo clips into utility belts, tugging night vision gog
gles into place. Ernie glanced up from snapping a water canteen onto his belt.

  “Seven in, seven out—not including you, Duncan, and the doc if anyone was counting. If Jini’s got a watch posted, they’ll assume we came to escort out that load of molybdenite. Doc, I’m told you’ve got experience in combat medicine. Afghanistan, right? Sorry about all that out there. Krueger’s mission head. But I for one am tickled to have you both here for the duration.”

  Assenting nods and grunts from around the hut eased a hard knot in Robin’s throat. Her teammates at least didn’t appear to share Pieter Krueger’s estimation of Michael’s presence here. Or her own competence.

  “Afghanistan and Iraq,” Michael affirmed. “You were in Vietnam, I’m guessing?”

  “Special ops till the politicians threw in the towel. Love to have a chat sometime. But the clock’s ticking. Everyone ready?”

  The six Ares Solutions operatives completing Ernie’s team had now finished settling their gear into place. Shouldering his own pack, Ernie picked up the battery-powered lantern. “Okay, we’re out of here. Any luck, you two will have a quieter night than ours. Duncan, you mind doing the honors?”

  Ernie handed Robin the lantern. If she hadn’t already known their plan, night vision goggles coming down from foreheads made clear what was wanted. Striding to the hut door, Ernie reached for the knob. “Now, Duncan.”

  Robin switched off the lantern, plunging the hut into absolute darkness. At least for herself and Michael. A gust of wind signaled the door opening. Bulky silhouettes were barely visible against the night as her teammates slipped noiselessly outside. A cessation of wind signaled the door easing shut again.

  Only then did Robin switch the lantern back on. In its soft glimmer Robin saw that the pleasant facade Michael had presented Ernie and the Ares Solutions team had vanished, his strong-boned, bronzed features now grim and hard gaze accusing. They both spoke at once.

  “You recognized that old man, didn’t you?” Robin repeated.

  “You’re actually planning to firebomb the rainforest?” Michael demanded incredulously. “No wonder Krueger’s worried about me blowing the whistle! That’s what your employer calls rules of engagement? Are you kidding me? After what Wamba’s goons did to that village and who knows where else, do you know how many refugees could be milling around out there? Not insurgents. Escaped villagers. Women. Children.”

  A truth Robin knew better than Michael because she’d already seen Carl’s aerial images. Robin set the lantern down. “Of course we’re not going to firebomb the rainforest. You really think we’d do that? Makuga just said that as a—well, a trick.”

  “A trick?” Michael’s tone was as hard as his expression.

  There was little point in withholding the information, not when Michael would be here to witness it. Not when he’d been there last night to see and hear all that had happened to this point. And Pieter Krueger had already ensured the American doctor would have no opportunity to leak the plan.

  “We know someone’s feeding intel to Jini. Someone besides that boy Jacob. Whoever told Jini that those casualties had been taken to Taraja is probably in this mine camp right now.”

  Immediate understanding slightly allayed Michael’s hard expression. “I get it. So you’re offering new intel, hoping the mole will be motivated to warn this Jini he could be firebombed in the morning. That generator didn’t really break down, did it? You’re using cover of dark to lure your perp into making a move. Hence the fake security guards and night vision goggles.”

  Robin didn’t correct Michael’s assumption that Ernie and his team were part of the sting operation. He’d worked out enough confidential intel on his own. The night’s bigger mission was the business of no one outside of Ares Solutions.

  “If we can catch the mole, we can figure out how he’s contacting Jini, hopefully put a quick end to all this. I can’t believe you’d actually think I could work for a group that would take part in firebombing a civilian pop—”

  Robin broke off. She was assuming Samuel Makuga’s threat had been only a bluff. But then she hadn’t expected that burned-out village either. “At least—”

  Michael pounced on Robin’s hesitation. “You don’t really know, do you? In fact, what do you really know about your employers? Ares Solutions? Trevor Mulroney? Especially Trevor Mulroney!”

  “Why do you say it like that?” Robin cried. “As though we’re hiding something? I mean, you’ve seen this place. It’s a molybdenite mine. Hardly the Ritz, but you can’t blame that on Trevor Mulroney! He has good plans for this place. For these people. Maybe soon if our trap works tonight.”

  Each of the octagonal hut’s eight wall panels had a single window, a small, square affair with metal shutters standing open and a wrought-iron protective grille. Striding over to the nearest, Michael stared out into the night. His voice was so quiet Robin wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to her or to himself. “Things aren’t what they seem. ‘Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.’”

  Robin was at his side in an instant. Looking out, she could see that the window faced the brush corral, visible across the open clearing because of a faint glow that outlined piled-up branches. Cook fires inside, undoubtedly. “Then you did recognize that old man! Who is he? What is it you’re not telling me?”

  When he didn’t answer, she said more urgently, “Michael, don’t shut me out. I need to know.”

  Michael shook his head and answered slowly, “Are you asking me as the Marine I once trusted with my life in Afghanistan? Or the Ares Solutions hire who’ll take anything I say straight to her mission chief?”

  “Why does there have to be a difference?” Robin demanded.

  “Believe me, there is!” Michael snapped his mouth shut as heavy footsteps sounded outside the Quonset hut. The door flung open. A flashlight beam entered the hut, followed by Clyde Rhodes, then Pieter Krueger and Samuel Makuga.

  Pieter Krueger headed directly to a duffel bag tossed onto an upper bunk. When Robin saw what he was pulling out, she quickly dug into her own knapsack. Unearthing night vision goggles, she settled them into place as Pieter Krueger tossed a set to each of his companions. Which left only Michael sightless when Krueger clicked off the lantern and gestured for Rhodes to extinguish his flashlight. “Now we wait.”

  And so they waited. Surreptitious inspections of Robin’s cell phone screen revealed the passage of multiple hours. Michael had retreated to a bunk where he appeared asleep, an arm wrapped around his brown medical bag. The other three men each stood at a window, all on one side of the room.

  Adrenaline kept Robin from following Michael’s example. Restlessly, she slid from the bunk where she’d retreated, slipping noiselessly forward to stand beside Clyde Rhodes. The mine administrator shifted to allow Robin a clear look out. It was easy to see why the three men had chosen these windows. All overlooked the brush corral where the mine workers were locked down for the night.

  A full moon had risen high above the rainforest, brightening the ghostly green illumination of Robin’s NVGs almost to daylight, emergency lanterns on nearby watchtowers an annoying blaze in Robin’s peripheral vision. Inside the brush corral, cook fires must have burned out, the prisoners now sleeping, because the wall of dried brush and tree branches loomed black and silent except for the shuffling of two night sentries outside the corral entrance.

  Another hour dragged by. Maybe the boy Jacob had indeed been Jini’s only contact within the camp. Tired of straining her eyes against green gloom, Robin had pushed up her NVGs when she heard Pieter Krueger murmur a triumphant obscenity.

  Tugging the NVGs quickly back into place, she saw it. A green shape rising phantomlike from the ground at the base of the brush corral.

  It took no genius to deduce that a prisoner had managed to burrow out through the brush pile. The spot where the phantom rose was where the corral curved close to the river and out of sight from those two night sentries. Under ordinary circumstances this would make no difference
since security spotlights on the watchtowers offered bright illumination.

  The mine’s chain-link perimeter fencing did not itself extend into the water. Instead, a stockade of trimmed saplings draped in concertina wire had been driven deep into the river mud, permitting a free flow of water for camp use while walling out crocodiles and any other dangerous aquatic fauna.

  And walling in prisoners.

  Now with only emergency lanterns glimmering atop watchtower platforms instead of bright spotlights, the human shadow rising to its feet was effectively invisible against piled brush. Or would have been without Robin’s NVGs. As the phantom scuttled silently, hesitantly toward the riverbank, Robin could see something cradled in its hands.

  Pieter Krueger let out his breath in audible satisfaction. “Now!”

  Abandoning their lookouts, the three men headed for the door. As it clicked softly shut behind them, Michael swung his feet to the floor. So the doctor hadn’t been asleep. Only when he reached un­hesitatingly for the overhead bunk did Robin realize he’d stationed himself directly under where Pieter Krueger had left his duffel bag.

  “Ah! I thought I saw another pair in here.” Strapping on the NVGs, Michael strode over to join Robin at the window. Outside, the three men who’d just exited were nowhere in sight. The phantom evidently believed itself still invisible because it now strode confidently toward the river.

  The shadow waded out into the water. Did it hope to climb over that snarl of wood pilings and barbed wire? But no, a meter or so short of the stockade, it paused waist deep. Whatever it carried rose in its hands.

  As though the motion were a signal, a rumble broke the silence of the night. The generator. At the same instant, security spotlights sprang to life, their beam so blazing white in Robin’s NVGs she snatched the goggles from her face. Out in the river, the phantom froze, impaled by a spotlight. Assault rifles in their hands, Pieter Krueger and Samuel Makuga sprinted into view.