State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 7

  The man shook his head.

  “What’s your name?” Black asked.

  “Patrice.”

  “Patrice, if you want to see those men avenged for what they did to you, help me and I’ll make sure they pay for their sins.”

  Patrice shook his head. “The deepest scars are the ones you can’t see.”

  “Show me,” Black said.

  Patrice took a deep breath and shuffled toward a tree. He sat down at the base of it before mopping his brow with his forearm.

  “What did they do to you?” Black asked, kneeling near him.

  “They steal your soul. They make life not worth living.”

  “But they claim to be helping you.”

  “It’s a lie,” Patrice said with a sneer. “They only want to switch places with those who control the country.”

  “What did they take from you?”

  Patrice stared off in the distance before answering. “They took my little brother. He was only ten at the time. And after the ADF killed both my parents, he was all I had.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Shantu. He was the brightest soul you’d ever meet. His eyes lit up the jungle with delight. But the last time I saw him, his eyes were empty.”

  Black looked in the direction of the camp. “Is he still there?”

  Patrice nodded slowly. “I’m afraid that even if I saw him again, he wouldn’t be the same boy.”

  “What’s the alternative? That he continues to be the way that he is?”

  “I don’t know what I would say to him. I don’t know what he’s seen or the horrific things he’s experienced.”

  “Why don’t we find him and you can ask him yourself?” Black suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Patrice said, kicking at the dirt. “What if he doesn’t want to come?”

  “You can only ask him to come with you,” Black said. “But you can’t do that if you don’t go.”

  Patrice sighed as a tear trickled down his face, the silence in their conversation speaking as loud as anything he’d said.

  “Okay, I’ll take you,” Patrice said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll bring Shantu home, no matter what.”

  Black placed his hand over his heart. “I swear on my life.”

  “Then let’s go,” Patrice said. “It will be dark soon.”

  Black followed Patrice for several minutes before they reached a small settlement. Several men crowded around Patrice, pestering him with questions about who Black was. Patrice ignored them as he directed Black to carry one end of a canoe toward the river’s edge. In a matter of minutes, they were in the water and paddling downstream.

  * * *

  A HALF-HOUR LATER, Black followed Patrice’s lead as they navigated the Kwango River. Fishermen tossed nets into the water and pulled them back to shore in a rhythmic fashion. Black could see the watchful eyes peering from the shadows as he drifted closer to the ADF camp.

  “Do they have spies in the jungle?” Black asked.

  Patrice nodded. “But you’re with me. They won’t suspect anything.”

  A few minutes later, they rounded a bend. Patrice’s confidence was obliterated as several ADF soldiers opened fire on them from the far shore.

  Black ducked as he steered the boat away from the fire. Bullets pinged in the water and peppered the hull. Water rushed in through small holes as Black struggled to keep the boat moving. When he reached the shore, he tipped the vessel on its side, using it as a shield. He looked at Patrice, who was clutching his chest.

  “I’ve been hit,” he mustered weakly.

  Black dragged him ashore, staying low as he ventured into the jungle. Shots clipped nearby trees and other vegetation while Black worked to stabilize Patrice. Leaning his back against a tree, Black used his hand to apply pressure to the wound.

  “Stay with me,” Black said.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Patrice said. “Just bring my brother out with you.”

  Black realized there was nothing he could do for Patrice. The young man struggled to breathe for a couple of minutes. Black held Patrice’s hand, trying to reassure him before his life slipped away.

  “I’m going to bring Shantu with me,” Black said. “I swear to you. You didn’t deserve this.”

  Patrice closed his eyes and smiled. “I deserved far worse, but I will take hope with me to the grave, thanks to you.”

  Patrice tried once more to fill his oxygen with lungs, but he couldn’t. He sputtered and coughed before falling limp.

  Black cursed under his breath before pulling out his satellite phone and calling Shields.

  “What’s going on?” she asked anxiously.

  “My surprise entry isn’t going to happen,” Black said. “I’m going to need an extraction team if we’re going to get the Secretary out of here alive.”

  “There’s already one on the way,” she said.

  “Good,” Black said. “Otherwise, I’d be on a suicide mission—and I’d be killing the Secretary with me.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “Good,” Black said. “This is our only shot. Don’t let me down.”

  He hung up the phone and sighed. Insects had already started to swirl around Patrice’s body. Black put his hands on the young man’s forehead and closed his eyes.

  “Rest in peace, Patrice.”

  Black turned his focus toward the other side of the shore. The shooting had finally stopped.

  Now, Black was more than determined than ever to rescue the Secretary—and to make good on his promise to Patrice.

  CHAPTER 14

  Washington, D.C.

  PRESIDENT YOUNG LOOKED across the White House lawn toward Marine One, which sat waiting for him. He needed to get away to Camp David to huddle with his advisors about how to handle the latest apparent leak from within the administration. Young insisted there needed to be tighter controls on the way information was being disseminated, both internally and to the public via the media.

  David Salisbury suggested the getaway to discuss a new strategy until the mole could be dealt with. He stood next to Young as the doors to the lawn swung open.

  “Dave, why don’t you and Abe go first,” Young said. “Everybody loves a puppy.”

  Salisbury didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Mr. President. Why do you think I brought him?”

  The press corps fawned over Abe. Young figured they would take more pictures of the Yorkshire terrier than they would of him and his entourage. And Young was unbothered by it. With tensions increasing at home and abroad, he didn’t mind someone else absorbing some of the spotlight.

  Wearing a solemn expression on his face, Young maintained a distance of about ten meters behind Salisbury and Abe. He barely acknowledged the press until Salisbury stopped and turned around.

  “Do you hear them?” Salisbury asked.

  Young nodded. “The incessant shouting? How can I not hear that?”

  “I mean, do you hear specifically what they’re asking?”

  Young didn’t want to hear, figuring if he didn’t hear it then there wasn’t anything to concern himself with. “Not really.”

  “I’ve already heard three reporters shout questions about the whereabouts of Secretary Geller, citing reports of her plane being attacked at the Kinshasa airport. If you don’t say anything, this story is not only going to grow legs but wings too. It’ll engulf more than just a typical 24/7 news cycle.”

  Young scowled. “Then what should I tell them?”

  “Tell them what you want to hear on the news tonight.”

  Young set his jaw. “You know how much I hate lying to the American people.”

  Salisbury patted Young on the shoulder and gave him a coy wink. “Americans are a forgiving bunch. Just remember, all’s well that ends well.”

  Young narrowed his eyes. “I’m not certain anything is going to end well.”

  “Maybe not, but if you sell it to that pack of journalists right there, you can worry about this fia
sco another day. And hopefully by then it’ll be over.”

  Young stopped and turned toward the press, kept at a safe distance by the Secret Service agents standing nearby. He held up his hands as the questions came at him like an earthen dam giving way.

  “One at a time, please,” Young said, holding up his hands to control the frenzy.

  In seconds, the buzz was silenced. Then he pointed at a woman at the front.

  “We’ll start with you,” Young said.

  “Mr. President, our bureau is receiving reports out of Kinshasa that Secretary Geller’s plane undertook heavy fire at the airport from ADF soldiers,” she said. “Can you confirm her whereabouts for the American people?”

  “Secretary Geller is indeed in Congo,” Young said. “She wanted to make a few humanitarian stops ahead of her meeting in Pretoria.”

  Another man didn’t wait to be called upon before blurting out a follow-up question. “How come the Congolese ambassador was not aware of Secretary Geller’s stop?”

  “When we’re in that part of the world, we have to be careful due to all the unrest there,” Young said. “We don’t want every stop being advertised very far in advance because it’s difficult to secure certain locations there.”

  “Sir, there are reports on social media that Special Forces are in the area,” another reporter said. “Is that activity related to Secretary Geller’s disappearance?”

  “Secretary Geller hasn’t disappeared, so I don’t know where you’re getting your information from,” Young said, ignoring the meat of the inquiry.

  “So, there are Special Forces operating in Congo?” another woman asked.

  Young frowned. “How did you make that leap from what I just said?”

  “You’re not answering the question, sir.”

  “The question was a false premise that I corrected. Secretary Geller did not disappear. Also, I’m not aware of any of our military’s Special Forces taking action in Congo. That’s all for now. Thank you.”

  Young turned and looked at Salisbury, who put his arm around Young. The two men strode toward Marine One in silence. Once they were in the air, Young leaned back and let out a sigh.

  “What the hell was I thinking?” Young asked aloud.

  “For what it’s worth, I thought you handled them well, sir,” Salisbury said. “You didn’t lie to them, though it was a deflection of sorts. Secretary Geller is not a magician, and she hasn’t disappeared. She’s merely being detained by enemy combatants.”

  Young grunted. “They’ll still eat me alive for that one.”

  “Not if they don’t find out until it’s over,” Salisbury said with a wink. “And that’s when we’ll make her out to be a hero.”

  “So, are there any Special Forces in the area?” Young asked.

  “There might be.”

  “Then I want them out right now.”

  “But, sir, how will Geller be delivered safely home if our people get her out of the camp?” Salisbury asked.

  “They’ll have to figure out another way,” Young barked. “Get me Besserman on the phone. I need him to handle this.”

  Salisbury dialed Besserman’s number and handed the phone to Young.

  “Bobby, we’ve got a big problem brewing,” Young said.

  “I’ve been following the news,” Besserman said. “We’re doing everything we can to coordinate with—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Young said. “Plausible deniability and such.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “What I wanted to tell you is that we can’t have any federal government entity assisting with Geller’s extraction.”

  “Why the hell not? She’s a top government official.”

  “Whoever you’ve got, get them out of there right now. There’s still a chance for us to salvage the timeline.”

  “What difference does that make if Geller ends up getting killed by terrorists?”

  “Have they made any demands yet?” Young said, ignoring Besserman’s question.

  “Not yet,” Besserman said. “But the minute they do, you’re in for a shit storm.”

  “I can deal with that,” Young said. “I’m more concerned about our forces being easily identifiable in that unforgiving jungle. A few bored teenagers with access to RPGs could put us in an even bigger mess than we’re in right now if they saw one of our helicopters buzzing around the area.”

  “Do you realize how difficult it’ll be to get out of there if you handicap our agent like this?” Besserman asked, his voice ascending. “You might as well be sending Geller and anyone involved with helping her to an early death.”

  “I want her out of there as much as anybody, but I’d rather turn Geller into a martyr than have our troops massacred in the jungle. The team that’s going in there is going to have to do this the hard way.”

  “It’s not a team, sir. It’s one man.”

  Young’s eyes widened at the revelation. “Ultimately, that doesn’t matter. Find another way to extract them without using military aircraft.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Just do it,” Young said before he ended the call and then handed the phone back to Salisbury.

  “Are you all right, sir?” he asked.

  Young crossed his arms and stared out the window.

  He wasn’t all right.

  CHAPTER 15

  Kwango Province, Congo

  RACHEL GELLER GROANED as she adjusted to the bright light flooding the tent. She was still tethered to the chair. Sweat trickled down her forehead and found its way into her eyes, stinging them. She also felt blood oozing around the right corner of her mouth. Though she didn’t remember the blow that caused the cut, her jaw felt sore in that area.

  She heard the murmur of conversation taking place behind the light, but she couldn’t tell how many people were huddled behind it. Three, four, maybe half a dozen—not that it mattered. She couldn’t wriggle free and do anything about it anyway, but it didn’t stop her from trying.

  With each attempt to loosen the rope, her wrists and ankles burned with pain as the twine dug into her skin. She wanted to scratch the areas around the cord, if only for a few seconds of relief. But what she needed more than anything was a drink of water.

  Geller turned away from the light and saw a scrawny boy toting a rifle.

  “Can I have some water, please?” she said in French as she looked at him.

  The boy looked away for a second, unsure if an act of such kindness was permitted.

  “Go on,” she said, nodding toward the water bottle on the corner of the desk. “I won’t hurt you.”

  A weak smile flashed across the boy’s lips before he snatched the bottle off the desk. He unscrewed the cap and poured the water into her mouth.

  When she was finished, she thanked him. However, his commanding officer didn’t see what he was doing until she was done drinking and backhanded the boy across his face.

  “Don’t ever give our prisoners water unless you have permission,” the man said. “How do you think we’ll get her to comply now? She got what she wanted, but now we’re going to have to use a more painful tactic because of you.”

  The man walked behind Geller’s chair and grabbed the pinky finger on her right hand. Securing it tightly, he twisted it back and forth, resulting in a searing pain.

  Geller watched the boy wince as she oscillated between screaming and biting down on her lip. He looked away for a moment, but the man grabbed the boy’s jaw and turned his head back toward Geller.

  “This is your fault,” the man screamed at the boy. “She’s in pain because of what you did. Next time, I will do this to you.”

  The guard finally released Geller’s finger, but the pain continued to throb. The twisting hurt, but, for the moment, it gave her something to think about rather than her itchy wrists.

  A discussion continued behind the light until Emmanuel Kazadi finally emerged holding a sheet of paper.

  “Are you ready to begin, Madam Secretary?” Ka
zadi asked.

  Geller cocked her head and eyed him carefully. “Begin what?”

  “It’s time you do what we brought you here for, that is if you want to ever go home,” Kazadi said as he slapped the piece of paper down on the desk in front of her. “Read the script.”

  She shrugged. “I’m going to decline.”

  Kazadi motioned for one of his men to come over before nodding at Geller. The man jammed the barrel of his gun into the side of her head.

  “I’m not going to say this again,” Kazadi said. “Read the script.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Geller said. “I was getting tired of telling you no, which is what we’ll do until the end of time or my government turns your little hideout here into a heap of smoldering ash.”

  Kazadi narrowed his eyes. “You must want me to kill you.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I want you to or not,” Geller said. “You’re not going to kill me because if I’m dead, you get nothing. No respect. No acknowledgment that your government is the true government of this godforsaken country. Nothing. So, enough with the scare tactics because I’m not reading this. No one would believe it anyway.”

  “You’re going to read it,” Kazadi said.

  “Do what you must,” Geller said with a shrug. “Behead me. Shoot me. Burn me alive. I don’t care. But I will not read this note and give you the satisfaction of hearing me spew out such meaningless words. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before the U.S. government homes in on my position and obliterates this place.”

  “As long as we have you, they will not touch us,” Kazadi said.

  “You don’t know our president as well as you think you do if that’s what you suppose will happen,” she said. “He’s already mad at me for coming on this trip. I doubt he’d hesitate to torch your camp to the ground, especially with me in it.”

  Geller leaned back in her chair as much as she could, as if she was resting her case like a federal prosecutor. Her argument was convincing, but only because she believed it. She knew President Young well enough to know that he wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate, even if she turned out to be a casualty.

  At least, that’s what she hoped would happen. In the event of a fire started by aircraft, a chance still remained that she could escape amidst the chaos.