Authors: Monica McCabe
“I want you to tell me why this is personal,” Nik replied.
“It doesn’t matter,” Matt said. “We just need to get there and rescue Miranda.”
“And Hank,” Jason added from the back seat.
“Yeah. And Hank.” Matt pulled his foot back off the accelerator again.
“Since we share this battle with you,” Nik stated flatly, “knowing where my agent’s head is at would be beneficial.”
Matt instinctively resisted the memories. But his friend was right. They deserved to know the evil they were up against. He didn’t want to open old wounds, but maybe it was time to come clean. It was all about to blow up anyhow.
He took a deep breath, stared out the windshield and into the past. “Fifteen years ago Bessault ran weapons through a village near the Zimbabwe border. My parents and I arrived only days before. We had brought vital medicines and educational supplies for the natives.” He could almost feel the heat of that day, the dust, and the paralyzing fear that gripped the village.
“Something tells me this story won’t end well,” Jason said.
The years rolled back as Matt allowed the memories to surface. “We planned to be there for a month. My mom was thrilled with the location, right on the edge of the salt pans. We’d brought other gifts, too, and were welcomed with curiosity and open friendship. Three days in, a twin-engine cargo plane circled to land. That rare phenomenon was quickly followed by the arrival of two trucks filled with some very bad men. Weapons were transferred from the plane to the trucks while a few tribesmen were singled out by Bessault.”
“Singled out for what?” Jason sounded reluctant to ask.
“A warning,” Nik answered for him.
The night started to close in as Matt struggled with the cruel memories. “At the first sign of the plane, my parents hid me in a Red Cross cargo container along with a few other kids, but I could see through cracks in the wood. I watched Bessault pick out a tribal elder, a young mother, and my father. They were hauled up before him and forced to their knees.”
Time hung suspended as Matt relived the horror of that day. “Bessault made a speech of sorts, saying how Africa was unstable. How turmoil offered power and wealth for those smart enough to establish pathways of commerce. He said those paths sometimes demanded sacrifice to ensure cooperation. He threatened the tribe, vowed to come back if any word of the transaction was spoken. Then he shot all three. One bullet to the brain, execution style.”
Silence filled the Jeep for few seconds until Jason swore under his breath.
“The carnage didn’t stop there. When the first shot killed the elder, my mother panicked. She screamed and tried to run to my father, but one of Bessault’s men murdered her before she even got close.”
Matt’s hands were shaking as familiar rage coursed through him. It had been his anchor through the years, the driving force that pushed him to win, no matter the odds. He needed it now more than ever.
“What happened then?” Jason asked.
“I got shipped back to the States to live with my uncle. Eventually, I began to study criminal behavior and trained with every weapon I could find.”
“Then you joined the CIA,” Nik added. “And made your way back to Botswana where I hired you to work for IDS.”
Matt glared in accusation at his friend. “You knew.”
“Of course, I knew. And I gave you every opportunity to tell me. You never did.”
“I don’t like to share.”
Nik grunted. “I overlooked that fault because it gave you the edge to be a damn good agent.”
The lights of the compound came into view.
“I hope you’re as good as he says you are,” Jason said. “Because I’m afraid Miranda’s life depends on it.”
Matt was more than afraid—he was terrified. There was every chance they might be too late, and the thought sent a knife of pain deep into his chest. He closed off from it, couldn’t risk dwelling on it. Now, more than ever, his head needed to remain calm and deliberate, wired for action.
He drove as close to the smuggler’s lair as he dared before pulling off the road to hide in a patch of scrawny trees and scrub vegetation. He killed the engine and began to disconnect, to pull away like he always did just before a bust.
He climbed out of the Rover, took off his tux jacket, and tossed it onto the seat. Then he studied the layout of the compound from the scattered lights and mentally mapped out the coming sequence of events.
Sound and commotion carried across the flat sands of the Kalahari. The clank of metal, men shouting, and the glow of bright lights that reached out to expose their location. It all pointed to one thing.
“Weston lied,” Matt said as the others joined him, also jacket free. “He didn’t cancel the shipment.”
“Are you surprised?” Nik kept his voice low, so it wouldn’t carry.
“No,” Matt replied.
“Just for clarification,” Jason said. “Why would he send us here knowing this was occurring?”
“Excellent question,” Nik said. “You won’t like the answer.” He held two semi-automatic pistols and handed one to Jason.
“We’re supposed to die, aren’t we?” Jason’s question sounded more like a statement. He stood with feet braced apart, checked the clip, loaded the chamber, and flipped the safety. “Got an extra round of ammo?”
Matt’s worry eased only a fraction. Jason understood the situation, and his claim to know his way around a gun appeared valid, but they headed into hostile territory, and the outcome was uncertain. He didn’t even want to calculate the odds against them. In reality, it didn’t matter. He was going in regardless.
“Stay alert,” Matt said. “And whatever you do, don’t get yourself shot. Miranda will be furious with me if you do.”
“Save your concern for the bad guy,” Jason replied. “She’s probably giving them all hell. They’ll likely hand her over just to be rid of her.”
Matt didn’t doubt it. And that bothered him. From what he knew of Bessault, he wasn’t one to tolerate rebellion.
“How about we take the havoc approach?” Nik asked. “It worked well the last time we tried it. Shall we divide and conquer?”
“I’ve got a great recipe for a Molotov cocktail,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “We could blow this miserable cesspool to kingdom come.”
Nik looked to Matt in silent question.
“I like it,” Matt answered. If he weren’t so worried about Miranda, he’d almost smile with anticipation.
* * * *
Temperatures didn’t drop much during the Kalahari night, but Miranda felt cold. Bessault had hauled them close enough to the loading area that she could see every crate exit the warehouse and enter the back of a truck. It was like watching the grains of an hourglass slip by, knowing the last would bring certain death.
They had joined a small, but well-armed, group of thugs. Bessault exuded absolute authority, and more than one man twitched nervously in his presence. Especially the worm-ridden Neil.
She stood passively beside Bessault, but her mind raced, bringing up and discarding ideas with alacrity. Time ran out fast. Under generator-powered lights, the men already had the first truck loaded and were efficiently into the next. There were precious few options left for two captive zoo workers in a nest of predators.
Hank stood beside her, head down and staring at the ground, defeat firmly wrapped around the slump of his shoulders.
She couldn’t blame him, really. He was a fish out of water. He excelled at directing the flow of paperwork. Fighting brutal warmongers required a different set of skills.
Skills Matt excelled at. Where was he now? How would he react when news of their deaths reached him? She closed her eyes firmly against the thought. It smacked of defeat, and she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Sure, the situation looked grim. They were surrounded by violent men doing a violent business. And there wasn’t a single drop of mercy in any of the faces around her. But that didn’t mean she’d lost all hope.
There was still Roz. If she had gotten the message to Matt, if he managed to learn about Neil, and the biggest of all, if Matt somehow discovered where this place was, well, then there was still hope.
She held onto that belief, right up until two men dragged their struggling guard before Bessault. The captive thug had sense enough to look scared, and his eyes darted to his comrades, looking for a shred of mercy and finding none.
“You failed in your duty,” Bessault said in a voice that dripped venom.
Sweat beaded on the guard’s brow. “Only for a second did I step away,” he pleaded.
“And in that second, two prisoners escaped your care.” Bessault held his hand out to the man next to him.
A cold whisper of alarm circled Miranda when a pistol landed in that hand.
“I will not fail you again,” the guard swore, his eyes now glued on that gun. “Give me another chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“Another chance?” Bessault laughed. “This is not a business of chances. Orders are to be strictly obeyed, without failure.”
He cocked the gun and fired a bullet into the man’s leg, shattering bone and muscle.
The guard screamed in agony, falling into a hopeless struggle to break free. Bessault allowed the drama for a few seconds, actually smiling over the other man’s pain. Then he stepped closer, placed the gun muzzle against the man’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. The guard slumped between his blood-spattered captors, and Bessault waved them away, unconcerned.
The two men dragged off the dead guy like discarded trash, and the warlord calmly handed the gun back to his man. Without so much as a blink, Bessault returned to watching the progress of his weapons shipment.
That vicious act robbed what little hope of survival Miranda had left. In its place grew a dark certainty. There’d be no second chance for her or Hank.
This was the end of the road.
A stab of regret pierced her. For Hank, because he really was a good man and didn’t deserve to die this way. For her family and the losses Africa cost them. For herself, because she wished she’d spent more time kissing Matt instead of fighting his attraction.
She’d been a hundred times crazy for denying what she felt for him. He was maddening, unpredictable, and had become so much a part of her that she couldn’t imagine life without him.
An ache formed around her heart. Matt fought an unimaginable battle alone. And without intending to, she’d made it worse.
The helplessness of their situation closed in, and she glanced over at Bessault. How much misery and pain had he caused in his lust for power and wealth? The list would be endless, she had no doubt. And soon she’d be added to that tally. He’d steal her chance at love by ending her life on the sands of the Kalahari.
Fury began to replace despair.
Bessault and another were inspecting the contents of a briefcase, and Miranda caught a telltale glitter in the beam of a penlight.
Diamonds. Blood money. Payment for weapons that would cost countless innocents their lives, including her own.
Her fists clenched tight. Her life may be soon ending, but somehow, someway, she’d strike a blow for Matt. Bessault needed to be stopped. There must be a kink in his armor somewhere. She just needed to pay attention and find it.
“Miranda,” Hank whispered beside her.
She turned her head his way.
“Isn’t that guy from Katanga?”
Her heart tripped a beat until she followed the direction he nodded. Graham headed their way and bitter disappointment filled her, which only made her angrier.
Graham marched right up to her and shook his head. “Too bad you had to get involved. I sort of liked you.”
“Why are you doing this?” Miranda asked. “Why would you risk all the good Katanga has accomplished?”
She heard Neil laugh in the background but ignored him.
“Don’t play righteous with me,” Graham scoffed. “How do you think Victor Keyes got the money to do those good works? Government funding and private donations only go so far.”
“Katanga is flourishing,” she reasoned. “It doesn’t need this kind of money.”
“It did three years ago.” His voice was heavy with scorn. “Back then Keyes would do anything to keep his precious project afloat. Even smuggling diamonds out of the country. The fool never asked why. He didn’t care as long as he got the cash he needed. Now he’s whining about getting out. Well, it’s too late for that.”
As opportunity went, this was the best she’d get. “You’re wrong.” She raised her voice to draw attention. “IDS has Katanga under surveillance. The party is over. They’ll follow the trail all the way up.”
Hank audibly groaned. Graham frowned and glanced nervously over to Bessault.
“That’s right,” she continued loudly, “they’re probably minutes away right now. You and your stinking friends are going to rot in jail.”
Success was a funny thing. Her words got the attention she sought, except it escalated their impending jeopardy. Definitely not part of the plan.
“You’re an incredibly stupid young lady,” Graham said when Bessault turned his cold-blooded stare her way.
It didn’t matter. If she was going out, the least she could do was cause a hiccup in their plans. Shake them up and hope for a stumble. With nothing else up her sleeve and no other options, she’d work with what she had.
Bessault closed the briefcase and nodded in approval to his buyer, then he turned toward her. She stood her ground, bracing for the coming assault and stared him down as he marched her direction.
“You have something to say, Miss Parrish?”
Miranda wanted nothing more than to pull her fist back and slam the sneer off his arrogant face. Fury and hate swirled together, filling her with determination to strike against his power to terrorize. She would not flinch. She knew death awaited her, but she’d be damned if she accepted it meekly. She stared the bastard in the eye. “Hell has a special place for lowlife’s like you.”
He only laughed. “I’ve heard that when the end is near, a person’s life passes before their eyes. What do you see, Miss Parrish?”
He tried to unnerve her. She’d dish it right back. “I see you, in handcuffs, spending the rest of your miserable life behind bars. Justice isn’t far away.”
In a snap, he went from baiting to ruthless and yanked her up close to his face. “What is your game lady? How would a visiting veterinarian have knowledge of IDS?”