Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (7 page)

“Just in case?” she echoed, wincing at the grating hysteria that edged her voice.

“There are only ten minutes left on the timer.” His tone was firmer as he slid one of the tools from its cloth casing. “Go now.”

Her rational mind chose that moment to abandon her. Any appreciation she’d had for Warren’s professionalism, his high-caliber education or the risks he faced every day in his job was overwhelmed by her terror at the sight of the live bomb, and his proximity to it.

“Don’t you have a little robot who does this kind of thing? This is the twenty-first century—no one actually defuses bombs
by hand
.”

“A robot,” he repeated as if that was an endearingly fanciful idea. “No, I don’t have a robot. This is Africa, not
The
Hurt Locker
. I promise it won’t come down to the decision as to whether to cut the red wire or the blue.”

“Warren, come outside with me,” she pleaded desperately, suddenly on the verge of tears. “Nothing in here is that important. We can buy new machinery. Please don’t risk your life over construction equipment.”

“Go,” he repeated with so much authority she took a few reluctant steps backward. He looked over his shoulder, and when he spoke again his voice was gentler, though still brooked no argument. “I’ll be fine.”

She stood a moment longer, conflicted, and stared uselessly as he studied the mechanism. The digital face abruptly changed from ten minutes to nine, and adrenaline began to pump through her veins. She scrambled back down the tires, bracing herself against the sob of fear and despair that clawed at the back of her throat. When she hit the packed-dirt floor she took one last look up at the shelf. In a thin beam of sunlight she could just make out Warren’s broad shoulders, his dark head bent to his task.

She set her jaw and jogged to the door, pulling her cell phone from her jacket pocket on the way.

She tried to invest her tone with as much urgency as she could without sounding frantic. “Cedric, there’s a bomb in shed number five. Warren is working on it now, but we need to get everyone away from the area as quickly as possible.”

Cedric replied with a string of what she assumed were Latadi profanities, and within seconds she heard the fire alarm ringing out from the canteen. As she emerged into the indifferent sunlight she saw a stream of workers heading toward the muster point for fire emergencies, which was a solid five hundred meters away. She allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief, sprinting in that direction.

Belatedly she realized she should’ve asked Warren how much of a radius the blast was likely to have—and then she remembered that if the bomb went off, he’d be dead. She skidded to a halt, turning to look back at the shed. It appeared so unremarkable from the outside—just a cheaply constructed, weatherworn wooden building. You’d never have the slightest inkling that inside a man was racing the clock to save his own life.

She’d made it another hundred meters toward the muster point when Cedric jogged up to her side with Alex at his heels. As she shaded her eyes with her hand she saw Dan coming toward them from the direction of the office, moving slowly, his stocky body rocking with effort.

“Everyone’s at the muster point,” Cedric reported breathlessly. “The shift leaders will keep them corralled.”

“Copley’s in there now?” Alex indicated the shed.

She nodded, assuming Cedric had told him and Dan about the situation. “Have either of you seen Roger?”

They both shook their heads. Cedric’s attempt at hiding his irritation was significantly more successful than Alex’s.

“How much time do we have?” Dan called, his face ruddy as he finally reached them.

She checked the clock on her phone, and rued her failure to note the time more accurately when she’d seen the minutes tick down in the shed. “About five minutes, I think.”

For a moment all four of them stared at the shed in silence.

“Are we too close?” Alex broke in, his voice reedy and nervous. “How big is the bomb?”

“I have no idea.” She recalled the noise the debris had made as it hit Warren’s hardhat. How close had they been then?

She remembered his bolstering smile, the iron pressure of his arms as he’d held her close. She wrapped her arms around herself. She was trembling all over.

Cedric’s slim figure was beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

“He’ll get it shut down,” he assured her. “These Special Task Force guys are famous, even here in Latadi. He’ll be fine.”

“How much time?” Alex asked hollowly. She shrugged. She couldn’t bear to check.

“I think we should move.” Dan began to back up. “Let’s go behind the office.”

Alex copied him, and the two of them went stumbling backward as though they couldn’t take their eyes off the shed.

“It can’t be more than a minute now.” Alex picked up the pace, and Dan followed suit.

Nicola glanced at Cedric, but his eyes were on the wooden building, his expression unafraid. Suddenly he grinned, and slapped his hands together in a triumphant clap.

She snapped her gaze back to the shed just in time to see Warren emerging from the doorway, the timing device in one hand and the explosive sticks in the other.

Her mind became a blank haze of relief and gratitude, and the next thing she knew she was sprinting toward him, tears welling in her eyes.

He stopped to arrange the dismantled pieces on the ground, and she reached him just as he straightened, crashing blindly into his chest as she flung her arms around his neck. Through her sobs she was dimly aware of shocked hesitation on his part, before he rested his hands tentatively on her back, but she didn’t care. He was warm and breathing in her grip, and that was all that mattered.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she chided harshly. “Let the equipment blow up.”

If she hadn’t been so overcome with relief, she might have been annoyed by Warren’s laughing response. He extricated himself gently from her grasp and held her at arm’s length.

“It’s my job.” His smile was loose and easy, but there was sweat on his brow.

Cedric jogged up and Warren dropped his hold on Nicola to accept the smaller man’s vigorous handshake.

“Great work, Sergeant.” Cedric grinned. “Amazing stuff.” In the distance Alex and Dan clapped and gave him a thumbs-up.

Warren shrugged, clearly embarrassed by the attention. Nicola felt her breathing return to normal as she tried to swipe covertly at her eyes, now equally embarrassed at her excessive display of emotion.

She looked at the electronic pieces discarded on the ground. “Do you need somewhere to analyze those?”

He shook his head. “No. But I do need a drink.”

“You have no right to tell me how to run this site. You weren’t here. You don’t know what it was like.”

Roger’s face was bright red as he paced back and forth behind his desk. Nicola bit the inside of her lower lip and re-crossed her legs, willing away her irritation and forcing herself to be calm. Roger was already acting like a caged animal. Aggression on her part would only make it worse.

“What are we talking about? When you were building the infrastructure?”

“When there was a coup and the streets were full of corpses,” he hissed, spinning to face her. His eyes were bright with an emotion that bordered on unhinged, and flecks of spit clung to the corners of his mouth.

She heard Warren shift his weight behind her, but she didn’t need to look to know he was still leaning against the closed door, exactly where he’d been since they entered the office ten minutes ago. Roger had been shoving manila envelopes into a plastic bag, which now sat at Warren’s feet. She recalled the stern tone in which Warren had ordered Roger to hand over the bag, and the meek way the site manager complied. She straightened, gaining confidence.

“My understanding was the fighting barely touched Namaza,” she offered gently. “Are the official accounts incorrect?”

“Incorrect?” he repeated bitterly. “They’re complete fiction. Hambani is the country’s most valuable asset—it’s the linchpin of the entire economy. Whoever holds this mine holds Latadi.”

“But all the reports you filed said—”

“We were under attack every hour of every day,” he roared, shaking an accusing finger. “Until neither the Matsulus nor the Kibangus could remember who was supposed to be seizing the place and who was supposed to be defending it. Piled bodies blocked the gate so we couldn’t get in or out. There was so much blood in the soil it seeped into the water supply. We could taste the iron in the coffee. You corporate pansies back at headquarters have no idea what we did here. None. And if you think I’m going to apologize for arming my employees, for stockpiling enough weapons to protect us, for preparing to be overrun, well you’ve—”

“Okay, stop.” She raised a silencing palm. “I’m not interested in the dramatics—I’m interested in the lies. Why didn’t you apprise the regional director of the situation on the ground? Garraway could’ve provided private security, evacuated the staff, suspended production until it was safe to continue.”

Roger’s face contorted, his mouth thinning into a sinister line. “You think I’m going to let these black
moffies
interfere with—”

“Language,” Warren interjected from his place by the door, his voice laced with threat.

“What, didn’t they teach you words like that at your fancy English boarding school? I’ll use simpler ones so you can keep up.”

“Enough,” she commanded. “Your job is on the line, Roger, and disrespecting your security consultant is not the way to win friends.”

If Warren had taken any offense, his calm tone didn’t betray it. “Tell us about the informal settlement. Have you noticed anything odd? Sudden increase in size? Change in the types of people living there?”

“Like what?”

“Numbers of women and children dwindling, being replaced by single men. Any significant variations in population, types of dwellings, rate of illegal activity. Does there seem to be more money floating around the settlement than there used to be?”

Roger waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t pay attention to that slum. It’s been growing ever since the fighting ended, but it’s just illegal miners and their dirt-poor families. Nothing a high wall and a loaded pistol can’t deter.”

Nicola sighed. “All right. Irrespective of the context, you’re in serious breach of Garraway Gold’s safety and security policies, not to mention the potential ramifications if it’s proven you filed false situation reports. Sergeant Copley will secure the weapons per company standard and I’ll call up the chain. In the meantime I suggest you square your story as you intend to present it to the board. Between fraud and unlicensed firearms, you can expect a trip to London.”

Although the color drained from Roger’s cheeks, the ire in his glare was fiercer than ever. Without another word he stormed out of the office, venting his irritation at Warren’s just-in-time move out of his way by slamming the plywood door behind him.

One side of Warren’s mouth lifted. “That went well.”

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer. I’ll call the director for central Africa and fill him in, but unless he’s got someone in his back pocket I think we’ll have to keep Roger in his job until we can find a replacement. This mine is too valuable to leave in the hands of an interim.”

He nodded. “Roger’s the only one who knows the full story behind what’s happened at this site. Like it or not, we need him.”

“So we have a newly built mine, the aftermath of a civil conflict and an explosion intended to gain access to a shed full of weapons.” She rose from her chair and moved to the oversized map of Africa adorning the wall, tilting her head to stare up at centuries of shifting borders, failed governments and a patchwork of languages. “We have to keep digging, but in the meantime maybe I should call corporate and make arrangements to increase the number of security staff.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone local, and personnel from outside Latadi will take a long time to muster.”

“Okay, then I could contact our government liaison. Ask for military involvement.”

Warren’s silence was thoughtful. “I think we should visit the informal settlement tomorrow.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

She regarded him for several indulgent seconds, taking in his soot-blackened hands, the unworried set of his shoulders, the boiler-suit zipper lowered just enough to reveal a scattering of fine, black curls.

She’d met a lot of rich, powerful men in her life. She’d swished through black-tie cocktail parties full of industry heavyweights, agitated for higher safety standards in conference rooms lined with cynical shareholders, even personally lobbied Garraway’s CEO for a higher social responsibility budget. She’d dealt with old-school, pompous executives who spoke in cut-glass accents and wore three-piece suits, and she’d held her own against young, hungry, entrepreneurial up-and-comers who would stab her in the back as readily as they shook her hand. She’d had her ass pinched, been mistaken for the waitress, and once had her own proposal rudimentarily explained to her by a man who insisted it was authored by someone named Nicholas.

None of it fazed her.

So why did Warren make her heart race until she thought she might pass out?

She turned back to the map, studying the smooth lines and crisp right angles that divided Latadi from its central African neighbors. It was such a young country, carved out of the continent by professional geographers with political and economic agendas. Reduced to straight borders and town names and a star representing the capital, Latadi looked tidy. Orderly. Easily managed.

It was proving to be anything but.

Warren was at her side, and she couldn’t stifle her gasp at his sudden appearance, his silent approach.

“You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He followed her gaze, surveying the map with those strange, steel-colored eyes. “Finding any answers?”

“Just more questions.”

“Such as?”

“Why don’t they draw maps that show the truth about a country? Not mountains and rivers, and little plane symbols for airports. They should show broken asphalt, collapsed bridges, bullet-scarred houses you hope to God no one lives in.”