Deep Cover (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 2) Page 6
“Is that any way to treat your poker champion? Besides, I get motion sickness rather easily.”
They drove an hour south until they turned off the main road and bumped along a dirt road that had appeared as if it wasn’t properly maintained. Potholes the size of small children and small bodies of water stretched across the road made for an interesting next five miles.
Once Jacobs parked the vehicle, they piled out. “I hope you gentlemen are ready. This is going to be some of the best duiker hunting you’ve ever experienced in your entire lives.”
They drew lots to see who would shoot first. That honor fell to Visser. Hawk was second.
Two hours into their hunt, they came across a duiker foraging near a stream. Visser took aim and dropped the animal on his first shot from about seventy-five meters.
Thirty minutes later, it was Hawk’s turn. His shot, however, was from a much farther distance. Jacobs estimated it to be no less than 200 meters.
Hawk pulled the trigger, and a bullet ripped down the hillside. The duiker crashed to the ground as if it had been instantly put to sleep. Hawk patted Visser on the back. “That’s how you do it.”
Jacobs hustled toward the animal, followed by Soto and Perryman. Hawk moved to fall in line, but Visser grabbed him by back of shirt and yanked him backward.
“What’s this all about?” Hawk asked.
Visser grabbed Hawk’s arm and twisted it before he jammed a gun beneath Hawk’s chin. “That’s funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing. Now, who are you, Oliver Martin?”
CHAPTER 13
THE HUM OF LARGE EQUIPMENT rumbling across the grounds of Sefadu Holdings’ mine sounded like music to the ears of Musa Demby. Given the opportunity to blossom, Demby’s entrepreneurial skills were finally producing what he always dreamed possible: truckloads of money. The diamond firms in Antwerp were calling him daily, resulting in a steady profit flow. But the amount the Belgian companies paid him for his raw diamonds paled in comparison to what Al Hasib forked over for rocks the terrorist group would eventually place on the black market. Demby believed in diversification, but he favored the highest bidder.
By the time Demby arrived on site, the grounds were like a hive of activity. Large trucks were carting out processed soil. Excavators scraped away at the soil. Workers sifted through the dirt in the open-pit mine. Engineers plotted their next blast in order to convert portions of the mine into the underground variety.
Joined by Ibrahim, Demby followed the circular route to the bottom of one of the open-pit mines. He kicked at the dirt as he listened to a synopsis report from his top aide.
“Did you make contact yet with Al Hasib?” Demby asked.
Ibrahim nodded. “They said they are willing to wait up to a week longer if that’s what it takes to ensure they get the diamonds without incident. The last thing they want is anyone figuring out what they’re doing.”
“And that’s the last thing we want too.” Demby stopped and scanned the grounds. “If we can maintain a portion of our operations as compliant with regulations and continue to exist as a reputable firm, no one will ever take this away from us. No matter what we do, we must be careful.”
“I understand.”
Demby put his hands on his hips and eyed Ibrahim closely. “So, do you think we can use SLAM to transport the diamonds to Al Hasib?”
Ibrahim shrugged. “At this point, I’m not sure. We still have some more work to do.”
“The most important thing is that Alissa doesn’t find out. She could ruin everything if she knew what we were doing.”
“Agreed. I’ll make sure she never suspects anything.”
Demby slapped Ibrahim on the back. “Excellent. I expect nothing less.”
They both continued to amble down the road. After another fifty meters of walking in silence, an explosion shook the earth. Instinctively, both men dove to the ground as they watched a plume of smoke and dust encompass the area.
“I hope that’s part of the block caving process,” Demby said as he glanced at Ibrahim.
Ibrahim shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not.”
After the dust cleared, Demby heard frantic shouting coming from the mine below, followed by screaming. He stood up and brushed himself off before looking at ground zero of the explosion.
“It seems like we have a problem on our hands,” Ibrahim said.
Demby scowled. “A problem?”
“The mine just collapsed.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
Demby broke into a sprint down the road. “Then we don’t have much time to lose. We can’t let all those good diamonds go to waste.”
Ibrahim shouted after his boss, hustling to keep pace. “There are workers trapped inside.”
“Workers can be replaced.”
Ibrahim frowned. “Everyone’s going to know something happened.”
“We’ve been blasting in these mines for how many years now? Nobody will suspect a thing.”
“Maybe not now, but eventually they will when these men don’t return home to their families.”
“You leave that to me. We can’t experience any more delays in getting these diamonds to Al Hasib. You know what they’ll do to us. Their favor toward us will only last so long.”
After they arrived at the entrance to the mine, they surveyed the damage. The opening was covered by rock and other debris. Workers shoveled away the pieces blocking their way. One of the foremen shouted directions while his subordinates carried out the orders.
Demby saw a man’s hand sticking out of the rock. As he got closer, he could hear the man pleading for help.
“I’m right here. Can anyone help me get free?” the worker said.
Demby knelt down. “I can.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“There’s just one thing I need you to do for me first.”
“I swear I can’t do anything right now. I can barely move. I can’t even feel my legs.”
“Just hand me what you collected today.”
The man’s hand disappeared beneath the rubble only to emerge again a few seconds later clutching a pouch of diamonds. Demby tugged it from the man’s hand.
“Very well then,” Demby said. He proceeded to shovel dirt and more debris onto the opening.
The worker panicked. “You said you’d help me. Come on.”
Demby continued to rake more dirt on the opening above the man until his voice was muffled to almost a whisper beneath the weight of the rubble. He then stood up and dusted off his hands.
Searching for a high point in the mine, he found an excavator and climbed on top of the cab. “Gentlemen, it’s time to go home. Go ahead and take the rest of the day off. We’ll double our efforts in different mines tomorrow. There’s nothing more we can do to help.”
A few of the men started shouting back at Demby.
“We can’t just leave them,” one of the men said. “They’re going to die if we don’t help them.”
“They’re going to die even if you do. They’re as good as dead.”
The man scowled. “I can’t stand by and do nothing.” He bent over and started shoveling rocks to the side.
Demby yanked out his pistol and shot the man in the head then hopped down from the cab. “Anyone else care to disagree?”
Nobody said a word. A few shook their head.
“Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.”
Ibrahim rushed up to him. “Do you think these men are seriously going to leave their friends to die in the mine like this?”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And what makes you think they’re going to go along with it?”
“Because everyone likes getting paid—and nobody else wants to die.”
Demby grinned as he watched the workers begin to climb out of the mine and head home for the day.
CHAPTER 14
FOR A MAN WHO PREFERRED to work in the shadows, Blunt spent plenty of time in the
daylight, soaking up the sun whenever he had an opportunity. Surviving D.C. winters was something that made him pine for the Texas sunshine. So when he had any free time during his workday, Blunt walked around the National Mall. He claimed it helped him clear his mind. But the truth is the sunshine served as his antidote to depression.
During these walks, he was often acknowledged by other Capitol Hill employees, some staffers and some politicians. But it was never more than a slight head nod or a touch to the brim of man’s fedora.
Until today.
As Blunt was circling the National Mall for the second time that morning, he almost stumbled to the ground as a man bumped into him from behind.
“Hey, watch what you’re—” Blunt froze for a moment then scanned the area. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a loud whisper.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “I wasn’t followed.”
“I should hope not, but that doesn’t change the fact that this breaks protocol. I’m never to be approached in public or contacted in the open. You ought to know that by now.”
The man nodded knowingly. “I understand, but this just couldn’t wait.”
“What couldn’t wait?”
“What I’m about to tell you and show you.”
Blunt’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your freakin’ mind? You’re jeopardizing everything just by being here.”
“I’m afraid we’re past that point.”
“What do you mean?”
The man handed Blunt a manila folder. “Take a look at these.”
“Where’d you get these?” Blunt demanded.
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that someone is on to you; someone is on to Firestorm. And they’re going to shut down the organization as soon as possible if you don’t do something.”
“Who’s they?”
“There’s another shadow organization, ironically named Searchlight. They’re completely independent of any government entity, fully funded through private means. The rumor is that they’re making a play to move to the top of the food chain.”
“Who’s behind all this?” Blunt asked as he continued to study the report in his hands along with several photos.
“It’s best that I don’t tell you the who. But I can take care of the who for you.”
Blunt shrugged. “Then by all means, don’t waste any time.”
The man looked around nervously as he led Blunt off the main path and to a nearby patch of bushes. Putting his arm around Blunt, the man said, “I’m going to need some more assurances. I’m sure you understand.”
“Such as?”
“Twenty percent more to take care of him.”
“Twenty percent more? Are you nuts?”
“Take it or leave it.”
Blunt sighed and stared at the glimmering water. “Fine. Twenty percent it is.”
“Great. Just wire me the money. Once I see it in my account, I’ll take care of the problem.”
“It’ll be there,” Blunt said. “Now, get outta here.”
The man collected the folder back from Blunt. “I’ll only need forty-eight hours.”
Blunt watched the man scurry away into a shady patch of trees nearby. He hadn’t gone more than fifty meters until he collapsed to the ground.
Blunt rushed over to him. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
No response.
Blunt called 9-1-1 and reported their location to the dispatcher.
“Don’t die on me yet,” Blunt said as he studied the man’s face. “The paramedics are already on their way.”
“Run,” the man said. “Get out of the shadows or you might be next.”
Blunt didn’t know if the man was speaking figuratively or literally, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He grabbed the folder and cell phone from the man and scampered toward the main sidewalk into the open.
Who the hell is behind Searchlight?
CHAPTER 15
HAWK REMAINED CONSTRICTED by Visser’s grip and somewhat concerned about the gun shoved underneath his chin. Struggling to break free, Hawk decided to relax for a moment and opt for a different way out of the situation.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I think I’ve already made it clear what I want,” Visser said. “I want to know who you are.”
“I already told you: I’m Oliver Martin.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that load of rubbish?”
“It’s true. I swear. I’ve got no reason to pretend to be someone else.”
Visser tightened his grip. “That remains to be seen. Now, who are you really?”
“I already told you. I’m an exporter from New Zealand.”
“You sure about that?”
“Look me up. I have a website. Martin Exports.com. My firm deals in all types of antiquities and rare items that must be transported between countries. Air, sea, land—it doesn’t matter. We do it all.”
Visser relaxed and released Hawk. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me—”
Hawk did his best to act scared, putting up his hands in surrender as Visser kept his gun trained on him. “I haven’t. I promise. I might even be able to help you if you have something that needs to be moved. I’m not here to judge, but perhaps you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Just if you need help, I can help you.”
“You have a license that can get dead exotic animals out of one country and into another?”
Hawk winked—and continued trolling the waters to see if Visser was more than he let on. “Dead animals are easier to move than you might think. And sometimes they can help you get other things out of the country.”
“Such as?”
“You name it, though I won’t because I never ask my clients about such matters. Quite frankly, it’s none of my business.”
Visser eyed Hawk closely. “But that shot back there—that wasn’t just some ordinary shot, was it?”
Their guide had realized he’d lost two members of his party and tramped back through the thick brush to find them. “What are you two doing back here?” Jacobs asked. “The others are up ahead—and we’ve spotted a bongo.”
“A bongo?” Visser asked. “Here?”
“They’re not as rare as you might think,” Jacobs said. “Now if you want to see one, grab your guns and get moving.”
After they joined the rest of their party and traipsed along through the jungle for a few moments, Jacobs held up his hand.
“The bongo is just up ahead on the right,” Jacobs said as he peered through his binoculars. “Does everyone see it?”
All the hunters put their binoculars to their eyes and strained to see the large beast in the distance.
“This would complete our day,” Jacobs said. “Anyone want to take the first shot?”
“I will,” Visser volunteered.
“Be my guest,” Jacobs said, gesturing in the direction of the large animals.
Visser knelt down and positioned his gun on a nearby fallen tree. Hawk joined.
“What are you doing?” Visser asked. “I said I’d take the first shot.”
“And I’m here for when you miss,” Hawk quipped, followed by a wink.
Visser steadied his gun on the log and waited for a moment. He exhaled and waited some more before he finally squeezed the trigger. The bullet whizzed through the thick brush, disrupting the otherwise calm jungle.
He missed.
The bongo lifted its head in panic before bounding away.
It didn’t get more than another ten meters before Hawk unleashed a shot that dropped the animal almost immediately.
Jacobs excitedly grabbed Hawk’s tricep and gave it a squeeze. “Did you see that? What did you say you did again?”
Hawk stared out at his kill. “I deal in exports.”
“Well, that’s one helluva shot, Mr. Export Man. I don’t know many people who can do that.”
“Got lucky, I guess.”
Visser ripped his sunglasses off and glared at Hawk. “Lucky, my ass. That’s a sniper-level shot right there.”
Hawk shrugged. “I spend a lot of time practicing at the range.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Jacobs started to chuckle. “Apparently you need to spend more time there.” He motioned for everyone to follow him. “Let’s go look at Mr. Martin’s kill.”
Visser grabbed Hawk by the arm, impeding him from joining Jacobs. “Exports, you say?”
Hawk stopped and nodded. “Do you need something?”
Visser looked Hawk up and down. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER 16
AS DUSK FELL, MUSA DEMBY gathered with some of his men at the mine office. Several foremen who’d escaped the collapse informed Demby they’d received phone calls from anxious girlfriends, wives, and mothers, all wondering where their men were. They were running out of stories to tell.
“I’m sure someone will help us,” one of the foremen said. “This isn’t the first time a mine has collapsed. They even made a movie about the men who rescued the miners in Chile.”
“They’re not going to make a movie about anything that happens in Sierra Leone, much less come help us,” Demby said. “We have to settle this our way.”
Another man with a furrowed brow stepped forward. “So, what is our way? To let them die beneath the rubble? Is that any way for us to act?”
Demby’s narrowed his eyes. “We don’t have the resources or the time to save them. And if we’re all honest with ourselves, we know they’ll all be dead before we can get to them.”
“Maybe not all of them,” said another foreman, Akili. “I was down there a half hour ago. There were some men who were just beneath the surface. It wouldn’t take much to rescue them.”
Demby paced around the room before he stopped dramatically, stomping his foot when he did. He fixed his gaze on Akili. “And who would rescue these men?”
Akili shrugged. “I don’t know. Us? Other workers along with people in the city? Everyone would be willing to help, I’m sure.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Demby said with a sneer. “Any rescue mission is going to cost this mine more than two million dollars due to the lost time. We have a deadline to make, and my clients won’t tolerate any delays.”