Congo Dawn Read online

  “Michael, my friend, my brother, your idea is crazy such as only a lunatic would propose. Perhaps crazy enough to succeed!”

  Robin had slept longer than her estimation because the night sky above the mine’s perimeter lighting had paled fractionally to the darkest of grays. Dawn would arrive within the hour. Stepping down gingerly into a quagmire of mud and puddled water, she felt shards of glass crunch beneath her boots.

  The executive helicopter had settled down in an open area between the main gate and the Mi-17s. Their armored insect shapes blocked all view of the Quonset hut. But to Robin’s left, the brush corral that had housed prisoners was no longer a complete enclosure. Huge sections of dried branches and foliage had been pulled away, offering a clear view of thatched huts and a communal shelter.

  But no residents.

  Behind Robin, the gate’s huge metal panels lay twisted off their hinges on the ground. Robin bent to pick up a blackened glass shard. Its soot came away greasy, leaving her fingers smelling like engine exhaust.

  A Molotov cocktail—the poor man’s bomb.

  AK-47 rounds littered the ground. And was that an actual arrow sticking into the ground near the gate? Smoke thickened the air, fumes of burning fuel, gunpowder, and chemicals stinging Robin’s eyes. She coughed as Trevor Mulroney’s grip on her elbow steered her directly toward a puddle of blackened and melted plastic that smelled strongly of rotten eggs.

  “Don’t touch the plastic.” Pieter Krueger strode out from between the two Mi-17s. Beyond him were a handful of Ares Solutions operatives, the only combat troops she could see inside the chain-link fence. Ernie Miller. Krueger’s fellow South Africans and an older Rhodesian. The same posse, in fact, that had burst through Miriam’s door to capture Robin.

  But outside the fence, the perimeter lighting cast into sharp relief hundreds of bodies hunkered down in the muddy field separating mine workings from rainforest.

  Letting out a string of curses, Mulroney released his grip on Robin to inspect a streak of melted plastic that had transferred itself to one of his boot soles.

  “Sorry about that, boss. The plastic bottles are some kind of gas bomb and as toxic as they get.” Only as Krueger kicked dirt over the blackened, melted puddle did Robin recognize it as having once been a two-liter water bottle. “That’s one we hadn’t expected. Your Jini’s a clever little stinker.”

  “So where is he?” Robin took advantage of her sudden freedom to step forward. “Where’s Michael? And the prisoners. The villagers. What have you done with them?”

  “Michael?” Krueger raised flaxen eyebrows. “You mean Dr. Stewart? Haven’t seen hide or hair of him. But if he’s still with Jini’s bunch, he’d be inside the Quonset hut with the others. Whether as hostage or accomplice, there’s no telling. If he’s in there, we could sure use him right now. No body bags so far. But we’ve got a couple dozen wounded, one of them ours. Maybe that could be a first negotiating point, boss?”

  Trevor Mulroney recovered his grip on Robin’s elbow as the Ares Solutions mission chief turned to lead the way between the two Mi-17s. “More pertinent, Krueger, is why you’ve dragged me out here to negotiate. What’s the holdup? We’re talking a handful of virtually unarmed opponents and a bunch of civilians. You should have been able to overrun them in five minutes.”

  “A handful, yes. Unarmed, no. As to the holdup, blame your local allies.” Pieter Krueger gestured contemptuously toward the militia hunkered down beyond the chain-link fence. “Turns out Wamba’s boys are happy to go to war so long as it’s an enemy that can’t shoot back! A couple of Jini’s men had automatic weapons. Once they started firing, our allies refused to continue the ground assault. Then we had that downpour, grounding the choppers. And NVGs aren’t much good under a waterfall. Unfortunately, while we were holed up trying to keep from drowning, Jini and his boys were keeping busy. Really busy, as you can see over here!”

  As Mulroney steered Robin with him into the open, she spotted instantly the missing debris from the brush corral. It was heaped up at intervals around the curve of the Quonset hut. Stacked drums and casks formed precarious towers between the piles. A solid wall fashioned from two twenty-gallon drums sitting atop two larger fifty-gallon barrels shielded the metallic bubble’s single door. French lettering identified diesel fuel for the generator. Kerosene. Ammonia.

  Other casks bore chemical names unfamiliar to Robin. But she was only too familiar with the tangle of dynamite sticks, plastic explosives, and fuses duct-taped to the exterior of barrels, drums, casks. And the detonator cord connecting them.

  The Quonset hut had been wired into one huge bomb!

  The hut’s window shutters were closed to slits. The door stood open, but only a hand span was visible above booby-trapped barrels and drums. If the hut’s interior really contained a hundred-plus men, women, and children, they were being remarkably quiet.

  “As soon as the storm died down, we sent up choppers, of course. But our opponents can shoot. And not just with automatic weapons. They knocked Etienne off his gun post with an arrow.” Krueger nodded toward an Mi-17. Robin ­recognized the man in body armor squatting beside a massive door gun as a French Algerian operative. One hand pressed a bloodied cloth against his collarbone where the broken-off shaft of an arrow pierced the gap between Kevlar vest and helmet.

  “With Wamba’s men declining to budge, we thought it wise to pull back and let Jini waste his ammo. We knew they couldn’t have much since we’d left none behind. We kept poking at them, drawing their fire with the choppers. Once it was clear they were out of gas, Wamba’s men got up enough nerve to rush the gate. But that’s when we discovered Jini’s second tier of defense. The gate blew as soon as Wamba’s men got to hammering on it. And not only explosives. They’d rigged those plastic water bottles so that when the gate blew, they released some kind of gas. After getting a whiff of that in the face, Wamba’s men refused to move forward at all, even when Makuga threatened to shoot them himself. It’s just confirmed their super­stition that Jini’s some kind of sorcerer who can poison even the air against them.”

  “It’s no magic.” Ernie Miller’s gaze avoided Robin as he strode over. “It’s actually a trick I learned in ’Nam. The mine uses aluminum sulfide crystals for ore processing. Add water, and the stuff turns into hydrogen sulfide gas. It’s also highly flammable, as Wamba’s boys found out when they crashed the gate and set off those explosives.”

  “In any case, it took some time before we’d cleared the area well enough to land the choppers. All the while being pummeled from behind that barricade by Molotov cocktails and more of those gas bombs. I’d guess they’ve run out because they eventually retreated inside. That’s when we were able to get to the generator to bring the perimeter lights back on line. As to why we haven’t gone in after them, I think that’s pretty obvious. The Quonset hut is standard field command specs. Even those guns—” Krueger nodded toward the two Mi-17 door guns swiveled to place the metallic bubble directly within their crosshairs—“couldn’t blast through those walls. But the bullets just might be enough to set off those fuel drums. Which would be one way to end this fight, except they’ve got a full house of hostages. Women, children, wounded, even one expat if the doc’s in there. Since they’ve indicated they’re ready to negotiate, I figured you’d want to make the call on this one, boss. We’ve set up an FOB over there.”

  Their forward operating base was actually the new aluminum storage shed that had replaced the one blown up in the steam engine explosion. It stood empty because its fuel barrels, drums, and casks were now barricading the Quonset hut. Someone had overturned a cart outside its open doors to form a makeshift table heaped with ammo clips, grenades, smoke bombs. The older Rhodesian operative manned a heavy field gun set up on the table. Two others cradled M4 assault rifles. A pair of rocket grenade launchers leaned against a wall.

  Leading the way over, Ernie Miller spoke up. “All I can say is this Jini’s got to be more than just some local yokel with a bit of
college education. There’s serious knowledge of chemicals here.”

  So her colleagues still had no idea who Jini really was. Which gave Robin hope they were not fully part of this. As much hope as that mention of negotiations. Robin’s spirit lightened fractionally.

  But Mulroney brushed aside Ernie’s suggestion. “This stuff doesn’t take a college education. Like you learned in ’Nam, these are just the kind of guerrilla tactics insurgent leaders teach their followers. You can find most of it online these days. And what do you think you’re doing here? This isn’t some police standoff.”

  Releasing Robin’s arm to stride forward, Mulroney snatched up one of the RPG launchers. “It’s battle! You know the rules of engagement.”

  The RPG launcher stood half as tall as the Earth Resources CEO, so he balanced it across the cart to insert a grenade as he shouted, “Jini, if you’re in there, you’ve got to the count of three to get out here before we open fire.”

  There was no immediate response. Unless Michael and Joseph were inside, there’d be no others in any case who could understand Mulroney’s English. Not a factor the Earth Resources CEO would have overlooked.

  “One!”

  Mulroney’s move had left Robin free to step beside Ernie Miller. Dropping her voice to a low, urgent whisper, she demanded, “Ernie, surely you guys aren’t going to let him fire on a building filled with hostages!”

  For the first time since her arrival, the Vietnam vet met Robin’s gaze. His low response was brusque. “You don’t get it, Duncan! Take a look around you. You see who Krueger picked for this op? We’re all old Africa hands, including myself for the last thirty years. We’ve all fought for Mulroney since clear back when he founded Ares Solutions. And we’ve all fought a lot dirtier battles than this. You think that’s by accident?”

  “Two!”

  Across the clearing, Robin saw a shutter crack open. A glint of dark eyes peered out.

  Ernie cast a somber glance toward his employer. “But it’s more than that. When Trevor Mulroney first came here all those months back, the bunch of us you see right here were his security detail. We’d been told the site was overrun by guerrillas, so we raised no objections when Wamba’s men came out swinging. Once we realized no one was fighting back, we stepped in to call a halt, but . . . well, sometimes collateral damage is the price for an op like this. And Wamba’s his own man, the authority in this region. But why do you think we’ve been riding Makuga and his cohorts so hard this time round to avoid unnecessary casualties? Bottom line, Krueger, me, the others here—we’ve hitched our wagons to Mulroney’s star. We’ve no choice but to see this through. And if your journalist pal starts pointing fingers, we’re following legal rules of engagement. Our target in there wants to avoid bloodshed, all he’s got to do is step out and surrender. You’ll find neither friends nor support here, Duncan!”

  “Legal rules, maybe. But hardly moral,” Robin whispered back urgently. “And you don’t know what else is involved. Mulroney’s lied to you about everything. Including what he’s really digging out of this mine. Why do you think he’s so anxious to shut up Joseph and the others instead of negotiating? There’s women and children in there. And Michael, too—I’m sure of it! Whatever you’ve done before for Mulroney, whatever the rules of engagement, I can’t believe you’re the type of man to stand by and see unarmed civilians blown up.”

  “Three!”

  At Mulroney’s bellow, Robin abandoned her pleading to rush forward, just in time to see Mulroney raise the RPG launcher to his shoulder. “Michael! Joseph! He’s going to shoot!”

  Whether coincidence or in response to her shout, Robin spotted immediate movement from the doorway of the Quonset hut. She let out her breath slowly as Trevor Mulroney lowered the RPG launcher. Not that the weapon was any longer necessary. Every Ares Solutions operative in the shed had stepped forward, leveling assault rifles on the hut entrance. In that moment, Robin could have easily slipped away, made a run for it. The option didn’t even cross her mind.

  “I want you out in the open, Jini, you and your men,” Trevor Mulroney called out. “Step completely away from the building, hands where we can see them.”

  A shadow cast by the security light above the doorway moved first out across the ground. Elongated, distorted by the superimposition of the barricade’s own shadow, it was definitely human and definitely male. Trevor Mulroney’s grunt of satisfaction was echoed by the loud click and release of assault rifles being cocked to fire. But it was not Jini or any other Congolese who stepped into the narrow opening between stacked barrels and brush firing blind.

  It was Michael.

  A cry of dismay escaped Robin as the light fell full on him. Michael’s hands were spread wide above his head in surrender, his expression calm. The long, muscled frame displayed no injury except a bandage of white gauze wrapping the left elbow. But bound to his torso with an overkill of duct tape was the same tangle of dynamite sticks, plastic explosives, and detonator cord that was taped to the fuel drums.

  Nor was Michael alone. A second dark shadow could be made out behind him, shielded from clear view or gunshot by Michael’s taller frame as well as the piled-up barrels and drums. But the tautness of the detonator cord twisted around Michael’s neck indicated his controller held it in a tight grip.

  Michael had flinched at the sound of Robin’s voice, shock widening the briefest flicker of eyes in her direction. Had Robin read dismay there as well? Recoil? I’m not here with them! Can’t you see? I’m a prisoner too. I’m trying to help!

  But Michael did not glance her way again as he moved farther into the light. “As you can see, I’m not in any position to obey orders. Jini’s got this thing rigged to blow if his demands are not heard.”

  As several weapons abruptly shifted aim, he raised his voice. “Before you think of trying to take Jini out, if you shoot him or me, this place still blows. I served in Afghanistan. I know a dead man’s switch when I see one. But Jini’s also made clear he’s ready to negotiate a cease-fire, including a full release of the hostages, as well as an eventual surrender on his own terms. I’ve got patients inside among the hostages. I’d like to get them to a hospital in one piece. So can we please just lower our weapons and dialogue rationally? There’s no reason for anyone else to get hurt here today.”

  Michael’s plea was not intended for her employer, Robin recognized, but for her Ares Solutions teammates. Trevor Mulroney had good reason not to swallow Michael’s shift from accomplice to hostage, but the kidnapping of an expatriate doctor by insurgents would seem imminently plausible to Mulroney’s Ares Solutions subordinates.

  Michael gave a head gesture over his shoulder. “Jini’s demands are simple enough. He doesn’t trust the forces of Governor Wamba who have been fighting against him. But he will surrender to the United Nations peacekeeping force in Bunia. He wants a UN negotiation party airlifted immediately to the mine along with a medical team from Doctors Without Borders. Once the United Nations officials accept his surrender, he will release the hostages for direct transport to a UN refugee camp in Bunia.”

  It was as logical a demand as it was brilliant. Mulroney would have a hard time explaining to the Ares Solutions team any reason not to accept UN intervention. And once in UN hands, even should Jini eventually be turned over to local law enforcement, he’d have opportunity to tell his story.

  Still, Trevor Mulroney had already turned down Robin’s own very similar and sensible proposal. Would it make a difference with the Ares Solutions team looking on? Or was he so sure of his control over these men?

  Michael had finished speaking, his silence becoming a dragged-out pause when Trevor Mulroney made no response. Michael’s expression remained composed as the seconds ticked by, his long, lean body relaxed under its deadly burden. But for just an instant, a spread-out hand curled convulsively into a fist before stretching deliberately flat again.

  Robin’s own body was a tightened coil so tense her jaw ached with it, her eyes glued to Michae
l’s face as though memorizing it. The narrow, bronzed features looking unnaturally pale and drained under the security light’s bright white gleam. The firm mouth that could be so stern and yet so tender. The jawline clenched with determination. The steady tawny gaze that flickered again her way before returning to Trevor Mulroney.

  Could Michael read Robin’s own fear, worry, anguish for his safety?

  Her sorrow for having failed him?

  Her love?

  The Ares Solutions team had not lowered their weapons, but Robin could see among them a definite relaxing of battle readiness. Pieter Krueger spoke. “What do you think, boss? Is Jini bluffing? Would he really blow up himself and his own men?”

  “Oh, he’s bluffing all right!” The grim satisfaction in those words cut through Robin’s brooding reverie, drew her startled glance upward. Only to find her erstwhile employer’s brilliant-blue gaze intent on her own features.

  Beyond him, Krueger’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because she thinks they’re bluffing!” Yanking Robin close, Mulroney twisted her chin to tilt her face toward a security spotlight. “You see that! She’s shaking in her boots right now. But not about what our perp might do to her doctor pal. About what I might do to the both of them!”

  Mulroney’s grip suddenly became a steel bar across Robin’s neck. Powerful fingers biting into her cheeks dropped instead to Mulroney’s belt. Only to rise again holding a 9mm pistol. A Beretta instead of a Glock as an American would carry, Robin’s stunned brain found time to note as its muzzle ground into her right cheekbone.

  Dragging Robin forward into the security spotlight’s white beam, Mulroney called out, “You should know I don’t negotiate with terrorists, Stewart. Nor do I stand for traitors on my payroll. You want to play chicken? Here’s the deal. You send out the coward hiding behind you, or I blow the head off your girlfriend.”