Blood Covenant (23 page)

FORTY-FIVE

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 5:52 A.M.
REBEL BASE CAMP

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut to block out the morning sun. In a perfect world, she’d have pulled the shades before she went to bed, set the air conditioner to sixty-eight, then slipped under her down comforter and slept until eight or nine. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even six o’clock. She never woke up before six. And the bubble surrounding her perfect world had long since burst.

Rolling onto her side, she groaned at the dull ache that spread throughout her legs and back. She’d pay a thousand bucks for a room with an air conditioner and a soft bed that didn’t poke her arms and the back of her stiff neck with its scratchy reeds. She flinched, then itched beneath her elbow where a dozen mosquito bites added to her misery.

Several armed men sat on the other side of the compound eating and laughing and reminding her that her deplorable sleeping quarters were the least of her worries. She’d been right. If she somehow managed to avoid getting murdered in her sleep, she’d end up dying from some infectious disease.

Closing her eyes again, she drew in a smoky breath of air from the cooking fires and wondered how long it would take her mother to come up with the five million in cash. By now, she should have already contacted their lawyer and the bank and Mitch —

“Ashley?”

Ashley slit open one eye and let the blurry image of Taz register before she shut it again. “What do you want?”

“Good morning. Did you sleep okay?”

“There is nothing good about this morning, and once again, you sound far too perky. Do you know what time it is?”

“Time for breakfast. I just returned from talking to the cook, who told me that the menu for the day includes eggs Benedict, croissants, sausage, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

She opened her eyes and shot him a dirty look. “Either I’m still dreaming or you’ve lost your mind, and for some reason I’m quite sure the first isn’t true.”

“Croissants and sausage is what I’m dreaming about at the moment.”

Ashley studied the stubble on his face — reds and browns with a hint of gray. “It should be a federal offense to talk about buttery croissants when I’ll be given some sort of … of mush for breakfast, if I get anything at all.”

“Hmmm …” He brushed his thumb across her chin, then chuckled.

“What?”

“You smiled again.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, you definitely did.”

Ashley propped herself up on her elbows, annoyed with the way he could make her smile. And where their conversations always managed to take her train of thought. She should be thinking about Mitch. Not how much she enjoyed being with this geeky-lawyer-turned-humanitarian.

“Is having the ability to make you laugh such a bad thing?”

Ashley closed her eyes for a moment and pictured Mitch decked out in one of his expensive suits at one of their parties — rich foods, conversation, too much champagne … “It’s not even six o’clock, so yes, that’s a bad thing.”

She pushed back a strand of her oily bangs, feeling self-conscious. No makeup, unkempt hair, and not even a chance to brush her teeth or take a decent shower for days. Mitch would be horrified at her unruly appearance. Taz didn’t seem to notice.

Instead he sat down on the three-legged stool beside her, some of the worry he tried to hide seeping into his expression. “They brought Paige here last night after Nick and the others.”

Ashley’s eyes widened. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah. She and Nick are inside the isolation hut taking care of the sick children.”

Ashley drew up her legs Indian style, then glanced around the compound, trying to convince herself there was nothing to worry about. Her mother would pay the ransom, they’d release her, and this whole nightmare would be forgotten, along with Taz and all the others.

Her breathing quickened. That was what she wanted. But experiences like this weren’t things you brushed away like unimportant dates on one’s social calendar.

The nurses from the camp sat talking in a small huddle. Brandon dozed on his mat, and Samson sat staring off into space. Scattered around them, the rebels guarded them, machine guns in hand, a reminder that they were still calling the shots.

She pulled out a long, dried piece of reed from her mat and twirled it between her fingers. “Do you ever think of dying?”

Taz flipped up the rim of his hat and peered at her. “Sometimes.”

The dried reed crumbled between her fingers. “It scares me.”

“My mother used to always tell me that death is a part of life. We just don’t know when it’s coming for us.”

“And your faith?” She’d never looked for answers before. Never needed to. “What does it tell you about death?”

“That I can have confidence of where I’ll spend eternity because of Christ’s death on the cross and then his resurrection.”

“He triumphed over death.” She knew some of the lingo. What she didn’t know was this man who claimed to be the Son of God. Didn’t know why someone claiming to be the Son of God allowed things like this to happen in the world He supposedly created.

A car horn sounded from outside the compound, interrupting their conversation. Someone opened the gate, and two 4x4s entered the camp.

Ashley leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Jonas left late last night. Looks like he and some of his buddies are back.”

Two more vehicles arrived and parked outside the compound. Car doors slammed shut and several more men, all wearing fatigues, entered through the metal gate.

Ashley reached up and touched the tender spot where Jonas had slapped her. “None of them look very happy.”

Jonas stopped in the middle of the compound and fired a shot into the air. “I want you all lined up on that log. Now!”

Panic swept through her. “Taz …”

“Everything’s going to be all right.” Taz reached out and squeezed her hand. “They need your money, so they won’t hurt you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Trust me.” Taz kept hold of her hand and led her toward the fallen log, where they sat down on the end beside Samson, Brandon, and the four nurses.

Jonas paced in front of them, his fingers tight around the weapon. “Where is the doctor?”

A minute later, Paige and Nick emerged from the isolation hut in front of one of the guards.

Ashley dropped her gaze to the line of ants marching in front of the log. She closed her eyes and fought to breathe, trying to convince herself that Taz was right. Killing her would only guarantee they didn’t get the ransom money. Something they wouldn’t do. Her mother would never send money without proof of life. She just needed to take in a few deep breaths and remember that her mother would wire the money and all this would be over soon.

Jonas pulled a small digital camera from his pocket and tossed it to Ngozi, along with a wrapped-up newspaper. “I want individual photos of each of them holding up the front page.”

Paige sat down on the other end of the log beside Nick. Apparently being a doctor didn’t make her any more immune from the lineup than herself being worth a hefty ransom. Ngozi started at the far end and began snapping photos of each one of them.

Ashley’s stomach burned.

Proof of life.

But Taz had been right. She was worth far more to them alive. They all were.

Jonas stood in front of them, his stance rigid, his expression cold. “Apparently, my government, along with the rest of the world, believes that our current demands are nothing more than a game, and if they simply ignore us, we will eventually disappear like a case of the measles.”

Ngozi stopped in front of Ashley and handed her the newspaper before aiming the camera at her.

Oh God, if you are out there, please don’t let this be the last photo my family sees of me.

“Until today,” Jonas continued, “we’ve held negotiations in the capital, where we have sought a fair exchange for the release and amnesty of our leaders, but it is strange how quickly they have forgotten their own guilt. Seventeen years ago, my brother fought to help President Tau overthrow the old president to become our new president, but now? No one seems to remember.”

Ashley squeezed Taz’s hand. “Is he drunk?”

“I don’t know.”

Anger burned in Jonas’ eyes. “We burn their villages, rape their women, and kill their men, but all they do is tell the world that everything is under control. That we are no more a threat than … than all of you are. But I’m through playing their diplomatic games. Tired of being the weak link they believe they can utilize as their scapegoat. So we’ve made a decision.”

Jonas walked forward and stopped at the other end of the log. He lifted Paige’s chin with the tip of his gun. “You think I am crazy?”

Paige’s gaze dropped. “No.”

“They made me what I am today and now they want to stop me.”

“I think — ”

Nick started to speak, but Paige tugged on his shirt and shook her head.

Jonas moved in front of Nick. “Let him say what he wants. I’m sure it is no different from what the rest of the world believes. They see us as savages who only want to butcher our people, but they do not know everything.”

Nick cleared his throat. “Tell us what happened at the talks. Maybe one of us could go with you and help negotiate.”

Jonas’ laugh ran hollow. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, I have a much better idea. We’ve done everything to prove that we are serious and yet nothing has changed. Which means it is time for me to change things.”

An ant crawled across Ashley’s arm. She brushed it onto the ground and struggled to catch her breath. They were going to kill her. Kill all of them. Her life would end in the middle of some godforsaken country without a chance to say good-bye to Mitch.

Jonas continued down the row. One of the nurses sobbed silently. The wives and children of the rebels had vanished into the huts, but the men gathered around them, their attention on Jonas.

Jonas rested his hand against his hip. “There’s only one thing that will make the rest of the world believe we’re serious. Killing our own people has done nothing. Killing one of you … that will make them stop and listen.”

“You’re wrong.”

Jonas spun around to face Nick, who was leaning forward. “Excuse me?”

“Violence hasn’t changed the situation yet, and it’s not going to now. If anything it will make them more determined to put a stop to what you are doing.”

“Enough.” Jonas swung the weapon toward Nick. “You have lost your privilege to talk. All of you have. All you suggest is more diplomacy, but I am finished walking down that path.”

Ashley gasped for air. “Taz.”

“Take a deep breath, Ashley.”

“We’ve made a decision.” Jonas continued his pacing in front of them. “As for now, the rules have changed. And you will pay the price.”

Ashley felt her body go numb.

“Here’s the new deal.” All emotion had vanished from Jonas’ face “One dead, every twelve hours, until they agree to our demands. Maybe then the world will finally decide to listen to what we have to say.”

Paige gasped from the other side of the log. “You can’t — ”

Jonas pointed the gun in her direction. “Oh, but I can. I just haven’t decided who will go first.”

Jonas moved down the line slowly. He paused, aimed his weapon at Brandon’s head, then kept moving.

Ashley’s heart pounded in her throat. It was Russian roulette, and one of them was going to die.

Taz squeezed her hand. “Whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.”

Jonas hesitated in front of her. “Five million dollars will extend your life … for now.”

He took another step to the left and stopped in front of Taz.

Ashley felt a scream swell in her throat, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Taz’s fingers slipped from hers. The sky above her began to spin. Her vision blurred.

Jonas pressed his gun against Taz’s head and pulled the trigger.

FORTY-SIX

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 7:01 A.M.
U.S. EMBASSY, RD

Paul turned up the radio and leaned back in his office chair to listen to the broadcast, nursing his sore throat with another steamy cup of hot tea. He didn’t have to listen to the news to know that the situation was turning into the nightmare he’d hoped to avoid. All he had to do was look outside the embassy’s front windows at the chaos brewing in the city streets.

… many believe that what started out as a plea for amnesty has now turned into an attempt to overthrow President Tau’s government. Fear has forced hundreds to flee to the U.S. Embassy compound and other foreign agencies, many with everything they own, in an attempt to find refuge from the rebels and their newest rampage in the capital.

Organizations like the UN and Volunteers for Hope International, a nonprofit organization that provides temporary medical staffing, have already lost hundreds of thousands of U.S. dollars worth of medical supplies, communications equipment, and food when the rebels hijacked a convoy and raided food warehouses earlier this week.

With the rebels now roaming the capital, the government has extended the state of emergency from the Mponi region to the entire country and has imposed a six o’clock curfew that is being enforced by checkpoints and truckloads of armed soldiers. But fears continue to escalate as to whether or not that is enough to contain the rebels, and if the government’s slow response will end up costing more lives.

One of the biggest concerns at the moment remains with the humanitarian workers who were taken hostage in the northern section of the country. Rebels have publicly announced that they have threatened to execute a hostage every twelve hours until their long list of demands are met.

A State Department spokesman has verified that marine expeditionary units are on alert, and it is expected that they will head to the RD to aid in the evacuation of the roughly three hundred and fifty remaining Americans within the next twenty-four hours. Most of the Americans currently in the country are religious and humanitarian aid workers, businessmen, and U.S. Embassy employees and their dependants …

Paul turned down the radio before grabbing the folder Mercy had brought him. He dumped its pile of black-and-white photos onto the desk in front of him. They confirmed his suspicions that his embassy held a mole. Until four months ago, he’d been lulled into thinking that the RD was different from places like Chad and Sudan, where threats of uprisings were often quickly squelched by a government whose aim was to paint a picture of democracy and peace to the rest of the world.

Nick failing to check in last night in Kingani had been the first clue that that wasn’t true. The photos in front of him reconfirmed that fear. They showed proof of life for Paige Ryan, Nick Gilbert, Ashley James, Brandon Collins, and four national aid workers — and that Timothy Gregory Michaels III had been executed in cold blood. He glanced at the photo of Timothy’s lifeless body in the middle of some godforsaken compound. Six years of humanitarian work in refugee camps from Kenya to Chad … The thirty-two-year-old former lawyer from Chicago didn’t deserve this.

Man, he hated this place.

His cell phone rang, jarring him from his contemplations. He flipped it open and answered the call. “Paul Hayes speaking.”

“This is James Ngani.”

“I was getting ready to call you.”

“I heard about the rebels taking the missing Americans as hostages.”

Paul took another sip of his tea, thankful that any formalities and long-winded greetings had been saved for another day. His voice wasn’t going to make it much longer, and neither was his patience. “They’re not just empty threats. They killed the first hostage about an hour ago and are threatening to kill another one every twelve hours until all charges are dropped. Which means I can’t wait another twelve hours.”

He knew that Timothy’s death, and that of the other foreigners, was merely a drop in the bucket compared to how many Dhambizans had lost their lives during the conflict, but if some fancy diplomatic footwork could put an end to the crisis, then it would end up stopping the loss of life on both sides.

“Ground forces are organizing now and should be heading out within the hour.” Ngani paused on the other end. “What about the location of the camp?”

“Our military experts are working on it using satellites.”

Paul ripped the wrapper off one of the cough drops in his pocket and popped the lozenge into his mouth, hoping it would ease his sore throat better than the hot tea. And hoping Ngani bought his exaggeration. If he had his way, American surveillance planes would already be in the air trying to pinpoint the rebels’ location, but even in his position, he could only make things move so fast.

He cleared his throat, this time sprinkling a bit of truth into the mixture. “Congressional leaders were notified just after six-thirty this morning when we received these faxes. I haven’t gotten the official go-ahead, but I am expecting the White House to agree to a rescue operation.”

Paul thumbed the edge of one of the photos. Apparently it took a handful of dead citizens to get Washington to make a decision. Which might not be fair, but he was sick of red tape when people’s lives were on the line.

“From the looks of the uproar in the capital, we’re going to need all the help we can get.” Paul crunched down on the cough drop. “So, like you, I need this to end. Which means we need to locate not only the camp, but the location of every key rebel leader.” Paul’s mind flew through his limited options. “What about the arrested leaders? Can we dig information out of them?”

“We’ve tried, but our intelligence has confirmed that the rebels have moved camps since the arrests were made.”

“Any communication between the two groups?”

“None. In fact, the rebels who were arrested are being transferred to a higher-security facility today to insure that doesn’t change.”

An idea took root in the back of Paul’s mind. If they couldn’t find a way to locate the camp, the next best thing was to defuse the rebels’ fighting power by taking down more of their leaders. And in the process, they might just discover the location of the camp. “Who knows about the transfer?”

“Only a handful of people. Even I haven’t been told where they’re being taken.”

Paul tapped his fingers against his desk. There were only three or four secure prisons in the country. Maybe it was time he used the mole to his advantage. “I’ve got an idea.”