Diamond Mine (10 page)

****

The fancy car having been returned, and the driver off for the day, Rory borrowed one of the monastery's jeeps and drove out to Tapiwa's camp. The gate opened and he parked inside.

Escorted to the building in the middle of the compound, Rory waited. The four walls housed nothing more than a small office and smelled of stale tobacco smoke. A leather chair rested at an odd angle behind a beat-up, scarred desk. On the corner sat an ancient, black telephone. Black wires covered paint-cracked walls.

Rory paced, and sweat gathered across his palms.

Finding a seat, he cradled his head in his hands. He still couldn't believe it was her. After all this time, to see her again. Of course, he'd followed her career extensively. After reading some of what she'd written about British men and torture, he'd thought perhaps it was safer to just leave her alone. The woman had it in for his kind, man and Brit, of that there was no doubt.

The door opened and Tapiwa entered, a grin splitting his face. The transaction complete and the arrangements finalized, he seemed eager to end their time together. Rory agreed. He wanted to retrieve Hannah and leave there as quickly as possible.

Would she recognize him? If she did, what would she do? Would she tell him to get out? Would she give him away? He'd thought his disguise was fairly decent, but would it be enough? All he could do was wait and hope.

When she walked in, Hannah looked rougher than before. Whether it was because of better lighting or new abuse, he wasn't sure.

Once-stylish clothing hung in tatters. More purple and yellow bruises dotted her skin. The stench from her unwashed body almost sent him to the floor.

A soldier dragged her by the arm and shoved her farther into the room. She wobbled and fell to her knees; a low moan escaped her throat.

His voice caught. “What've you done to her?”

“She was a tad resistant so we quit feeding her.”

Rory squelched his urge to kill the soldier. “Jolly good,” rushed past his lips as he bit the interior of his mouth until he tasted blood.

Hannah lifted her head and gazed at him. The look smoldered like hot daggers. He foresaw a lifetime of apologies leaving his lips, and it still not being enough.

Father Thomas had urged him to take along one of the monks from the monastery. After her stay in the camp, Hannah might need special care, and the monks were trained in such matters, he'd said. Rory had refused. He could only protect so many people at one time. This he'd learned the hard way. But looking at Hannah, he realized he may have made a mistake.

Grasping her by the arm in a possessive way, he pulled her to her feet. He hoped to communicate gentleness to her but ownership to Tapiwa. At his touch, she bent at the waist and retched. The vile liquid landed on his shoes. The rebel leader stared at him expectantly, and he did the only thing he could do. Palm open, he slapped her.

A red mark, showing the length of his fingers, splayed across her pale skin. Her head lolled backward. Weakness overtook her shuddering frame, and she collapsed in a heap. Bending down Rory inspected his merchandise making tsk-ing noises to express his displeasure.

Hannah was dehydrated, almost starved, and as he'd realized earlier, filthy. Once she was safe, he would make sure Tapiwa paid for his actions.

With difficulty Rory straightened and left her on the floor. Disgruntled, he stared at Tapiwa. The man was tall, well over six feet, with an intimidating air. Black, coarse hair was shaved to precisely one-fourth of an inch. Full bicep muscles strained against the sleeves of a brown military-style shirt. Casually he leaned upon his desk and a cigar drooped from his broad lips. Large brown eyes gazed at Rory.

Assuming an air of irritation, Rory said, “You have almost killed her. I believe I should have haggled the price down a bit farther. I can't see her being of much use in such a state.”

Tapiwa removed his cigar and ground the lit tip into his palm. Placing the stub on his desk, he folded his hands together. “Oh, so you do not want her? I'm sure I can find another buyer. She is a feisty one and will bring me a hefty price, no matter her state.”

Rory fanned away Tapiwa's comments.

“Ah, very good. You have made the right decision. Rest assured, once the woman is fed and bathed, she will make you a hefty profit.” Tapiwa snapped his fingers at his hired men. They took the directive and carried Rory's “property” to his waiting vehicle.

Lifted over the tailgate and stretched along the back seat, Hannah instinctively curled into a tight ball. Rory resisted the urge to cover her shivering form. He would pull over soon enough, but first he needed to get her out of the compound and to a safer location. It wouldn't do for him to express concern for a slave's well-being in front of Tapiwa.

“Where is your driver?” asked Tapiwa, one brow raised.

“Ah, he stayed home. The poor lad has no stomach for filth.”

“But of course. Perhaps you should hire another man then. One who would be more willing to stand with you during your
work
.”

“Perhaps. But I mustn't run the risk of angering the family.”

“Ah, I see. Nepotism is everywhere.”

“Indeed.” Rory smiled. He tipped his hat and opened the driver's side door. “Until we meet again.”

Tapiwa shook his hand. “Yes. It has been a pleasure.”

Rory climbed behind the wheel of the open jeep and crept out of the compound. As soon as the back wheels exited, the large wooden doors thrust shut. He glanced over his shoulder. Hannah was still there. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he placed his foot to the pedal and drove.

For over an hour he followed the dirt road. Every so often, he looked back to check on Hannah. She hadn't moved one inch since the jeep went into motion. His worry mounted. She needed adequate food, clothing, and shelter. He needed to get her to the monastery, but he was afraid she wouldn't make it.

He swerved off the road and parked between two large bushes. Cutting the engine, he studied her steady breathing. He jumped from the driver's seat and walked to the storage chest, located on the back of the vehicle.

Father Thomas had sent medical supplies, food, clothing, and even a tent in case they needed a temporary shelter. At their current rate of speed, Rory saw no reason why they wouldn't make it to the monastery before nightfall, making most of these items unnecessary.

He rifled through the chest, retrieved a blanket, and shut the lid. A streak of light crossed his vision. Before he knew what hit him, he was kissing the dirt.

****

The jeep bounced along rutted dirt roads. They drove for what felt like an hour without so much as slowing down. The heat from his stare had caused goose bumps to form on her already-flushed skin. Squeezing her eyelids tighter, she worked to relax.

Why had he purchased her? What did he plan to do with her? Would he sell her again? Would she become part of his personal harem? It didn't matter because Hannah had no intention on sticking around long enough to find out.

The jeep shuddered to a halt. A shift indicated the Brit leaving his seat. There was a swish of air and lack of sunlight as something lifted behind her. Now was her chance.

Fingers woven together in a sort of double fist, she held her hands up as high as possible and waited for the Brit to lower the chest lid. When he did, his head bent. She brought her hands down on top of his head for all she was worth.

He staggered and fell to the ground. Hannah jumped from the back of the vehicle. The world swirled in front of her eyes as she weaved. Lightheaded from lack of food and movement, she almost gave up, but adrenaline rushed through her veins, pushing her on.
I will
make it
.

Spine erect, she lifted her head to the sky and fought to control her dizziness.

And
my
readers said it wouldn
'
t work
! She had concocted that move for a story, but the editor had asked her to remove it because of credibility. Well she'd showed them!

Her chest heaved as she looked to see her captor unmoving on the ground. Memories of an article about heightened security in South Africa during a soccer championship came to mind. Something about whites and foreigners being kidnapped and sold into slavery on the black market.

She moved in slow motion. Then she stopped altogether and started pacing. She tapped her finger to her forehead. She'd probably been spotted and followed as soon as she'd left the plane. How could she have been so stupid!

With a look at her purchaser, she sighed and took off in a stumbling jog. After a few feet she tripped and fell hard on her elbows. Scrambling to get up, she heard a familiar voice.

“Hannah! Wait!”

Over her shoulder she saw the Brit pushing himself up. She wasn't going to make it! He was coming for her.