Congo Dawn Page 39

  “Yeah, something like that,” Trevor Mulroney answered grimly. If Jensen hadn’t put together the implications of the recipient’s BBC e-mail address, he wasn’t about to enlighten him. Striding from the trailer, Mulroney snatched up a hand radio to page Pieter Krueger. “Get Duncan in here now! And put together a posse. We’ve got some bush meat to round up.”

  No sooner had the Earth Resources CEO stormed out of the communications trailer than Carl Jensen quickly busied himself. Not surprisingly, the Bluetooth jangled again before he’d finished. Howard Marshall was on the line.

  “I’m sure you know why I called back.”

  “Yep, sending it right now.” Carl Jensen hit a key, forwarding the e-mails with their attached files that had so interested Trevor Mulroney. To them had been added the video clips.

  “I’ll have my people take a look. Some of them should still be in the office on that side of the Atlantic.”

  “That side of the Atlantic?” The curiosity that was Carl’s besetting characteristic unfurled its antenna. “So what side are you on, Uncle Howard?”

  “Kinshasa.”

  “Kinshasa! What are you doing there?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “What are you going to do with—?”

  “Never mind. Just shut up and listen to what I need you to do.”

  An inquiring mind knew when it had hit an impenetrable wall. Carl snapped his jaw shut and waited for his uncle’s orders.

  Robin’s first assumption was that the Ares Solutions wireless server had malfunctioned. But when a check proved the iPad was still connected to the Ares wireless service, Robin pulled up her status. It read, IP address not valid.

  Robin’s heart chilled. It could hardly be coincidence that with Trevor Mulroney’s arrival, her company Internet account had been mysteriously terminated. Mulroney knows.

  Even as unpleasant scenarios churned through her head, Robin had jumped from her cot. Stuffing the iPad, the two cell phones, and the flash drive into her knapsack, she tucked in water bottles and protein bars to replace what she’d given the refugee children. But where can I go? There’s no way I can outrun Carl’s surveillance gear.

  Panic had now propelled Robin from the tent. Since she’d last ventured outside, the earlier rain clouds had drifted back in to blot out the star patterns, and while moonlight still filtered through a break in the clouds, a soft drizzle was again falling. Which perhaps explained why the Serbian sentry had retreated to the open hatch of the Gulfstream a dozen paces away. Beyond him, interior lighting revealed other Ares Solutions ­teammates milling around inside the plane’s cabin. All was quiet, so clearly no alarm had yet been raised. Robin ducked back into her tent long enough to snatch the rain poncho hanging there, tugging its plastic shield over both clothing and knapsack. The Serbian watched without comment as Robin emerged moments later through the mesh perimeter gate.

  Maybe it really was just a glitch in the system. Or maybe Mulroney’s still trying to figure things out. Which might buy me some time for a head start. The worst is, I never got off the data that really counts. Without the footage and new pictures, there’s nothing to implicate Trevor Mulroney. Or prove where those rhenium samples came from. Even if Alan Birenge pursues an investigation, Mulroney will have time to cover his tracks, come up with a plausible story. Joseph’s right! Trevor Mulroney always wins. He’s just too powerful.

  Robin reached for that earlier calm, the sensation of being wrapped in loving arms. Heavenly Father, Yesu, my Savior, I thought I’d found courage. But I’m so afraid again. I’ve failed Michael and Joseph. And I don’t know what to do!

  Oh yes, you do!

  Was that quiet reassurance from Robin’s own mind? Or an answer from heaven itself? Either way, panic ebbed from Robin. Yes, I do know what to do! There is a way, especially if the alarm hasn’t been raised yet. If I can get up to Taraja, I can send that intel through their server. Now that I have the files, I can just connect my own iPad to their wireless, so there will be no trace of Joseph’s files left on their computer. Once I get that evidence to Alan Birenge, it won’t matter so much if Mulroney catches me. One way or another, there will be justice for Joseph and his people.

  With deliberation, Robin kept herself in full view of the Serbian guard as she threaded between tents occupied by Wamba militia toward the burned-out shells of the original Taraja township beyond. If he reports seeing me, they’ll think I’ve headed toward the old road to Bunia.

  But as soon as she reached a toppled wall, Robin slid behind it into deep shadow and began working her way through uncleared brush. It took longer than she’d hoped to reach the end of the airstrip, wind through hardwoods to the other side, then angle through ferns, banana palms, bamboo until she hit the trail to Taraja. But once under cover of fruit trees overhanging the track, Robin turned on Michael’s penlight and broke into a run.

  A single light glimmered from a clinic window when Robin emerged into the clearing. But the cinder-block mission house appeared as wrapped in sleep as the refugee tents. Robin didn’t knock or call, fearing to rouse the whole camp. Instead she slipped around to an open bedroom window, shining the tiny flashlight through metal bars in hopes of rousing some sleeping resident.

  But that proved unnecessary. Even as the narrow ray panned across a sprawl of small bodies, she heard Miriam’s sweet alto humming a Swahili lullaby. The woman was seated on the edge of a cot, rocking a bundle in her arms. Her head jerked up, the lullaby breaking off, as Robin’s flashlight beam brushed over her.

  “Miriam, it’s me, Robin Duncan.”

  At Robin’s urgent whisper, Miriam hurried over to the window. The child in her arms was not her own, but the toddler whose older sister had carried him to Taraja. “Robin, what are you doing out there?”

  “Please, can you let me in?” At Robin’s urgent plea, Miriam immediately laid her small burden on a cot to hurry across the room. By the time Robin reached the front door, she could hear the other woman sliding back a metal latch. Robin slipped inside as soon as the door opened enough to let her through. Her flashlight caught Miriam reaching for the solar light switch. “No, no light, please! No one can know I’m here! Are you alone? Is Ephraim not here?”

  “Ephraim’s spending the night at the clinic. There are a lot of patients under observation, and Michael . . . he’s not here right now.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here. Do you mind if I use your Internet? It’s . . . I’m in a bit of trouble. And a hurry.”

  Miriam took a swift step forward. “Trouble? Is it Michael? Joseph?”

  “So you know where Michael went.” Robin breathed out relief. It would save precious time not to have to explain.

  “Michael just told me someone had come requesting medical care for that boy who escaped. And . . . well, not to believe what your people are saying about Joseph and his men. But if you know about Michael—” Miriam’s pretty, scarred features showed consternation in the flashlight beam—“does that mean they’ve been caught? Is Michael okay?”

  “No, they weren’t caught. Michael’s fine. Joseph’s fine. For now. I’ll tell you all about it, but first I need your Internet because I don’t know how much time I have. I’ve got to send some information to Michael’s BBC friend right away. Information Michael and Joseph asked me to send.”

  Robin could have hugged Michael’s sister for asking no questions but sitting down immediately at the desk and powering up the communications system. The glow from the computer monitor allowed Robin to turn off the flashlight. By the time Miriam brought the Internet online, Robin had unearthed herself from the rain poncho, retrieved the iPad from her knapsack, and was bringing up her interrupted video upload and e-mail.

  Connecting to the router, Robin sent the e-mail with the attached photos. As she began uploading the two video clips, she gave the other woman a synopsis of the last few hours. Again, Miriam accepted Robin’s narration with neither questions nor disbelief, only shaking her head when Robin finished.

>   “So Joseph really is this Jini you’ve been trying to catch. It’s still hard to picture. You didn’t know Joseph as I remember him. Sweet. Funny. The best student to come through Taraja in years. But also—well, not lazy because Joseph loved to study. But definitely a little spoiled, youngest of his family, darling future hope of the village and all that. Intellectually arrogant too. Rather like his biblical namesake, in fact, before that Joseph got carried off as a slave into Egypt.

  “His father and the rest of the family were all counting on Joseph to step up as the next village leader, medic, schoolteacher once he’d finished his education. But Joseph’s only ambition was to get out of the jungle. Have a job that involved a briefcase and cell phone, not a hoe and machete. He was only eleven or twelve when the rebels hit Taraja and we were all separated. I honestly would never have thought he had it in him to survive in the jungle like this. Or give leadership to a rebel force that’s managed to fight Wamba’s militia to a standstill. If nothing else, hardship has turned a spoiled little boy into a strong man.”

  Robin recalled an image of bitter fury on dark features, a spittle of rage splattering her own face. “Well, he’s got the briefcase. But I don’t think you’d recognize your sweet, funny boy in the angry, vengeful man I saw tonight. Justified or not, Joseph has proved himself willing to resort to violence to accomplish his objectives and revenge himself on those who’ve wronged him.”

  Miriam let out a sigh. “Yes, you have it right that suffering doesn’t necessarily produce better people, even when it does make them stronger. Wamba started out just like Joseph, with a very similar story of personal tragedy, his family butchered by the other side in all the civil fighting. No one would deny Wamba’s emerged a strong and competent leader, one reason the locals are willing to accept him so long as he can maintain some semblance of stability.

  “But it’s not only strength of character forged by adversity, but rather what you choose to do with that strength of character that determines whether a person ends up as dross or pure, shining gold. I’ll keep praying that the sweet, smart, ambitious little boy I once thought I knew so well will become the strong man of God he was created to be, not just the capable killer everyone else seems to have written him off as being.”

  Taraja’s solar-powered communications system was much slower than the Ares Solutions satellite link, but the first video had finally loaded. Beginning the second upload, Robin offered Miriam a wry half smile. “I can echo that prayer. And while I still don’t condone Joseph’s methods, after hearing his story, I can certainly understand his motives.”

  Miriam studied Robin’s face in the blue-green glow of her computer monitor. “You know, Robin, there’s something different about you. You look—well, serene, peaceful!”

  The curve of Robin’s mouth grew to a full smile. It would take a blind man to see anything serene or peaceful in Robin’s current disheveled condition, the mud and twigs hand wipes had missed, the dampness of both drizzle and perspiration. But Robin knew what the other woman meant. “I don’t know about peaceful, but maybe at peace. I’ve come to understand how right you were.”

  A scarred eyebrow rose. “About?”

  “Everything. There really is light in the middle of the darkness. And love. God’s love.”

  “Oh, Robin! You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.” Miriam’s swift hug came perilously close to knocking Robin’s iPad from her hand. On its screen Robin saw that the second video had finished.

  “Yeah, well, speaking of darkness, I’d better get going while I’ve got plenty of it.” Robin began shutting down her iPad even as she returned the hug. “Hopefully my Internet difficulty really was just some fluke and Mulroney thinks I’m asleep in bed right now. In which case it’ll be morning before they realize I’m gone. I’ve got food and water for two days. If that doesn’t bring me to Bunia, it’ll at least bring me to where there should be enough vehicle traffic to hitch a ride.”

  Robin looked at Miriam as she slid the iPad into her knapsack. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into asking your pilot friend to drop in tomorrow. Take him up on that visit he suggested to Bunia. Whatever this Alan Birenge can do, it could take time. I’d feel a lot better knowing your family was safely out of the zone.”

  But Miriam was already shaking her head. “You know we can’t leave the patients or refugees.”

  Robin rose to her feet. “I had a feeling you’d say that. I would hope a humanitarian medical compound is one line Mulroney won’t dare cross. But if they come asking about me, the last thing I want is you getting yourself in trouble on my behalf. Just tell the truth—that I was here and asked to hook up to your Internet. It won’t make any difference by then. Oh, and if you see Michael before I do, let him know I did what he asked.”

  Miriam was standing now too. “You know I will. I hate letting you go out there into that night. But you’re right; this is the first place they’ll come looking. Now you said you’ve got food and water. Is there anything else I can get you for the road? Wait, here, take this.”

  As Michael’s sister snatched a worn volume from the desk, Robin recognized the Bible Miriam had read from earlier. “When I’ve been alone and afraid in the dark, this gave me comfort. No, please take it,” she urged as Robin began to protest. “We have others. When it’s all over, you can bring it back. I . . .”

  Again she hugged Robin, this time more tightly. “Robin, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this. Michael would kill me! But the e-mails he used to send. The way he described you. I thought then we might be sisters someday. And now whatever happens, we really are sisters. Sisters in God’s family. I’ll be praying for every step of your road.”

  Robin found herself shaken by Miriam’s confession. You can’t know how much I hoped the same, even when I didn’t know you existed! Sliding the Bible in after her iPad, she hugged the other woman back. “Sisters. I like that.”

  Separating herself, Robin pulled out her cell phone. “And now let me alert Alan Birenge the intel’s on its way. Then I’m gone.”

  But she’d just punched Return on her last call when she heard the slightest of scraping noises at the front door. Robin froze. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she demanded, “Did you lock the door again?”

  “No, I was going to do it after you left.” Miriam took a single step toward the door. But it was too late. An explosion against the roof tiles overhead was to Robin’s experienced ears unmistakably a tossed grenade. The computer monitor and every power light on the Taraja communications system abruptly blinked out, plunging the room into absolute darkness. A screeching of broken metal was followed by a heavy object sliding across the roof. Even in moonlight, Robin could identify the metallic concave shape of the satellite dish falling past the kitchen window to smash into the ground.

  Simultaneous with the crash of its landing, a second explosion of light and sound and surging bodies burst through the front door.

  “Got her, boss!”

  A powerful flashlight probed Robin’s face, blinding her. As the beam dropped away, the surge of bodies fanning out around the small room separated into four of Robin’s own Ares Solutions teammates. All were in battle gear, automatic rifles raised to cover the two women. Outside Robin could hear screams, furious shouts, pounding feet, then a rat-tat-tat of gunfire. From the children’s bedroom, startled cries and wails rose. The curtain of flowered material moved aside to show the frightened face of Miriam’s oldest son, nine-year-old Benjamin.

  Taking a quick step toward him, Miriam said in low, soothing French, “Everything will be fine, Son. Do not be afraid. Just keep the children inside.”

  “Lady, you stay right there!” Unbelievably, the harsh order came from Ernie Miller. His companions were not teammates Robin knew more than by sight, two South African commandos and an older white Rhodesian who’d fought with Trevor Mulroney during Zimbabwe’s war of independence.

  Miriam’s beautiful, scarred features were pale in crisscrossing flashlight beams, but she raised her
head bravely to face the intruders. “What do you want here? We are a humanitarian mission under UN sanction. You have no right to do this.”

  Ernie looked grim, his glance uncomfortable as it slid from Miriam to Robin. “Ma’am, I apologize for the intrusion. All we’re after here is one of our own. We get her, we leave. No one moves, no one gets hurt.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Trevor Mulroney ducked through the doorway. A stooped frame and flushed, round features ambling in behind him ended any doubt as to the reason for this invasion. Robin read avid curiosity in Carl’s glance as he headed past her to the communications station. So much for any hope the reconnaissance tech was someone to whom Robin might appeal. Like those villagers on his surveillance screen, this is just a game to Carl!

  Carl played briefly with keyboard and mouse before announcing, “There’s no way to tell if there’s been recent use here, boss. Might have been smart to wait before knocking out the power and smashing that sat dish.”

  His Ares Solutions teammates glowered at the criticism. But Mulroney was advancing on Robin. As he snatched the knapsack from her shoulder, the cell phone in her hand squawked a tinny demand. “Hey, what’s going on there? Ms. Duncan, are you okay?”

  So her call to Alan Birenge had rung through. Robin dared not shift a muscle, but she raised her voice to answer, “No, we’re not. Please check your—”

  How much the journalist had heard, Robin couldn’t know because Trevor Mulroney had already grabbed the phone. Throwing it to the concrete floor, he ground it to fragments under a boot heel. Then he ripped open the knapsack, dumping its contents. “This iPad’s still warm. She’s been busy here all right.”