WAR: Opposition: (WAR Book 3) (38 page)

Tires crunched outside.

Seth leapt to his feet. Dev raced to the back door, but it sounded to Seth as if the vehicle was heading for the road, so he ran to the front. He pulled the curtain aside and saw the taillights of Dev’s Jeep turn out of the gate.

Dev raced into sight a second later. He stopped just outside the gate, then spun and slammed his hand into the support post.

Heart in his throat, Seth dashed down to the bedroom. No Kirra. Her backpack huddled in the corner where she’d left it. The bag of diamonds sat on the bedside table.

“Dammit!” He snatched up the diamonds and bolted into the hallway, nearly colliding with Dev. “I’ll drive,” Seth said. He grabbed the AK-47, shoved his phone into his pocket, and sprinted for the 4Runner.

Dev was right on his heels.

Seth started the vehicle and threw it into reverse. Dev tossed his bag on the floor of the passenger seat, jumped in, and slammed the door closed inches before it hit the side of the house.

“What did you do?” Seth demanded. “Leave the keys in the ignition?”

“No. They were in the pocket of my bag, just inside the bungalow’s rear door.”

Seth shook his head, spun the 4Runner around, and gunned for the open gate.

“Kirra must have seen our fight,” Seth said. The 4Runner’s tires kicked up gravel as he made the turn onto the unpaved lane and sped after the Jeep. “Before you arrived, she suggested that she offer herself to the rebels as bait.”

“Why the hell would she do that?”

“You don’t think the life of my niece is important enough?” Seth snarled. Although he knew that wasn’t the only reason Kirra had taken off.

The Jeep’s taillights disappeared around a corner. Seth coaxed more speed out of the 4Runner, careened around the corner, and spotted the Jeep several hundred yards ahead. As long as he had a visual on Kirra, there was time to stop her.

“
Ja
, of course Kirra wants to save your niece,” Dev said. “But what does she think she can do? She’s not so stupid that she’d think they’d treat her kindly.”

Seth growled in warning.

Dev froze, then cursed under his breath. “Stupid. That’s what you were talking about, isn’t it? Tossing around words like stupid without realizing how it affected Kirra.”

Seth nodded.

Dev beat his fist against the dash. “Fine. You tell me what Kirra is thinking.”

Seth followed the Jeep around another corner and explained about the various deadlines. “Kirra wants to rescue the people trapped inside the concert venue. She thought that if she surrendered, it would give you and me time to free the hostages.”

“But we’re trained soldiers. She isn’t.”

He shared Dev’s frustration. “No, but as she reminded me, she’s trained to escape custody.” He flicked a glance at Dev. “Your sister slipped out of the handcuffs the rebels secured her with after the bus attack.”

“Really? That was her? I saw the empty cuffs. Escaping took skill and an ability to ignore pain.”

“Yeah. Getting free tore up her wrists.” Seth cleared his throat. “She’s one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met. If anyone can survive the rebels, she can.”

“But we’re not going to let them take her.”

“Not if I can help it.” Up ahead, the Jeep hit the paved road and the distance between them grew. “Jesus,” Seth muttered. “What kind of engine do you have in that thing?” He had the accelerator to the floor, yet the Jeep was still pulling away.

Dev groaned. “It’s a monster. All our vehicles have to be able to outrun the bad guys.”

“Our?” Seth asked as a way to take his mind off his growing panic.

“Just a figure of speech,” Dev said.

“Mm-hmm. So, are any of your non-existent teammates coming to back you up?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dev said. “But even if I did have teammates, they wouldn’t be available. You don’t have to worry about Marcus kicking your butt.”

Marcus. Yeah, there was someone else he’d failed. Better not to think about that right now.

The road left the small town, ran between fields of half-grown millet, then dipped into a hollow filled with skinny trees that didn’t provide much cover. On the other side of the grove were more fields with an occasional wide-crowned tree standing sentinel.

Kirra turned left onto a wider road.

“Do you have a map in your duffel?” Seth demanded as he took the turn on two tires. “I need a spot where we can cut her off.”

“There isn’t one. This is the only road between here and the field that’s being used as a car park for the concert. On the other side of the car park is one of the two bridges. It spans the deep drop down to the river.”

“River?”

“Yeah. It borders the concert premises on three sides. The back side is mostly forested land. That’s where the performer and staff access road comes in from the main road.”

Impressed that Dev had recited all that from memory, Seth glanced at him.

Dev shrugged. “As soon as I realized that Kirra was heading here, I memorized the layout,” he told Seth. “Plus, Dr. LaSalle—who, by the way, received your message and passed your number on to me—had one of his contacts from this area draw me a map.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his duffel, studied it a moment, and made a sound of disappointment.

“There are a couple of footpaths through the fields,” Dev said. “Since we’d have to slow down to take them, they won’t help us get in front of her.”

The trees ended, giving Seth a clear view as Kirra drove the Jeep past a row of ticket booths and into the knot of rebel soldiers manning a checkpoint at the near end of the bridge.

“No!” Seth and Dev shouted at the same time.

The rebel soldiers scattered. A couple of men had the presence of mind to fire at the Jeep as it skidded. The Jeep’s passenger side slammed into the stone balustrade of the bridge.

One of the rebels yanked open the driver’s door and pulled Kirra out. He shoved her against the side of the Jeep and pressed his gun to the back of her neck.

Kirra placed her hands on the top of her head.

Seth hesitated, torn between charging forward and attempting a bold rescue, and the reality that ten soldiers could easily hold him and Dev off as long as they held Kirra as a hostage.

“Stop the damn car,” Dev snapped. “Back up so they don’t spot us.”

Seth hit the brakes and put the vehicle into reverse until they were deep enough to be hidden from a casual glance in their direction, but not so far that they couldn’t see the action around the Jeep.

Seth flexed his hands as another rebel stepped forward and ran his hands roughly over Kirra. Shaking his head, the rebel stood back and said something to her.

She shrugged. The man with the rifle reversed it, then drove the stock between Kirra’s shoulder blades. She collapsed to the ground.

“He’s a dead man walking,” Seth gritted out.

“As big brother I get first blood,” Dev said. He reached into the duffel at his feet and pulled out a pair of binoculars. “Those aren’t Bureh’s men,” he said after a moment’s study. “I think they’re a new, smaller offshoot calling themselves the East Side Boys.”

Just what they didn’t need. Another damn player in an already complicated game. “You’re sure this SSU group is going to secure my family?”

“That’s what Max said. He used to work with some…ah…other players in the region when they all belonged to Uncle Sam. I’ve never met the guy, but he’s the one who took down Dietrich.”

Seth whistled, impressed. Everyone in the West African underworld had heard how two Americans had fouled the deal between Dietrich and Morenga, resulting in the international arms dealer being taken into U.S. custody.

“If Max says the SSU can deliver,” Dev continued, “I believe him.”

An open-topped rebel Jeep tore across the bridge and skidded to a stop next to Dev’s Jeep, which now had steam rising from under its hood. Kirra’s captor yanked her to her feet and shoved her into the back seat of the rebel Jeep, where another rebel handcuffed her to the roll bar. Then the first man hopped into the front passenger seat and the Jeep raced back across the bridge.

The Jeep turned left and followed the curve of the temporary wall surrounding the concert grounds. About halfway along the wall, the Jeep screeched to a halt. One of the rebels jammed a pistol against Kirra’s temple while another rebel un-cuffed her from the roll bar. They shoved her out of the Jeep, marched her between two portable toilets, and disappeared through a door in the wall.

“All right,” Seth said, taking the binoculars from Dev and scanning the scene. He took his fear for Kirra, for his niece, and for the rest of his family, and channeled it into deadly focus. Wondering what the odds were that the assassin was nearby, he said, “Here’s the plan.”

“
S
o
, Michael Hughes has the diamonds,” Rio told Morenga. He’d just finished speaking to Hughes and the man’s audacity surprised him. Although, after the way he’d stolen Morenga’s plane, maybe he should have expected something like this.

“Another party has exerted pressure on Hughes to turn the diamonds over to Bureh instead of us,” Rio continued. “However, he’s is willing to renegotiate with us.”

“I am not in the habit of making deals to get back what was stolen from me.”

Considering that Morenga’s allies had stolen the diamonds, then smuggled them out of Angola, Rio figured it was a stretch to call the diamonds Morenga’s, but he wasn’t going to argue.

“Yes sir, I am aware of that.” Rio slowed his Range Rover and downshifted as he skirted one of the many potholes in the road. “But the circumstances here are a bit unusual.” Yeah, that was the understatement of the century. It had turned into a regular cluster fuck, and it was all Rio’s fault. If he hadn’t arranged for the diamonds to be stolen in the first place, none of this would have happened. But it was too late to go back. The best he could do was try to fix it now.

“Very well. What—” Morenga’s voice cut out over the connection on Rio’s satellite phone. Rio twisted his Bluetooth receiver tighter into his ear, then reached out the window and adjusted the portable antenna he’d stuck on the roof. “Sorry, sir. There was too much static on the line. Could you repeat that, please?”

“What does Mr. Hughes propose in exchange for returning my diamonds?”

That was one of the qualities Rio admired about Morenga. The guy could be reasonable. He had no problem changing his mind if it benefited him. “Bureh’s rebels are one of the groups that have taken over part of the concert premises. They’ve blockaded the roads and have men guarding the bridges that give access to the concert. Hughes suggests that if a team of our men were to take out the rebels, then he could claim to the other interested party that he tried in good faith to comply with their demands, but the diamonds were taken from him by someone else.”

“Why does Mr. Hughes believe I would risk such a public move?”

“He knows you’re in conflict with Bureh and that most of the rebels here are Bureh’s men. Hughes figures you’ll jump at the chance to come off as a hero in the eyes of the local population, thus giving the political candidates you’re backing an extra boost.”

“That is a dangerously astute summary,” Morenga murmured. “I had no idea our pilot friend paid such close attention to the power structure of the region.”

Rio held his breath. Morenga was always controlled in his actions, unlike his dangerously impulsive and thankfully deceased son, Natchaba. Yet Rio had trouble predicting Morenga’s actions. At times he chose to destroy enemies that Rio considered too minor to bother with. Other times Morenga left alone those who’d proved to be a threat.

The man played a very long-term, complicated game.

“What is your assessment of the situation?” Morenga asked.

“I think that if Hughes doesn’t find a believable way out of his dilemma, either he’ll turn over the diamonds to Bureh, or he’ll be killed.”

“The life of one pilot, a foreigner no less, is of no consequence to me. No matter how skilled he might be. But good public relations is always important.”

There was a lengthy pause. Rio thought he heard voices conferring in the background. “Is there any sign of the government’s troops?” Morenga finally asked.

“My sources say they’re mobilizing, but not likely to arrive for another few hours.” Rio braked to allow a herd of goats to cross the road.

“Very well. The commander of my forces says that an assault against Bureh’s men may be possible. He will analyze the situation further and let you know if he decides to follow through. In the meantime, tell Hughes that we agree to his terms. Set up a meeting. Then, if necessary, you will take the diamonds by force.”

“Yes, sir.”

Morenga disconnected and Rio set the phone on the console. He rolled his shoulders while he waited for the last goat to disappear into the brush. He found it interesting that Hughes had not said that Bureh himself had given him the deadline. Who else was powerful enough to force Hughes into going against Morenga by delivering the diamonds to Bureh?

And what about the girl? Hughes hadn’t mentioned her.

When Rio had been introduced to Hughes, he’d sensed an inner core of integrity underneath the pilot’s tough guy exterior. Hughes didn’t seem the type to support a psychopath such as Bureh unless the threat against him was huge. But then, Rio wouldn’t have pegged the pilot as the sort to fly for any of the criminal elements in the region.

Perhaps Hughes was lying about the demand to hand over the diamonds to Bureh?

Rio shook his head. Why? Hughes wouldn’t benefit from seeing Morenga and Bureh fight it out at the concert. Given the hotheaded nature of the rebels, any escalation in violence could result in the deaths of all the people connected to the concert who were holed up in the restricted area.

The road finally cleared, so Rio accelerated.

The person who’d sponsored Dietrich, and now supported Morenga along with several rebel factions, had enough power to have demanded that Hughes turn the diamonds over to Bureh. The sponsor had a track record of helping whoever promised to create the most chaos in the region, yet why cause trouble for an ally such as Morenga? And why involve Hughes?

Could it have something to do with the reason why a military assassin was after the pilot?

Rio snorted. Was it really likely that the man who’d supported Dietrich, Natchaba, and Morenga was also controlling Hughes? Or was he so desperate for another lead on the traitor he’d been chasing for years that he was making connections where none existed?

T
he rebel slammed
the stock of his rifle into Kirra’s stomach. She’d tightened her muscles, but even so, the pain from the blow doubled her over in the heavy wooden chair. She gasped for breath. Her heart beat too fast. Panic clawed at her consciousness and memories threatened to flood her.

No. She would not show fear in front of the rebels. Bringing the stage floor into focus, she concentrated on breathing through the pain until her fear receded.

“Where are the diamonds?” the rebel demanded again.

To spare her abused abdominals, Kirra pushed her bound wrists and ankles against the chair, straightened her elbows, and sat up. The chair sat against the back curtain of the most intimate of the six stages. It had probably been brought in as a prop for one of the performers. Heavy drapes fully enclosed the stage, blocking out the growing dawn. A single lantern sat stage right, casting sinister shadows that turned the angry glares from the two rebels into something demonic.

Swallowing the last remnants of her fear, Kirra looked the rebel leader straight in the eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Do not lie to me!” He backhanded Kirra hard enough to whip her head to the side and split her lip.

She absorbed the pain and slowed her breathing until she was confident she could speak without a tremor. “Why do you think I have these diamonds you’re after? I’m simply a musician here to perform at the concert.”

The rebel leaned forward until his foul breath bathed her face. Kirra fought the urge to gag.

“The thief was on your bus,” he bit out. “I know he passed you the diamonds. Tell me what you did with them and I will let you live.”

“I have no idea where the diamonds are.” Technically true. She’d left them on the table in the bedroom. Since she hadn’t actually seen Seth pick them up, she couldn’t say with one hundred percent certainty where they were. It was always better to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“Did you give them to the white man?”

“What?” She had to keep stalling for time.

“Speak to me, woman, or I will have my colleague here shoot your hand.” The rebel leader nodded at the other man, who stepped forward and pressed the tip of his rifle against the back of her hand. “You won’t be able to play your instrument without your hand, will you?”

Her heart jackknifed inside her chest. Every cell in her body rebelled against the thought of being denied the solace of her music.

The leader gave her a cruelly satisfied smile.

Somewhere in her darkest memories, Franz laughed and taunted her.
“Let’s see how much pain you can endure before you die, you stupid bitch. Let’s see what it takes to make you scream.”

Kirra’s stomach cramped and she fought with all her strength not to curl over at the pain. Sweat trickled down her spine, but she straightened her shoulders and glared defiantly back at the rebel leader as if the turmoil inside her didn’t exist.

Hatred filled his dark eyes.

An odd sense of calm settled over her. She’d already come back from death three times. She’d endured so much pain her mind refused to remember it. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, she would survive. If they blew off her hand, then she’d find a way to play guitar with one hand.

She continued to hold the rebel’s gaze while steeling herself against the pain to come. Even if she wasn’t counting on Seth to rescue her colleagues in the restricted area, she loved him too much to point the rebels toward him.

No one else would suffer because of these diamonds, not if she could help it.

Are you willing to die for them?

For the diamonds, no. To protect Seth? Yes.

“Do you refuse to answer?” A glimmer of excitement lit the rebel’s eyes.

“What white man?” she replied. “I was in a plane crash and the white pilot died. A local family found me and offered me shelter. I haven’t seen any other white men.”

“Who are these people? We will find them and search their home and vehicle.”

Kirra shrugged. “I didn’t ask their names. They dropped me off in town and then drove away.”

The rebel narrowed his eyes, then barked a question in one of the local dialects. Whatever the man with the rifle said in reply, it didn’t satisfy his leader. “I think my man should go ahead and—”

The staccato crack of gunfire drew everyone’s attention stage right, the direction of the bridge. Shouts of alarm and anger filled in the breaks between gunshots. A man cried out in pain and was abruptly cut off.

The curtains at the bottom of the stairs parted. A man stuck his head in, snapped out a command, then ducked out of sight. At a nod from the leader, his underling pulled his rifle away and hurried outside.

The leader glared down at Kirra. “It seems we are required elsewhere, woman.” He pulled a combat knife out of the sheath attached to his belt. “If you do not cooperate when we return, this is where my man will shoot you.” He sliced a line across the back of Kirra’s right hand.

Pain shot up her arm and exploded in her mind. The walls holding back her memories shifted. She saw Franz’s taunting grin as he sliced his blade across her arm.

“How much torture can you survive before you beg me to die, Kirra?”

Helplessness and fear flooded her. Oh, God. She was going to die!

She tried to suck in air, but she couldn’t breathe. Franz laughed, sounding so close that she flinched and reared back.

Her head met the back of the chair and she stared wild-eyed at the dim light of the stage.

No. This wasn’t the warehouse.

The rebel cut an intersecting line on her hand, forming an X. When he stepped away from Kirra, she saw blood welling out of the cuts.

She kept her eyes on the blood until her stomach twisted. Then she leaned as far forward as her bindings allowed and expelled a thin stream of stomach acid at the rebel’s feet.

As she’d hoped, the man leapt back. Snarling in disgust, he pivoted away. With an angry mutter, he marched over to the stairs, jumped to the ground, then strode outside.

Kirra sat back until the nausea passed. Then she twisted her wrists to test the feel of the ropes. They were tight, but not tight enough to stop her from escaping.

The commotion outside continued to distract the rebels. From the pattern of the gunfire and the angry shouts, it sounded as if the rebels were under attack. Had the government’s men arrived?

She jerked her wrists to loosen the bindings. Keeping alert for signs that the rebels were returning, and keeping her eyes averted as much as possible from her wrists, she tilted her right hand up so that some of the blood would slip down and lubricate the ropes.

She panted through the pain as the ropes scraped away the scabs on her right wrist, reopening the wounds from escaping the handcuffs. With the additional blood providing extra lubrication, she slipped her wrist free. She had to look in order to see the knots she needed to undo at her left wrist, but the sight of her bloody right hand and wrist caused her stomach to heave again.

This time, nothing came up. She sat back as the room spun around her.

No. She wouldn’t faint. She had to escape, then find Seth. Because she fully intended to have a future with him.

At the back of her mind, Franz laughed at her. But she was done being ruled by fear. She wanted to live her life based on love.

She started picking at the knots holding her left wrist.

“Halt!”

Kirra’s gaze flew to the exit. Her fingers stilled. The curtain shimmied, as if someone had touched it from the other side, but no one walked through.

The cuts on her right hand made her fingers clumsy, but she finally slipped her left wrist free.

“You. What do you think you’re doing?” Kirra recognized the voice of the man who’d cut her. He sounded so close that he must have been standing on the other side of the curtain. Any second he would push it aside, walk in, and discover her trying to escape.

She made quick work of the knots at her ankles, removed her socks and shoes, then pushed to her feet.

“We understand you took the white woman prisoner,” said an unfamiliar male voice. “Our leader has first claim to her. So we will take over the interrogation.”

“No. She is our prisoner.”

“We shall see.”

Boots scuffled against the hard-packed dirt. One of the men grunted in pain.