Devil's Gold (5 page)

She paused and tilted her head. “Will it help keep us here?”

Charles sighed and moved one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I can't say, but it should definitely be contained within your report to OPEC. I've sent David upriver, but he's not checked backed in. I'm worried.”

Cassidy closed her eyes against a sudden surge of frustration. Without hardcore, kick-ass facts, she'd never convince Sharpe to recant his decision. “Well, if David shows up with a miracle, let me know immediately.”

“I think I'll head upriver and help him out.” Charles turned away and started to head back toward the cluster of tents.

She caught his arm and shook her head. “Not tonight. I don't like anyone traveling that river in the dark. It's too dangerous.”

“But David?”

With a frown, she shook her head. “Keep trying him on the radio.”

“Cassidy …”

Anna's panicked voice jolted her from the sudden worry Charles' concern over his partner elicited. “Wait until the morning, Charles. That's an order.” Turning, Cassidy ran toward the birdcages.

Anna Kuffae, her black skin contrasting with the white, sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to her body, knelt within the center of the birdcage wrestling with a dirty and irate crane. “Could you please give me a hand?”

Cassidy opened the wire gate and slid inside the cage. She crouched down and inspected the bird's wings. They were coated with a thick layer of sludge. “Another one?”

Anna shifted her weight and pushed the bird toward Cassidy. “How many of these aren't we finding? You'd think my government would at least do something about its national bird.” Anna sighed in exasperation. “Oil's everywhere. I can't hold it long enough to do any good.”

Cassidy slid her fingers across the slick feathers, cooing in soft tones. She gathered the bird tightly against her chest and rose to a half crouch, using her body weight to deliver it to a large tub of water Anna was filling with warm, soapy suds. “Clean it the best you can. If the lungs are clear, we'll be in luck.”

Anna began rinsing the slick oil off the body of the bird, revealing white feathers. “Charles handed in a preliminary report. I put the flash drive with the geological survey you requested on your desk. You're right. Port Harcourt is sinking.”

Cassidy cupped a handful of water and assisted Anna with the cleansing of the feathers. “Lot of good that'll do us, but I'll take a look and add it to my findings.” She scowled at the dirty water quickly filling the tub. “He said something about an unusual finding. Did you see anything?”

Anna bit her lower lip and scrubbed at the underbelly of the bird. “I didn't even look at it. He did emphasize that it wasn't complete, though.”

“I wish he'd give me something to uncover NWP's corporate bullshit.”

“Who pissed you off this time?”

Snorting through her nose, Cassidy wiped the back of her hand against her cheek. “That obvious?” Anna nodded and raised a brow, waiting for an explanation. Cassidy lifted her chin toward the sink tap, and her assistant quickly twisted the nozzle to an off position. Glancing at the bird, she ran gentle hands across its cleaned feathers. “Met with Robert Cole today.”

“New World Petroleum's president?”

Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Yeah. He's refusing to clean any of this up and insisting I write that damn report for OPEC.”

“You can't do that.”

Cassidy stared at her assistant. “I know. They've reassigned me, Anna. ZEBRA's pulling out in ten days.”

The expression drained from the other woman's face; then her features changed, distrust and accusation shining from her eyes. “Giving up are you?”

Cassidy picked up the bird and released it into the cage. She reached for Anna's arm and held tight. “Not on your life. I'll be back. But right now, this is what I must do.”

Anna bent her head and slumped her shoulders. “I know. I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to accuse you like that. It's just…” She glanced around the village. “We've come so far.”

“I know. I know.” A ring of childish laughter filled the night air, and Cassidy turned in its direction. “That's what I need right about now.”

Anna laughed softly as a young boy ran up and wrapped his arms around her legs. “This is our life, Cassidy. Don't blame yourself for our mistakes.”

Cassidy turned her face away from Anna's son, purposely ignoring him. “It shouldn't be—not under these conditions.” Unable to hold out any longer, she glanced down and grinned. “Who's this handsome little man?” Georgie giggled and tried to hide behind Anna's body. “I don't suppose you'd be interested in anything I might find in my pockets?” Georgie giggled again and held out his hand.

“You spoil my son.”

Cassidy patted her pockets, pretending to have lost something. “It's one of the greatest moments of my day.” She finally dug her hand into her jeans and retrieved a handful of wrapped bubble gum. “Want these?”

Georgie yelped with joy and threw his arms around Cassidy's neck. She accepted the sweet and innocent embrace, blinking back a startling blur of tears. “I need to finish my report. I'll see you in the morning, Anna.” Cassidy sniffed and focused on the tip of her shoes to hide the tears. Shaking her head, she turned and walked toward her tent. The familiar noise of camp slipped beneath her skin. Its rhythm, once soothing, drove stakes of guilt into her heart.

The suffocating humidity of her tent surrounded Cassidy. It was near midnight, and she'd closed all her flaps against the preternatural light created by the gas flares. Stripping off her pants and shirt, she padded barefoot to her desk. Settling in the chair, she inhaled the dank air and snorted at her attire. Tank top and bikini pants were a far cry from the flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers her mother raised her in. Wyoming's climate certainly was the polar opposite of West Africa's.

Yellowstone National Park. The playground of her youth.

Tapping a pencil against her lips, Cassidy stared at a picture positioned precariously on top of a stack of scientific journals. Her parents, vibrant and alive, smiled at her from behind the smudged and dirty glass of the frame. Behind them the peaks of the Tetons cut a jagged edge into the horizon.

It was late. She stretched her arms to the ceiling of the tent and yawned. One more item on the agenda. Moving her shoulders to shake out some of the stiffness, Cassidy reached for a small manila envelope. Slitting the edge, she removed a tiny flash drive and inserted it into her computer.

Clicking on the appropriate icon, she opened the geological survey prepared by Charles. A detailed sketch of the earth's layers beneath the surface of the Niger Delta flickered on the screen. Cassidy glanced at it briefly and scrolled down to find the fine points on Port Harcourt. Nigerian scientists reported several years ago their concern for the city, and she'd wanted to confirm the theories and potentially gain more positive interest from President Nuna.

Before reaching the section on Port Harcourt, Cassidy paused and began reading a blurb about the Jurassic period and its impact on the Niger Delta. She reread the same paragraph four times before finally giving up. Sleep called. There was something in the text that sparked her curiosity, but her brain lay in a fog of exhaustion and refused to fire off the neurons that would puzzle out her questions.

Pushing away from the desk, Cassidy moved to sit on the edge of her cot. She refused to dwell on everything that had happened that day, instead turning her mind to pleasant thoughts and preparing for sleep. Flipping off the small halogen lamp on the edge of her desk, she lay down. No covers tonight. Fatigue quickly shut down her consciousness as she slipped into the comforting embrace of oblivion.

Cassidy shivered.

Trying not to rise too far out of her sleep stupor, she turned and snuggled deeper into the warmth of her pillow. A gentle kiss of air fanned her face.

She blinked her eyes, rubbed her cheek, and mumbled incoherently, intent on finding the comfort of sleep again.

A swish of fabric, barely audible, echoed within the tight confines of her tent. Her breath caught and she froze, alarm signals jangling across every inch of her body, firing up nerves and muscles. Her senses were on full alert.

She wasn't alone.

Nick Fowler crouched beyond a thin line of mangroves. A distant gas flare cast a faint orange glow to the camp, shadows from the tents weaving irregular shapes along the hard-packed ground. Closing his eyes, Nick tilted his chin up and inhaled.

He could smell her.

Tonight the edge of his knife would sink into her skin, slicing skillfully through her perfect complexion. It would reveal the beauty of muscle and tendons entwined with fear-engorged veins of dark, crimson blood. She'd plead for her life first, then cry and whimper like a scared bitch. When reality dawned and Blondie faced her own mortality, she'd scream. Loud and long. Its music would wrap around him and lift him to a higher plain of existence. He craved this. He needed this.

“Mr. Fowler?”

Nick snapped open his eyes, releasing himself from the fantasy that had plagued his mind since that fateful moment six months ago when her perfect beauty had invaded his world. “Yeah?”

“We're ready.”

Nick glanced past the large black man and scanned the line of trucks laden with a mix of local militia and NWP oil workers. This was Kill-and-Go, Fowler style. Handpicked for their ruthlessness and bloodlust, these men would massacre the village leaving behind an unmistakable “don't fuck with oil” message.

He gave the signal to move out and jumped into the cab of the lead truck. “Remember,” he said, his voice a low growl, “the girl's mine.”

Cassidy remained still, only her eyes moving to scan the capsule of her tent.

A hand pressed against her mouth.

Panic slammed into her chest, and she inhaled using the fear-induced adrenaline to heave herself off the cot. Her attacker swore and scrambled to regain control.

Cassidy ducked under his arm and kicked at the back of his knees.

He outmaneuvered her, pinning her to the ground and lodging his forearm firmly beneath her chin. “Dammit, be still.” All she could see was a pair of brilliant blue eyes peering at her from a camo-painted face.

She paused, recognizing a familiar Southern cadence in his voice. “Who are you?”

He shook his head and placed a finger to her lips. “Hush.”

A gunshot rang, splitting the night air with its resounding echo. Screams filtered through the flaps of her tent. Cassidy's eyes widened, and she swallowed against a lump in her throat. What the hell was going on? She and her captor remained still for what felt like hours until he nodded and released his hold.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

He moved toward the front of her tent and peered through the slight gap in the flap. “Hush. I'm the good guy.” His voice was deep and menacing. He certainly didn't sound like a good guy. Screams filtered through the opening, echoing within the small enclosure.