TRACK DOWN AFRICA

A Brad Jacobs Thriller

Book 1

Scott Conrad

PUBLISHED BY:

Curt Reves

2nd Edition © November 2015

Copyright © 2013

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. 

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Scott Conrad’s “A Brad Jacobs Thriller” Series takes retired Force Recon Marine Brad Jacobs and his fellow veterans on dangerous and thrilling international search and rescue missions. Their missions are to “Track Down” and retrieve innocent victims by facing off against fierce, powerful enemies and extremely challenging conditions. Enjoy the non-stop action, adventure and mystery with the entire team as they never fail to lose their sense of humor even during the riskiest of operations. Each book is a complete novella length story on its own.

A Brad Jacobs Thriller Series by Scott Conrad:

TRACK DOWN ALASKA – BOOK 2

TRACK DOWN BOOK 3 – Coming Jan 2016

Visit the author at:  ScottConradBooks.blogspot.com

Thriller, adventure, action, mystery, suspense, military novella.

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“A Marine is a Marine.  I set that policy two weeks ago - there's no such thing as a former Marine.   You're a Marine, just in a different uniform and you're in a different phase of your life.  But you'll always be a Marine because you went to Parris Island, San Diego or the hills of Quantico.  There's no such thing as a former Marine.”

General James F. Amos, 35th Commandant of the Marine Corps

PROLOGUE

Central African Republic rests uneasily smack in the center of a lousy neighborhood. The country occupies some two hundred and forty thousand square miles. Bounded by Chad and Sudan to the north, the Democratic Republic of the Congo and the Congo to the south, a long and war torn border with southern Sudan to the east, and Cameroon to the west. More than four and a half million souls live in this landlocked country. Despite its substantial mineral deposits, uranium reserves, gold, diamonds, lumber, oil, hydroelectric power, and large quantities of rich farmland, it’s one of the world’s ten most destitute countries.

The period between 1960, when C.A.R. gained its independence from France, and 2003, when its first democratically elected President, Ange-Félix Patassé was ousted by General François Bozizé, had been scarred by civil unrest under a series of extremely autocratic rulers.

A year after Bozizé seized power, the Central African Republic Bush War started, pitting the government, the Christian majority, and the fifteen percent of the population that is Muslim (the Séléka) against each other. Despite peace treaties in 2007 and 2011, fighting again broke out between the warring factions in 2012. The result has been massive population dislocation due to religious and ethnic cleansing. A Christian majority has banded together with ex-soldiers, Christians and animists (people who believe that magic will protect them from bullets) to form militias known as anti-balaka, which in the local Sango language means “anti-machete”.

The political situation in C.A.R. remains both perilous and tenuous, and can be described at best, as very fluid. Conflicting reports come from the area daily, hinting at the possibility of an imminent solution to the troubles afflicting the beleaguered people of C.A.R. Experts remain skeptical.

MISSING  –  Day One

It was 2240 hours when Brad Jacobs stepped off the aircraft at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, passed through the jetway and then checked his voicemail.  The retired Marine drew admiring glances from several female passersby, who noted his strong physical resemblance to movie actor Brad Pitt. The resemblance had been both a blessing and curse over the years.

At the ripe old age of thirty-seven, Jacobs was as American as apple pie.  Six feet two inches tall, with a muscular build and a blonde military style buzz cut, he had a lantern jaw and a look of self-confidence in his green eyes.  His unconscious military bearing showed a core of inner strength in the man, a core built from courage, from facing the toughest obstacles life could put in his way. 

He just returned from Las Vegas where he tracked down and retrieved a bail jumper.  There was only one message in his voice mail, an urgent one from Jack Paul, Brad’s uncle.  The man sounded frantic, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about trouble with his daughter Jessica, Brad’s cousin.

His brow wrinkled with concern.  Brad considered Jessica to be his closest family member.  They grew up together, and she was more like a little sister than a cousin.  She was the only family member who stayed in close contact with him during his fifteen years in the military. Sending him cards on his birthdays and sending him letters liberally doused in outrageous perfumes with bright red lipstick kisses on the envelopes. She overheard him teasing a buddy once, about getting letters like that at mail call. She found it hilarious to imagine Brad’s embarrassment when he received one of his own. He had taken a great deal of good-natured ribbing from his buddies over the years. Jessica also sent him ‘care packages’ with cookies and cakes to share with his friends when he had been deployed overseas. They were poignant reminders of home and normality, and they helped Brad and his buddies through the hard and lonely times. They had grown even closer during the four years since his discharge.  If she was really in some sort of trouble there was no question that he would drop everything to help her.

Brad Jacobs had grown up as a loner, an only child.  It seemed as if his father was continually being transferred to different bases.  There never seemed to be enough time to build many long term friendships.  When his dad had been posted to what was to be his final deployment in Iraq, Brad and his mom went to live with wealthy Uncle Jack, his mom’s brother. 

After Lou Jacobs died, they continued living with Jack Paul until Brad enlisted in the Marine Corps.  It was during the four years of living with his uncle that Brad had grown to love Jessica as if she were his sister, the little sister he’d never had.  Nothing was more important to him than protecting her.

Brad enlisted in the Corps at eighteen, immediately after his graduation from high school.  The career choice seemed to be a natural fit for the young man. His father, Lou Jacobs, had been a career Marine who’d died at the end of the First Gulf War during Operation Desert Storm while serving under Lt. General Walter E. Boomer, the Marine Force Commander for General Norman Schwarzkopf.  Brad was proud of his dad, and a proud, firm believer in what the Marines stood for. It was his pride, integrity, and desire to excel that led him to volunteer for Force Recon, the elite troops within the already elite Marine Corps, where he’d spent the last ten years of his career. Three times he deployed to Iraq, fighting in the Second Battle at Fallujah and actively taking part in the search for Saddam Hussein.

Since his separation from the Corps, he’d worked as a Private Military Contractor, which he’d hated, and then he’d changed his focus. He’d become a specialist in tracking down and locating missing persons who disappeared while in dangerous countries that traditional law enforcement tended to avoid.  He always enlisted help on these missions from a select pool of men he trusted and previously served with. His reputation had grown over time. He’d eventually started working as a hostage retrieval expert for international corporations to retrieve high level executives who have been abducted in foreign countries. In between jobs, he used his skills as a bounty hunter to keep busy.

*           *           *

He called his uncle immediately as he exited the airport. Jack picked up on the first ring.  “What’s going with Jessica?” Brad asked. 

"She’s three days late checking in with me."

Jessica was a treasure hunter, always looking to find a fortune.  At twenty-six she didn’t really need the money. Her father Jack was wealthy and had long before established a trust fund that left her quite comfortable after she came of age. Though the fund had restrictions and conditions that limited how she could spend it. Jack was a devious man, a control freak who couldn’t bear the idea of Jessica’s natural independent nature. Desperate to make her own fortune and get out from under Jack’s thumb… she wasn’t yet willing to relinquish the semi-lavish lifestyle provided by Jack and the trust fund. There was one rule she never broke because compliance assured her father’s continued support in efforts to make her own way... the weekly check in call.

“Where is she this time?” Brad asked. 

“The Central African Republic (C.A.R.).”  

“Jesus, what the hell is she doing there?” Brad paused at the curb as he looked for a taxi in the freezing rain. Usually there was a line of the damned things waiting for recent arrivals, but the weather seemed to have generated a greater demand for them on this wintry night.

“Looking for a lost diamond mine,” Jack continued. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, doesn’t she know that the Séléka Rebels control most of that country?” 

“You know Jessica, not afraid of a damned thing.” 

More like crazy, Brad thought to himself. You do everything you can to run her life Uncle Jack, why in the HELL did you let her go to C.A.R. of all places? He knew there was no time for recriminations, so he cleared his mind and concentrated on what it would take to bring Jessica back.

Brad’s fifteen years as a Force Recon Marine and vocation over the following four years gave him the skills needed to find people, and to deal with trouble. Skills he would need to find Jessica.  He also knew from personal experience that the C.A.R. was one of the most dangerous places on the planet, and operations there are a logistical nightmare.  Getting Jessica out was going to be a serious challenge, even for him.

“So,” Brad asked “where exactly was she in the C.A.R. the last time you spoke with her?” 

“When she checked in last week,” Jack replied, “she was in the southern prefecture of Kemo east of Bangui following research on Henry Morton Stanley and his last African expedition in 1887.  Somewhere she read a legend telling of Stanley’s party stumbling onto an immense diamond mine hidden in the jungle near the Ubangi River.  She was trying to follow a map she discovered concealed in the binding of an old diary that belonged to Stanley. She told me that the diary appeared to be in his handwriting. I tried to ask her if she’d had it authenticated, but she wouldn’t discuss it with me.”

Jack’s voice sounded strained as he continued.  “She sensed they were getting close to the location indicated on the map, but she felt like someone was tracking them.  Small rebel patrols harassed them a couple of times, but she wasn’t convinced they were the ones tracking her party.  She said they traveled so deeply into the jungle she thought they probably lost whoever was behind them.”

Shit! That frigging jungle is as bad as the Congo. I’ve known experienced trackers to get hopelessly lost in that hellhole! “OK I’ll take care of it,” Brad replied.  “Let me know if you come up with any more information Uncle Jack.  It’s gonna be a long night.” 

Brad disconnected the call as he finally flagged down a taxi, his mind reeling.  He’d been waiting around for the cab for an hour and was already exhausted when he’d landed at the airport, but knew there’d be no rest for him this night. The last thing he could afford to think about was sleep.

BAD THOUGHTS, BAD DREAMS

The news about Jessica’s disappearance was devastating.  He realized time would be critical in this situation.  Getting to the Central African Republic (C.A.R.) as quickly as possible was of paramount importance. He knew the C.A.R. far better than he wanted to, and knew he could find Jessica. The real question was whether he would be able to find her before that fucking hell on earth killed her. 

She could not have found a worse place to get into trouble.  There are a million ways to disappear in the middle of Africa, some voluntary, most of a far more sinister nature. There was no way to know if she had been injured, murdered, lost in the jungle, kidnapped for ransom, or even captured by some religious fanatic or group because they didn’t like the way she dressed. The rape of a helpless woman was commonplace, and it was not uncommon to find the bones of missing people scattered around the jungle floor bearing the distinct marks of human teeth. Brad thought that being eaten was a thoroughly disgusting way to die, and didn’t even want to think about that possibility. It was hard to get the mental image of Jessica being chopped up and cooked over an open fire out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. He felt sick to his stomach.

No question he needed backup if he planned on going into the dark heart of Africa. The Séléka was a collection of downright crazy bastards who would be eager to kill him on sight for literally no reason at all, and the anti-balaka resented and resisted any outside interference. Brad was a firm believer in peace through superior firepower and he needed a small but decidedly bad-ass team to ensure that both he and Jessica got out of Africa alive.

As he climbed out of the taxi at his apartment near The Dallas International Airport, he pressed the speed dial number on his smart phone that connected him with his closest friend and associate, Mason Ving. Ving, a retired forty-seven year old Force Recon Gunnery Sergeant, was a massive black man, six feet tall and two hundred and sixty pounds of muscle, tendons, and bones. 

Ving acquired a small beer gut since his retirement from the Corps, but it hadn’t slowed him down much.  He had skin so black it had blue highlights in the light of day, and a bald head that glistened. His smiling brown eyes could turn deadly and reptilian when he got riled, and Brad learned over the years that when Ving’s eyes frosted over it was best to be somewhere else.

That’s not to say that Ving couldn’t be friendly. He had a deep warm voice that wasn’t at all what one would expect to hear coming from the mouth of a Force Recon Gunnery Sergeant, he sounded like the actor James Earl Jones. When he did get upset, that same voice could sound as if it was issuing from the lungs of Lucifer himself, but that was a rare occurrence. His sheer size and commanding presence were intimidating enough to be more than adequate for most circumstances, even in the most extreme of combat situations.

Brad and Ving served together on many missions including Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan and the Iraq War.  They fought together at the Second Battle of Fallujah, known as Operation Phantom Fury, which was the bloodiest confrontation of the entire Iraq War and the most intense urban warfare involving the Marines since the 1968 Battle of Hue City in Vietnam. Ving had been awarded the Navy Cross for his act of heroism in this battle. Brad was just happy to come out of it with his ass in one piece.

After retiring from the Corps, the two men became closer than ever.  Brad relied on Ving’s support on several very heavy assignments in recent years, and knew the man would respond to his request in this case… Ving had eaten the lion’s share of the cookies and cakes Jessica had sent and he understood the depth of Brad’s relationship with his cousin. Brad smiled to himself, remembering Ving’s assistance in getting Jessica out of trouble on a couple of her previous escapades. 

MOVING FORWARD

Ving barely had a chance to get the phone to his ear before he heard Brad’s voice, cold and hard. “Ving I need your help.” 

"Dude, it's zero dark thirty and you’re callin’ askin’ for help? What's up man?"

“It's Jessica Ving, she's three days late checking in with Uncle Jack.”

"I’m guessin’, ‘cause you ain’t laughin’ that she ain’t laid up on some beach in the Caribbean with some male model…" Ving grumbled. He knew that Jessica was a little prone to getting into a jam now and then, but it was easy to forgive her because she was pretty and she made some damned fine chocolate chip cookies… his favorite kind. Ving sat upright in his bed, fully awake and alert, but speaking quietly so as not to disturb his wife, who was fast asleep on the bed beside him. "Where was she when she last made contact Brad?"  

“The C.A.R.,” Brad replies. 

"Oh shit!  Couldn't she find a more dangerous place to play?" Ving grunted.  "What's the plan?"

“That's why I am calling you Ving. I need you to put together a search plan, work out logistics, and get us, along with a small team on the ground in Bangui by tomorrow night.”

“No fuckin’ way Brad,” Ving barked.  “You know that the C.A.R. is one of the most difficult places to get into.  Even with our contacts it could take at least three or four days just to get the visas.  And you can forget about trying to get permits to bring in weapons.  There ain’t no way.  And you’d have to be fuckin’ nuts to go into that country without weapons. Come to think of it, I must be crazy too for even seriously considerin’ goin’ with you! Listen, why don't you start by contacting local authorities over there and having them search for her?  It's seven hours later there; you can probably get someone on the phone right now.”

“What authorities?” Brad fumed.  “You know as well as I do that the local government there is dysfunctional.  Even the American Embassy in Bangui has temporarily suspended operations in response to the security situation there.  The Séléka rebels are running roughshod over that country now and the anti-balaka are running around blowing up anything the rebels aren’t. The government is bunkered up and praying to last just one more day. I can't contact them, hell they might even be the ones that have her.”

Ving felt the grave concern in Brad’s voice deep in the pit of his guts, but he wasn’t going to sugar coat anything for his friend. It wouldn’t accomplish a damned thing and Brad would recognize it for the bullshit it was. “Sorry Brad but hitting the ground tomorrow is not an option.  An operation like this takes more time to set up.  I can get moving on it, and you know I’ll give it my best, but I’m gonna need more than just a few hours brother.”

The silence at the other end of the call made Ving hesitate for a moment before dropping the happy bomb on his best buddy. “You know there is one more option, but I’m reluctant to mention it, seein’ as how you’re always so all fired insistent on following the rules and such as that.  We could go in black.  I’m pretty sure I could get us on the ground tomorrow with a shitload of ordnance if you don’t mind bendin’ a few major international laws and pissin’ off everybody from the Cong to the White House... you do realize how much risk that’s gonna add. And it's gonna cost a shitpot full of money.”

“Just do it Mason,” Brad said hotly.  “I didn't want to make this a clandestine operation but I have no intention of sitting here with my thumb up my ass when I know Jessica is in deep shit. I have a really bad feeling about this my brother and you and I both know that time is critical. I don’t give a fuck about the expense, Jack is loaded… and I’m good for it even if Jack doesn’t pay.”

“Yeah I know man. Look, how many men do you think we’re gonna need? You haven’t given me much to go on.”

“Just four of us,” Brad said immediately, “you, me, Pete and Jared.” 

Pete and Jared were also former Recon Marines, men who served with Brad and Ving both, separately and together.  Jared was a highly decorated sniper, probably the most skilled man with a Barrett .50 that Ving had ever seen… and he’d seen the best the Corps and the Army had to offer. Pete was a pilot who could fly just about anything, a freak with some C-4 and detonators, as well as a pretty damned good shooter. 

Ving expected Brad would want them along on this mission, but he was a little concerned that his buddy planned to waltz into the hellish nightmare of the C.A.R. with such a small team. It meant that the price of the small arms and explosives just went through the roof. He did recollect however, where he could get his hands on a couple of very expensive prototype M4A1s that had been supplied with a bull barrel and a suppressor. “OK brother, I’m on it.  I’ll get back to you by 0600.”

“Roger that,” Brad said before he realized that Ving had already hung up. He shivered from the cold as he tucked the cell phone into his coat pocket, and as he bent to lift his duffel bag from the ground where the cab driver had dropped it, he noticed a dark car across the street. What made it so noticeable was a plume of exhaust smoke rising from the tailpipes. There appeared to be someone sitting inside it, but Brad couldn’t get a clear look. He turned, lifting the duffel bag, and walked in the front door of his apartment building.

Once inside where it was warmer, he glanced down at his wristwatch and noted that it was already 0200 hours. He fumbled in his pocket for the key to his apartment, then inserted it into the door. Tossing the duffel bag to the floor in the kitchen to his left, Brad crossed the living room and picked up a pair of light sensitive Zeiss binoculars and hurried to his window. Parting the drapes, he looked out and spotted the dark car, still parked across the street with its motor running.

Brad had no idea who would be watching his apartment building, or why, but it made him uncomfortable as hell. He reached for a pad and pencil and scribbled down the license number. It was possible that the guy was just some poor dumb private eye keeping an eye on an errant wife or husband, but it wasn’t in Brad’s nature to be less than thorough. He tried to get a better look at the car’s occupant, but the binoculars were only so good. He couldn’t tell who or how many people were inside. He sighed, impatient to get on with his plans. He didn’t have time to be fucking around with some unfortunate private dick. He had more important things on his mind. 

There was still one more call to make.  He desperately needed more information, preferably up-to-date, on Jessica and what she was doing in deepest, darkest Africa. There was one other person who might have that information, and if he was planning to head into central Africa to find her, Brad was going to have to wake her up despite the miserable hour. It would more than likely upset her, but it couldn’t be helped.  If anyone has heard from Jessica it would be Sarah Parker, a diminutive brunette who was Jessica’s best friend. The two were thick as thieves. They usually spoke daily no matter where the hell Jessica had gotten off to, and Jessica kept no secrets from her.

Brad fumbled through his personal telephone book until he found Sarah’s number. The clock on his wall said it was nearly 0230, but he dialed the number anyway. The phone rang five times and went straight to voicemail.  Frustrated, Brad left an urgent message for Sarah to call him regarding Jessica.

He took another look out the window.  The drizzling rain had stopped, but the car was gone.  His head aching and his eyes raw and gritty from lack of sleep… he’d been up for more than three days chasing that sorry bastard in Vegas. Brad decided to unpack his duffel bag and start packing for the mission. He sat down in his recliner to make up a list of things he’d need.

The last time he’d been in central Africa he’d been dropped off in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where a terrorist group with the unlikely name of “The Lord’s Resistance Army”, led by a maniac named Joseph Krony, had been joyfully creating havoc, murdering, raping, pillaging, and abducting children. When his commander had briefed Brad’s platoon for the “Sting Ray”, or direct action, mission, he had warned them that elements of the LRA employed some rather grim methods in their efforts to drive people from their villages. “Don’t worry about waxing these geeks if they get in your way. They’re not human. They’ve been known to force the inhabitants of a village to watch them as they make a picnic of one of the smaller children. It takes a special kind of savage to eat a living child in front of its own mother.” Their mission had been to recover a codes specialist from the embassy in Kinshasa that had fallen prey to one of the bolder militia groups and dragged through the jungles to a place near Buta in Orientale Province. Brad thought the Lieutenant had been exaggerating. He had not. Of all the horrible sights his eyes beheld, the actions of the LRA in the heart of the Democratic Republic of the Congo were the things that gave him nightmares. Every species of poisonous reptile, every poisonous insect, every deadly plant, every imaginable disease known to man, not only existed in the D.R.C., it thrived. To Brad, if there had ever been a place on earth that would have profited from being turned into a nuclear wasteland, it was the D.R.C.

The memories swept through his tired and tortured mind like wildfire, and after a few moments of fighting to clear the memories, Brad succumbed to his exhaustion. His eyes fluttered, and then closed. He slept… and he dreamed.

THE MISSION – Day Two

Mason Ving sipped from the mug of steaming black coffee and glanced at the clock on his kitchen wall. It was 0500 and he’d been working steady since Brad called. He was reminded of when he was just a kid and had to get up in the middle of the night to run his newspaper route. 

Ving had grown up in a shotgun house in the Central City district of New Orleans, and his mom died when he was barely twelve years old.  The oldest of three brothers, he had taken the paper route to help his dad put food on the table. The Marine Corps seemed to be his salvation, so he left home at eighteen to escape the hard life of poverty and to help support his family. Those days were long behind him now. If someone told him then that someday he might own his own home in a nice neighborhood in Fort Worth, Texas, be married to the woman of his dreams and have two great kids he would have laughed in their face.

Both Pete Sabrowski and Jared Smoot were on board. The moment Ving told them that Brad’s cousin Jessica was in trouble they jumped at the opportunity to help. Even when Ving mentioned that they would be heading for the C.A.R., neither flinched, although all three of them had been on the “Sting Ray” mission to the D.R.C. with Brad.

Working out the rest of the mission was proving more difficult.  He had run into a couple of dead ends attempting to secure immediate transportation into the area. At the moment, he was trying to reach Hank Guzman.  Hank was an old military intelligence and logistics buddy that Ving had known for over twenty years.  He had worked for the CIA and two other government agencies he was not allowed to talk about.  Hank kept busy doing freelance work these days, but had all the right contacts in all the right places.  The man was the best Black Ops specialist Ving had ever known.

Ving was relieved when Hank finally answered the phone.  It had been quite a while since they’d last spoken, and Ving had been hoping against hope that the phone number he had for Hank was still good.  After apologizing for waking the man up so early in the morning, Ving explained exactly what they needed including transportation, weapons, and support, and why they needed it.

“I’ve got some bad news for you my friend,” Hank said.  “There is no covert activity or any other activity of any kind in the C.A.R. right now. The place is off-limits. The C.I.A. has even pulled its spooks out, and all we have is aerial photographs and satellite feeds to tell us what’s happening there. Hell, the C.I.A. has doubled the size of its C.A.R. desk, but that’s because they pulled all the spooks out of the country and put them to observing from the desk. It’s official my friend, the State Department has certified the entire damned country as a lunatic zone. I hear they’re keeping a super close eye on events in Bangui. Hell, the whole world is watching all of Central Africa right now. The instability in the region has a lot of countries very, very nervous.”

“The best I can do,” he continued, “is get you into the Democratic Republic of Congo (D.R.C.). From there you’d be on your own.”

“How close to the border and how soon?” Ving asked. 

“If you’re serious about committing suicide brother, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll call you back,” Hank replied.

Ving’s house was a lot noisier in the early morning than Brad’s.  His family loved to get up early.  It was close to 0600 hours and he knew his boys would be getting up soon.  He wanted to get the mission plan nailed down before breakfast.  Right on schedule the phone rang, it was Hank.

“OK,” Hank said, “you’re good to go.  It’s going to cost you though. Make sure to wire the funds to my offshore account before you leave.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ving responded, “we got you covered.  Give me the account and bank routing numbers.” Hank read the numbers out slowly and clearly.

“You ready to copy?” Hank asked when he was through.

“Roger that.”

“I managed to get you a “space available” hop on a transport, a C-17, departing Naval Air Station Fort Worth Joint Reserve (NAS JRB) at Carswell at 1600 hours today” Hank said.  “They are taking supplies to a Navy Seal unit in Sudan. There are no other scheduled hitchhikers, so you don’t need to worry about getting bumped, there’s plenty of room. They agreed to make an unscheduled stop en route at a large airstrip in Gemena, D.R.C.  From there you’ll need to arrange local transport into the C.A.R., I don’t have any ground resources in Gemena.   You are cleared for four men, and I’ll have the weapons and other ordnance you requested already loaded on the plane.” He stopped as if to take a breath.

“Did you have any trouble getting those prototype M4A1s I asked about.”

“Hell no, but those fuckers are pricy my friend. He was kinda glad to get rid of them.”

“We’re gonna be glad to have them.”

“I sure hope so Ving. Say, you guys are taking enough stuff to start a small war. Are you sure this mission is worth the trouble?”

“It is to Brad, and that makes it important to me Hank.”

“Well, good luck to you, and good hunting brother. Stay chilly!”

“Thanks Hank,” Ving replied. “I owe you.” 

“Just send me the money,” Hank chuckled.

SARA’S SECRET

At precisely 0600 the phone rang jolting Brad from a deep sleep.

Brad shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes as he listened to Ving’s deep voice telling him that the arrangements had all been made for their departure.

“You sound kind of groggy buddy,” Ving said.

“I am. I was sitting here making a list of what I needed to pack and I fell asleep.”

“From what you said about that Vegas job, I’m thinking you needed the rest brother.”

“Didn’t do me much good Ving. I had nightmares about the last time we were in the D.R.C.”

“That’s some bad stuff brother man. I got over it, but sometimes Willona wakes me up in the night, says I’m yellin’ and cryin’. I’ve never really talked to her about it, but she’s a good woman Brad. She’s got my back.”

“The best kind,” Brad said. Willona was five years Mason’s junior, and she had lived in the same neighborhood in Central City that Mason grew up in. She was small and pretty, but feisty as hell and one hundred percent loyal to her massive husband and their two boys.

“She’s cooking my bacon right now,” Ving said. “That woman knows I love me some bacon!”

“Everybody knows you love bacon Ving!” Brad laughed. Ving’s hunger for bacon had been legendary in the Corps. It was a rare mess sergeant who wasn’t aware of Master Sergeant Mason Ving’s sincere desire to have the cured strips of pork loin for his morning repast, and the way he tended to manifest his extreme displeasure when none was made available to him.

They wasted no more time gabbing, and as soon as Brad hung up the phone, he picked it up again and dialed his Uncle Jack’s number. He really didn’t like his Uncle Jack very well, which made him a little ashamed of himself. Jack Paul might well be involved in some slightly shady business dealings (Brad had never seen any proof), but he treated his sister and Brad very kindly after Brad’s father died in Iraq.

“Are you awake?” he asked.

“I am now.” Jack sounded as if Brad had awakened him from a sound sleep, which would have pissed him off if he hadn’t fallen asleep himself. It was hard to fault a guy for doing what he himself had done.

“OK Uncle Jack,” Brad said, “I need a hundred and forty grand wired into my account no later than 1500 today.  We’ll be wheels up at 1600 hours.”

“That much,” Jack exclaimed.  “That’s a lot more than I expected.  And that’s not much time.  My banks aren’t even open yet.  I may need a couple of days to get that much cash together.”

Brad was surprised and more than a little angry at Jack’s ridiculous response. Jack Paul started out in business with a small salvage yard that he turned into the largest supplier of used auto parts in the state of Texas. The operation had grown so vast over the years that there were branches spread from Arizona to Mississippi… and they all did a huge cash business. Brad worked in one of the larger yards outside Fort Worth to make spending money as a kid, and he had never known that one yard to have less than a hundred thousand dollars in cash in the safe on premises. Jack even lectured him about it when he’d seen the open door of the big double door safe with the words “Trumbull Safe & Vault Co., Chicago U.S.” printed on the front in faded gold leaf. Jack also kept large bank accounts at various banks all over the world, particularly banks that weren’t subject to U.S. banking laws.  He used them to handle his international business transactions, and, Brad suspected strongly, as a place to hide unrecorded cash from the I.R.S. A guy like Jack could access a hundred and forty thousand dollars in a matter of minutes.

Brad raised his voice only slightly, the anger bleeding through his tone despite his determination to keep his temper in check for Jessica’s sake. “Just get it to me as soon as you can Jack.” Brad hung up the phone without saying goodbye, thankful that he hadn’t lost his temper. There was no way he was going to let anyone or anything get away with derailing this mission. Not with Jessica’s life hanging in the balance.

Brad forced himself to take several deep breaths and calm down. He needed to stop being melodramatic and assuming the worst. There was no proof that anything terrible had happened to Jessica. There’s no proof that she hasn’t been eaten alive by the LRA either, a vicious voice inside his head argued.

Brad knew the C.A.R. from first-hand experience, and he knew it well. His last four years as a Hostage Retrieval Specialist had been rewarding beyond his wildest imaginings, and he had enough laid by to cover the hundred and forty thousand if he accessed his line-of-credit account. He didn’t hesitate for even a second. He called Ving back and arranged for the funds transfer from his own account. There would be time to settle up with Jack Paul when Jessica was safe.

The phone rang just as he was breaking the connection with Ving.

It was Sarah Parker. “I got your message Brad”.

“Sarah, god, I’m so glad you called! Listen, when was the last time you spoke to Jessica?”

“About six days ago, why?”

“I’ll explain in a minute Sarah, now what exactly did she tell you?”

“Just that she was trying to find a lost cave that contained a legendary diamond mine,” Sarah said. “She acquired some kind of map she found in a musty old diary that had been passed down to one of Henry Morton Stanley’s descendants. She told me she’d had the writing on the map authenticated by an expert over at SMU (Southern Methodist University.) It was Stanley’s writing… Brad, what’s this all about, you’re scaring me!”

“Be patient with me Sarah, what else did she say?”

“She said she’d experienced minor trouble with the local rebels, but not to worry because she could handle it.”

Brad sensed that Sarah was holding something back, she was keeping something from him. The seconds were ticking down on the clock and he knew he had to get all the information he could before he got on that C-17.

“Sarah, this is no time for secrets,” he said roughly.  “Jessica missed her weekly check in call to Uncle Jack and you’re apparently the last one to speak with her. No one seems to be able to reach her.  She’s been off the grid for at least six days and I’m not sure why.  She could be lost or hurt, she may have been kidnapped for ransom, or someone may be holding her because they think she actually discovered the location of this cockamamie diamond mine, and they want to learn what she knows.  I’m going after her and if you know something you’re not telling me I need you to spill it right now!”

“Oh my God!” Sarah gasped. “She had another reason for being there, one she didn’t want me to tell anyone about, especially you.  She believes her father may have direct ties to the blood diamond trade in Africa.”

“What the hell are you talking about Sarah?  She thinks Jack is in business with the Séléka rebels?”  Brad felt a leaden ball growing in the pit of his stomach. He was well aware of Jack Paul’s expanding international business dealing over the past few years, and he knew from experience that the man was capable of less than ethical business practices… but blood diamonds? His own blood ran cold at the thought. It was a despicable trade, plied by evil men even more ruthless than the drug barons of Central and South America. The blood diamond traders marched hand in hand with human traffickers and drug lords, scum of the earth. He didn’t want to believe his Uncle Jack could be involved in something like that.

Sarah’s voice quivered as she continued. “When Jess was doing her research on this project, she was poking around in her dad’s study and found correspondence from an address in the C.A.R.  It wasn’t too specific, and most of the information was numbers, but she did see several letters from a man named Ostrigamo.  She recognized his name from her earlier research on the C.A.R. as one of the leaders of the Séléka alliance.  She had proof that there were definitely some financial transactions between Ostrigamo and her father, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me the nature of them… Brad, what are you going to do? Now I’m really worried about her!”

“Sarah this changes everything.  If what you’re telling me is the truth, there’s more to Jessica's disappearance than I can understand right now. Hell, Ostrigamo may be using her as leverage over Uncle Jack.”

“Yeah, that thought crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to believe it,” Sarah replied.  “But I’m thinking that maybe she found the diamond mine Brad, and if she did, Ostrigamo knows she found it.  There could be more diamonds in that mine than they’ve been able to pull out of the local rivers in the last ten years.  She wouldn’t tell me everything, but I could tell from the excitement in her voice she thought she had uncovered something, something really big.”

WHEELS UP

It was 1300 hours by Brad’s wrist chronometer by the time he left for the Air Station, and his head was still spinning like a top.  His first thought had been that he should delay the mission so he could get a better picture of what was going on.  If Sarah had the right of it, Jack's procrastinating about financing the mission made a little more sense, but it put the man in a really bad light.  What the hell was Jessica up to over there?  Was she looking for treasure, or trying to find out if her father was tied up in some international criminal activity with the Séléka rebels?

His combat instincts, honed over a lifetime, automatically assumed control of his brain. Things became clearer, his mind became more focused. He was in battle mode.

It didn’t matter what the reasons were. Jessica was in over her head, and there was a ninety percent chance she was in mortal danger… and those weren’t odds Brad was comfortable with. After thinking it over he felt glad he had decided early on to follow his instincts and push this search and rescue mission forward as quickly as possible. It was simply sound tactical decision making at work.

What he needed most was information, and for that he would need boots on the ground in the C.A.R. The only way to get and verify practical intelligence was to go get it himself. Their mission was a go.

*       *       *

The massive Boeing C-17 Globemaster III aircraft already sat on the runway like some rough beast when Brad arrived at the Naval Air Station in Carswell.  Ving, Jared, and Pete were already aboard by the time the Base Operations guy led Brad out on the tarmac. The freezing rain had stopped, but a cold wind swept across the runway, and the hot jet blast was a welcome relief when Brad got close enough to feel it. The familiar smell of JP-4 hit his nostrils and he felt energized. Despite his hatred of the D.R.C. and the jeopardy his cousin was in, the promise of imminent combat made his blood sing. For a true warrior, it was a feeling akin to sex.

Ving had prepared an operations order, and he was eager to start the briefing. Only the inboard and outboard troop seats were installed. Brad had to walk around the pallets strapped to the deck of the huge aircraft, as well as a couple of HumVees.

The crew chief, chattering into his headset, closed the personnel door and the noise from the four F117 Pratt & Whitney jet engines diminished slightly. Brad settled into the seat next to Ving, and Pete and Jared leaned forward in their own seats to maintain eye contact. Ving handed Brad a headset like the ones he and the other two were already wearing, and when he put them on, the engine noises muted to a dull whisper. Ving’s voice, however, was clear and deep. 

“Okay guys, our objective is obvious. We’re here to locate and recover Jessica Paul as safely and with as little fuss as possible, while engaging hostiles the least we can manage. 

“Our first big challenge will likely be at the airport.  The D.R.C. is basically a war zone… the Tutsi and the Hutu have been fighting each other for decades, and they’re the two biggest ethnic factions in this part of Africa. 

“The best intel available is that one of the C.A.R. government’s top Army Colonels, a guy named Leupold Gicanda, has recently deserted with several hundred of his troops and joined the ranks of the M23 rebel group. M23 is Tutsi, and they now control the airport at Gemena.  Unconfirmed reports from civilian informants indicate that Gicanda has left only a skeleton force at Gemena and have deployed to the town of Bumba, some eight hundred miles to the north.  We still need to hit the ground at the Gemena Airport locked and loaded and ready for a battle, because we have no firm idea of their strength or their will to fight. The C-17 won’t even come to a full halt, they’re going to land with the tailgate down. It’s up to us to unass the aircraft before the crew chief tells the pilots to throttle up and take off, which will be the second our boots hit that tarmac.

“Gemena has a decent sized airport, and according to my sources there should be several helicopters on site. The only satellite photos I could obtain showed a half dozen Vietnam Era Hueys tied down outside the main hangar and a Bell Jet Ranger, so we should be able to get hold of one of them if we don’t see any other options. We’re either going to co-opt a friendly chopper pilot or Pete here is going to hijack us the best of the birds he can hot wire.

“We will fly to Bangui, nap of the earth the last twenty miles or so. We’ll land at an LZ I’ve selected on the outskirts of Bangui about a half a mile from Bangui M'Poko International Airport, near, oddly enough, one of Jack Paul’s salvage yards. Satellite reconnaissance shows an abundance of vehicles at the yard, but the truth is, we have no idea how many of them are operable. Sorry I couldn’t do any better, but this was done on the fly and I gave it my best shot. We should be able to secure ground transport there, but we’ll need a bit of luck to pull this off.

“Once we reach the staging area, we will use ground transport to enter Bangui, get additional intel and an update on what we already know.

“The information I received from my source is that we need to meet up with another confidential informant in Bangui. The Defense Department currently uses this guy for reliable updates on the status of the local political situation.  His name is Carson and he can usually be found at a well-known bar called Madame Mabokis.  He’s an information broker, collects information and sells to both sides. If anyone knows anything regarding Jessica’s whereabouts, Carson would have heard about it.”

“Jesus Ving, that sounds pretty thin,” Jared remarked. “Why the hell would anybody spread gossip concerning a lone woman?”

“A lone white woman, Jared, will be a hot conversation anywhere in central Africa. There’s no doubt in my mind that many people in Bangui have heard about her, maybe they’ve even heard where she’s at. Our problem is, they’re not going to talk to us. The only thing these people hate more than they hate each other is the white man.”

“Surely they’d talk to you…” Pete said.

“Because I’m black? Dude, listen to yourself. I don’t speak a word of Sango or Kinyarwanda. In their book, I’m as white as you are.”

Brad was laughing. He’d been listening, and he could have explained it to Pete, but it was funny to watch Pete’s face as Ving set him straight. The Tutsi and the Hutu possessed a virulent hatred of each other, a hatred that had led to genocidal attacks on both sides… all because the Tutsi raised cattle for a living and the Hutu raised crops. It was a class war, pure and simple, but it was ferocious. And Ving was right, the only thing that incensed the Tutsi and the Hutu more than the sight of each other was the sight of a white man.

Ving finished the operations order, just as he would have on a true military operation. There followed a question and answer period that continued until Ving was satisfied that each man knew where he was supposed to be at all times, what his responsibilities were, what weapons and ordnance he was to have in his possession, and how they planned to exfiltrate the C.A.R. once Jessica had been recovered. An operations order was designed to cover every detail of an operation from start to finish, and every imaginable contingency. Ving wrote a better op order than most.

After the briefing the C-17 began to taxi towards the runway for takeoff, right on schedule at 1600 hours. After they had broken down the weapons and other ordnance and stowed it on and in their gear, Brad motioned for Ving to remove his headset and walk with him to the back of the cargo area.

Ving followed him, walking alongside the HumVees and the cargo pallets until they were standing between the last pallet and the broad, flat cargo door.

“Do we have clearance to use the communication system on this aircraft?”  

“Think I can make that happen,” Ving replied with a smile.

“Good,” said Brad.  “I want you to check for any ties between Uncle Jack and the Séléka rebel’s blood diamond trade.”

“Are you serious?” Ving was shocked.

“Dead serious.”

“Oh hell!” Ving muttered, clapping a broad, dark hand to his forehead.  “Why do I feel this mission just went to shit?”

GEMENA – Day Three

Ving confirmed a connection between Jack Paul and Ostrigamo just as they were approaching Gemena Airport.  It was day three and nearly 1300 hours local time as they circled the runway.

“Weapons check,” Brad said over the intercom as the massive aircraft banked to the left for the final descent.  He knew that the D.R.C. was just as dangerous and unstable as the C.A.R. and he had no idea how many men of M23 would be on the ground waiting for them. However many there might be, they would have been warned of the approach of the military cargo plane by the tower personnel at the airport… provided there was anyone manning the tower. This was, after all, Africa.  “Our plan is to get in and out of Gemena as quickly as possible, Brad continued.  Check out the choppers as we approach.  These guys aren’t going to leave this bird on the ground one second longer than they have to.” They all heard the whine of the cargo door being lowered and felt the inrush of fresh air.

“As soon as it slows down enough to get off, do it. No time for the safety rules guys, lock and load!” As soon as the giant craft touched down and the thrusters were reversed, all four of them moved towards the cargo door.

Brad and Ving developed an unusual relationship over the years.  Throughout their time together on active duty, Ving was always the one in charge, the one issuing orders.  Since their retirement however, on all the bounty hunting jobs and other assorted private missions Brad had been in charge. Their mutual respect made the transition easy. Ving enjoyed helping Brad when he needed it. He liked the excitement of having a job to do and getting it done, and the work made it easier to deal with his boring retirement. 

It was a smooth touchdown. The runway at Gemena was 6,549 feet long, and the big C-17 could land in as little as 3,500 feet. The pilots were executing a combat landing, braking hard and running the reverse thrusters at maximum military power to slow it to a crawl as quickly as possible. Once Brad and his team stepped off the cargo ramp, the crew chief yelled for the pilots to take off and the door mechanism began to whine as the engines switched back to their normal position. Brad looked over his shoulder as the bird took off again at maximum military power. He always found it amazing that such a huge aircraft could take off in as little as 600 feet and then climb at such an incredibly steep angle. 

Brad spotted four Hueys parked a few hundred yards to the east of the main runway. He ordered Jared to stay with the gear, and led Ving and Pete towards the choppers.

“Two armed guards at the chopper line,” Pete barked as he scanned the field with his binoculars.

“Are they airport security or Tutsi?” Brad asked as they closed in.

“M23,” Pete responded.

At just that moment the two soldiers opened fire on them.  By the time the three of them had hit the ground, Jared had already picked off the Tutsi with a single head shot each.  He had been monitoring the situation through the sniper scope on his personal M40A5. He purchased the weapon after his separation from the Corps and he never went on one of Brad’s jobs without it. The kill shots had been made at a dead run, and there had been no hesitation.

Brad knew that the sound of gunfire would have alerted any of the other Tutsi left at the airport, and they had only moments to clear the airport before they would risk a confrontation with the remaining Tutsi of M23. The three of them sprinted towards the chopper line with Brad leading the way. 

One chopper caught Pete’s eye.  It was an old Vietnam era UH-1F that had been remanufactured and labeled Huey II, parked at the end of the row.  The Huey was one of the most readily recognizable helicopters in the world. After the UH-60 Black Hawk had been adopted by the U.S. military, the UH-1 fleet had been sold or given away to every country in the known world. Thousands of them were produced for the Vietnam War, and the things were so incredibly reliable that many were pressed into service without benefit of refurbishing. There were even companies in the U.S. that specialized in airframe up restorations of the venerable craft. The Huey II was comparably inexpensive, totally reliable, and there was a massive inventory of spare parts. It became the ‘poor man’s’ chopper and they were sold everywhere. The Huey became the helicopter equivalent of the Volkswagen Beetle. The one on the flight line had been dressed up and the seats covered with new vinyl, obviously the local commander’s bird. Pete went towards it at a dead run. He learned to fly one of these even before he’d gone into the Corps.

There was no time to find a local pilot, and there was no need to. Pete slipped the catch on the right side door and was inside in the seat flipping switches and checking dials. “She’s been topped off,” he yelled, raising his right hand with his thumb extended upwards, “she’s ready to go!” Ving and Brad slid the passenger compartment door back until it locked open and crawled in on the deck. Brad lay down on the aluminum deck and took up a firing position while Ving crawled over him to open the opposite door and take up a firing position of his own. Both men watched anxiously for more Tutsi to appear while Pete fired up the engines and the big rotors began to spin. It seemed to take forever before Brad felt the chopper go light on the skids, and then Pete worked the pitch and collective levers as he throttled up. The Huey’s ass end picked up first, and then the nose went down as Pete spun the chopper and began a short, low level run towards Jared.

BANGUI – 1800 Hours

Bangui was hot, dirty, and, despite being the capital of the C.A.R., smelled like a third world sewer.  Brad knew the smell all too well.  He had been in at least a dozen cities just like Bangui.  Dangerous and barbaric, but also full of intrigue, and for the unwary or the unschooled, death. There was a permanent haze in the air. 

Most of the buildings and houses were white, with corrugated sheet metal roofs.  The only real color you could see was the color in the women’s clothes.  Bright cheery fabric colors that lit up and otherwise dreary landscape.   He was here to get information.  And then get out as quick as possible. Bangui is situated on the northern banks of the Ubangi River and is known as one of the most dangerous cities in the world. The Muslim Séléka and the nominal Christian Anti-Balaka had battered the inhabitants unmercifully over the past few years, and that was on top of the genocidal depredations of the Tutsi and the Hutu. Large portions of the capital city were in ruins.

As they entered the city Brad felt the old truck sputter and almost die.  It was a real heap that Jared had procured from Jack Paul’s Salvage yard, but it had been the best of the ones they had managed to locate. From the information Ving’s research had turned up, they knew they were heading for a popular bar known as Madame Maboki’s.  Looking at the destruction in the streets, Brad privately wondered if the Muslim Séléka might have demolished the place in their religious fervor. If it was still standing, it was in this bar they were likely to find Carson, the CIA confidential informant who could give them the much needed intel on the possible whereabouts of Jessica.

Fortunately finding the bar was easy. It was one of the few places on the street that was untouched, speaking much for the influence of the owner, and/or Carson. All they had to do now was locate Carson. It was a decidedly unsavory establishment.  As they walked through the door the patrons looked up from their drinks through the smoky air with hatred in their eyes, though the bleary eyes were quickly hooded as soon as they noticed the two M4A1s and Jared’s sniper rifle. Brad’s CAR-4 was too unspectacular to draw as much attention as the other weapons. Ving had gotten an excellent description of Carson, but it turned out to be unnecessary. The black eyepatch and the brilliant white shirt and trousers were a dead giveaway. Ving spotted him as they cleared the doorway.

Carson was seated at a relatively clean table, surrounded by large, dark men that greatly resembled Ving himself. Tutsi, Brad thought, they tend to be on the tall side, considerably taller than the Hutu.

Ving approached Carson and quietly spoke the code-phrase he had been given. Carson nodded and waved his left hand expansively, indicating that Ving should sit down at the table across from him. He waved at the bartender and held up a single finger. The bartender, a short man in a dirty white shirt and pants, shuffled towards the table carrying two green glass bottles of Mocaf beer. Carson didn’t even acknowledge Brad or the other two men.

After exchanging a few pleasantries and accepting a stack of crisp new hundred dollar bills with the bank bands still wrapped tightly around them, Carson got right to business. He explained that Jessica’s party had last been seen about two hundred miles east of Bangui. They were reportedly in the jungle near Mobaye, searching for a legendary lost diamond mine. Carson seemed to be amused, shaking his head at what he deemed to be Jessica’s folly. “This area happens to be deep in Séléka rebel territory,” Carson said. “Pity no one warned her about the dangers of a woman alone in the middle of the Dark Continent. Surely her father warned her.”

Ving gave the man a hard look.

“Oh yes,” Carson said with a broad white smile, “I know her father. He’s the only reason you and your friends are still alive, and the only reason the fair Jessica wasn’t taken as a companion for some of our more prominent citizens.”

Ving bit his lip to keep from snarling at the snide son of a bitch, and he prayed Brad didn’t lose it either. Ving waited for Carson to continue.

“Anyone searching for diamonds goes through Mobaye,” Carson said. “All the diamonds from the C.A.R. come out through Mobaye.  I recommend you start there and see a man named Nuru. Nuru is a black marketeer and information broker who knows just about everything that goes on in his small part of the world.”  Carson’s eyes scanned the room before he continued in a lower voice.

“You might also want to talk to a man called Ostrigamo, if you can find him.  He is the top rebel leader in this part of the country and most likely the one responsible for the woman’s disappearance.  If not, he at least knows where she is. I have no idea if Mr. Paul’s influence extends that far.”

“What’s the best way to get to Mobaye?”

Carson raised his one good eye to the slowly spinning fan suspended from the ceiling. “There are no commercial flights over this region. Somehow the Séléka managed to acquire a shipment of old Russian SA-7 missiles, and once they figured out how to use them, they’ve had considerable success in taking out aircraft. They have proven extremely effective against most flights heading into Mobaye.

“That leaves you two ways to get there.  Road or river.  There's only one road and it has so many Séléka checkpoints that it’s really not an option.  That leaves the Ubangi River.

“The river has daytime patrols, so traveling on the river at night is your best choice. You are going upriver, so you will need a boat with an engine and a captain who knows the river, both are hard to find, but absolutely necessary. Navigation in the dark is challenging on this river because there are several sets of rapids upriver from here.  And do remember it’s a hundred and fifty nautical miles. That’s a ten hour trip at night by boat.”

Carson looked immensely pleased with himself as he lifted his beer bottle towards Ving in a mocking gesture. “I believe our business is concluded.”

“I don’t think so,” Ving growled, leaving his own beer bottle untouched. “How the hell am I going to find a boat to go upriver this time of the evening?”

Carson’s smile grew even broader. “That is not my problem American, boats were not included in our deal.”

“My question stands Carson, where the hell am I going to find a boat and a captain?” Ving looked as menacing as Brad had ever seen him, but Carson seemed unflappable.

“I suppose, if you could find another stack or two of those hundred dollar bills I might be able to secure the necessary items for you.” When Carson saw the anger flash across Ving’s dark face he shrugged and raised his hands. “A man has to make a living.”

Brad stepped forward, lifting a single stack of new hundreds out of his pocket and tossing it on the table. “That’s ten grand. That’s enough to buy a fleet of boats and captains to drive them in this part of the world.”

Carson stared interestedly at the well stuffed cargo pocket Brad had pulled the stack from. His eyes narrowed. “You are either bold or foolish white man, to come into my place of business with so much cash and treat me so rudely. I might take offense and relieve you of your burden.”

“And I might blow you all to hell if you tried it,” Brad replied calmly, casually pulling a small diameter green metal ball with the letters ‘U.S.’ stenciled on its smooth round sides. Ving picked up the hand grenade and quickly removed the ring with the pin through it, holding the firing lever tightly against the palm of his hand.

Carson checked Brad’s eyes for any sign of a bluff, but all he saw in those hard green eyes was death. His own eyes went to the tiny tattoo on Brad’s forearm where it peeked out from beneath his sleeve. It was the Marine Corps globe and fouled anchor emblem, with the words ‘Force Recon’ on a banner beneath it. He raised his eyes back to Brad’s. “I have seen your kind here before soldier.”

“Not soldier Carson,” Ving said. “Marine.”

Carson reached out, carefully avoiding Ving’s hand and the grenade in it. “I think I can accommodate you gentleman, but it will take me an hour or so.”

BOAT LAUNCH

When the little group reached Badokwa, it was nearly 2100 hours. Carson, who had led the way to the small river town in a battered old Volkswagen Thing, explained he had done the best that he could for them. Then he produced a hand drawn map of the Ubangi, showing the proximate locations of navigation hazards.

He was pissed, but Brad was in a rush to get on the river so they could complete their journey under the cover of night. He followed Carson down to the side of the river and stared in astonishment.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Those look like freaking canoes.”

“They’re called pirogues,” said Carson.  “You’ve got two of them.  Each one has a small outboard on the back.  And a captain, a local guide, for each one.  Unfortunately, all the larger boats you see in this area are only good for heading downstream in the deeper water.  These pirogues are the only boats that can make it through the shallow rapids upstream from here.” 

“Shit!” Brad cursed. “Ving and I can take the bigger one.  Let’s get the gear loaded.”

“Ok, let’s go,” Ving barked.

Ving glared dubiously at the small narrow boats. He wasn’t certain he could force his large frame into one. Then he hesitated as he stepped into the larger one.  “What swims in this river?” he asked.

“Just crocodiles Ving,” Jared laughed.

“Not funny”, Ving scowled.  He carefully climbed in and they pushed off from the beach. The small outboards started easily, and the four man team headed upriver.

UBANGI RIVER – Day Four - 0600 hours

They had been traveling upriver through rough water for about eight hours with no major incidents when they hit the biggest section of rapids they had seen.  Large boulders were sticking up out of the whitewater everywhere creating narrow channels and swirling currents. 

The two boats had remained fairly close together up until then, but the faster current and tricky navigation had forced the two boats several hundred yards apart.  Pete and Jared’s boat was furthest upstream.

Brad and Ving’s boat was sitting deeper in the water because Ving was so heavy, and that became a problem when they entered the rapids.  They started taking more water over the gunnels than they could bail out. 

Brad yelled at Ving, “Bail faster.”  Just when they thought they were doomed to sink, they cleared the first rapids and entered a section of calmer water.

The current was still extremely fast in the smoother water, except for an occasional eddy near the river bank.  The guide headed towards the nearest eddy hoping to have time to clear all the water out of the boat.

Ving felt he was sitting too far back in the boat and tried to move a couple of feet forward.  Just as he was wiggling his rear end into a comfortable sitting position, a monstrous head exploded up out of the murky water, surprising the hell out of him.

The head of a monstrous hippopotamus struck the pirogue broadside with immense force, throwing Ving head first into the foul water of the river.  He surfaced next to the boat with his big eyes nearly popping out of his head as he yelled, “Shit!” He spluttered and thrashed in the water as Brad quickly reached out and to grab Ving’s arm and pull him back into the boat.

The Ubangi River current was incredibly strong and Ving’s two hundred and sixty pounds of muscle acted like a sea anchor. The hippo circled around the pirogue to get at the infuriating human, which was a fortunate thing for Ving. If the brute had ignored the long wooden boat and surged forward Ving would have been a dead man at that very moment.  Brad knew that hippos killed more people in Africa every year than all the other animals combined, and he was desperately afraid for his friend’s life.

For the first time in their twenty year friendship Brad saw a look of unreasoning fear in Ving’s eyes. He reached out to grab Ving with both hands and he pulled with every ounce of strength he had while trying to maintain his balance and not tipping over the slim pirogue.

Their river guide was trying to maneuver the pirogue closer to Ving, doing his best to stay between Ving and the raging hippo but the current was against him.  Just as Brad made headway, the current pitched their boat sideways and Brad had to release his friend or be dragged into the water. 

The river dragged Ving downstream, and the hippo went after him, moving with astonishing speed through the current.  Splashes near the riverbanks alerted Brad, and he glanced up to see the long sinister forms of several crocodiles slipping into the river… they sensed a free meal.

“Oh fuck,” Brad yelled.  The absurdity of their situation struck him even as his body reacted quickly to take control of the chaos.  There was no way, after years of serving together on dangerous military missions all over the globe he would let a hippo do Ving in. Watching in helpless, abject horror as Ving got chewed was simply not his style.

Brad shoved the guide away from the tiller arm of the outboard, slamming it all the way to its furthest position. The pirogue nearly capsized at his quick and violent effort caused it to spin in place, and then righted itself as Brad aimed the front of the slender boat directly at Ving’s bobbing head.

Despite his Marine Corps training, Ving had never been what someone would call a great swimmer. He had taken in a great deal of water and was rapidly losing the ability to keep his head above water. Fortunately for him, the strong current was sweeping them all towards the opposite bank and away from the patient crocodiles, which lay half submerged in the water, waiting patiently for the angry hippo to leave them a few bits and pieces of the large dark man. Even crocs were wary of hippos. Unfortunately for Ving, the hippo seemed to be ignorant of the power of the current, and it was making a beeline for the struggling man.

When it caught up to Ving they were only about twenty feet away from the bank, and Brad did something that astounded the unhappy boat captain, he dove into the water and grabbed Ving from behind.  Using the standard lifesaving and rescue technique of throwing his arm across Ving’s chest, Brad side stroked strongly towards the shoreline.  Even with all the adrenaline pumping through his heart it seemed to take forever before he was close enough to touch the bottom. Ving was screaming epithets and kicking at the head of the hippo with his large booted feet.

Brad tugged Ving up onto the beach as the angry hippo got swept downstream.  Ving was getting up in years.  In his prime he would have spotted the bank and made a swim for it with no problem.  But at his age, with the river current, the hippos, and everything else going on he was just trying to stay afloat and close to the boat.

They lay panting on the sand, and it took a moment to realize that the immediate danger had passed. Ving raised his head to look at his friend.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Brad exploded into laughter. He rolled over onto his back and laughed until his sides and belly hurt. Ving did the same. If the crocs had come ashore just then they could have had a real feast.

When the laughter died out, and they were lying weakly beside each other, Brad turned his head to Ving. “You’re welcome.”

The sardonic remark set them both off again, and the boat captain stared at them as if they were insane while he fended off the inquisitive crocodiles with the long pole he used to propel the pirogue when the water became too shallow to use the outboard. 

Both men missed the adrenaline rush they used to get on high risk missions.  It had been several years since their active service and although they had been in hazardous circumstances together on several bounty hunting jobs, this was the first time since they’d fought together in combat they’d felt the hopeful presence of the grim reaper.

As they sat up they could just see their guide as he turned the pirogue back downstream and disappeared around the bend.  “Where the hell is he going?” Brad asked.

“He’s abandoning us… hightailin’ it back to Bangui,” Ving growled.

Brad knew they had to promptly reach their destination if they were to have any chance to save Jessica.  But so far it seemed everything was going wrong.  After several days of devising strategy and making plans, they were stranded on a beach beside the Ubangi River in the middle of the fucking jungle, soaked to the bone, watching helplessly as their supplies, weapons, and everything else disappeared downstream.  They were truly screwed. Neither of them wanted to think about the parasites and bacteria they’d just been exposed to. Brad hoped the shots and pills they had taken before starting the trip would be effective.

Brad shook off the self-pity.  “Ving,” he said, “we’ve got to get our shit together.  We’ve turned into a couple of pansy-ass civilians. It’s been too long since we’ve mixed it up with some real bad guys on foreign soil.  It’s time we got it together and kicked some serious ass.” 

Ving said, “I’m with you brother man. What’s next?”

“I wanna talk to the man in charge in this frigging jungle.  We gotta find this lunatic Ostrigamo.”

Ving smiled.  “You mean that wild rebel who’s recently risen to power?” 

“Yeah,” Brad replied.  “What do you think is the quickest way to reach this guy?” 

“That’s easy enough.  We just do something in his territory that he don’t like.” 

“Now there’s something I can relate to.  Let’s do it!”

“What the hell Brad, we’re stuck here on the bank of this fucking river, soakin’ wet, lost everything we brought with us, and the only son of a bitch that knew this river just went ridin’ down the Ubangi totin’ our shit with him,” Ving said as he stood up to shake the sand out of his pants.

“Don't worry about that,” Brad muttered. “It’s time to create a firestorm of feculence.  What’s Ostrigamo’s main source of income?”

“Blood diamonds,” Ving said. 

Brad stood up. “Okay, fine. Then we go steal some of them.”

“Don’t you think that might be the same mistake that Jessica made?”

“Can you think of a better way to find her?”

“No, definitely not.” Ving shook his head slowly. “Okay, let’s do it.  But where the hell do we start?” 

“We have to find some of his precious blood diamonds,” Brad replies.  “That Nuru guy should be able to help us with that.”

“It’s gonna be a long walk to Mobaye from here,” Ving muttered.

“Yeah, but not for us,” Brad said as the sound of an outboard motor drifted downstream. “Here comes Pete and Jared downstream looking for us. I don’t imagine they’d mind us hitching a ride in their boat.”

“Yeah right.” Ving laughed.  “The good news is they loaded the extra weapons and gear in their boat to balance out the weight.  We can resupply.”

It was just about daybreak when Pete and Jared’s pirogue nosed into the beach.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Jared asked, staring at their dripping clothes.

“Ving wanted to play with the hippos,” Brad said with a straight face. “I can’t take this guy anywhere…”

DIAMOND CITY OF MOBAYE

It was nearly 1000 hours before they reached Mobaye.  Ving had a private chat with their guide to ensure that they didn’t lose another boat. It must have worked because the man crawled meekly back into the pirogue with a terrified look on his face.

“How’d you manage that?” Brad asked, staring at the frightened guide.

“I told him I’d become good friends with the hippo. Then I told him the hippo promised to eat him if he came back downriver without me.”

According to Carson, Nuru owned a trading post near the river, and could nearly always be found there. The place served primarily as a front for his black market dealings.  Brad was eager to question him, both about Jessica and about Ostrigamo.

They walked up to one of the small docks at the back of the shallow slough where they’d put ashore and asked a tired looking laborer where they might find Nuru, but the man didn’t understand English. Brad tried again in French, which was sort of the second language of the C.A.R. because of its earlier status as a French colony, but the man either truly didn’t understand or was waiting for Brad to cross his palm with silver. Sighing, Brad reached into his pocket and drew out a silver dollar he carried as a good luck piece. He had a pocket full of U.S. currency, but he didn’t know if it had any value in this remote village in the middle of the jungle.

“Nuru,” he said slowly, handing the man the coin. The man gradually lifted the silver coin to his mouth and bit into it, hard. He took it out of his mouth and stared at the dent his tooth had met, then looked back at Brad. “Nuru,” Brad said again, “Where… Nuru?” He sounded like he was talking to a simpleton.

The man smiled. “I presume you are referring to the esteemed proprietor of our local emporium of various articles of clothing and gastronomical delights. If memory serves me, his domicile is attached to the rear of his establishment and I rather think that at this time of day he will be in either one or the other. By the way,” he flashed a broad grin at the astonished Brad, “I would have been perfectly satisfied with one of those instead of this pretty silver coin.” He held out the hand with the silver coin and used his other callused hand to point at a hundred dollar bill peeking out of Brad’s pocket, dragged out by Brad’s effort to find the coin. The man looked expectantly at Brad, still holding out the silver coin.

Ving howled with laughter. “Pay the man Brad! That’ll teach you to make assumptions.” The grinning laborer sounded as if he’d been educated at Harvard.

“Smart ass,” Brad muttered to his friend as he handed the laborer the hundred dollar bill. The laborer took the hundred and pocketed the silver dollar as well, which sent Ving off into another laughing fit.

“Let’s go,” Brad shouted, stalking off in the direction the laborer had indicated.  “Bring the damned gear.”

Mobaye appeared to be a small town.  From the river Brad could see that it only stretched out a short distance in each direction.  A few old buildings scattered here and there, some dwellings of whitewashed concrete block and corrugated roofs and what seemed to be a small airfield at the other end of the town, inland from the river’s edge.

As they walked along the edge of the slough, they came abreast of a small building that looked like some kind of restaurant, though there was no sign of any kind. Not even a screen door over the entrance, but the smell of fresh cooked bacon wafted through the air.

“That’s makin’ me hungry.”

“Get your mind off that pot belly of yours Ving. Let’s find Nuru first.” Brad smiled. “You can indulge your bacon fetish later!”

“It’s probably long pig anyway Ving,” Pete chuckled. Ving made a face. Long pig was what the more backwards Congolese called human flesh when it was on the menu for supper.

They approached the long low concrete block building the laborer had pointed to, and the word ‘Nuru’ was painted over the open doorway on top of a thin skim coat of whitewash in what looked like a child’s writing. From the description they got from Carson, Nuru is a small black man with a bald head and beady little reptilian eyes.  “Kind of like a snake,” was the description Carson had given.

Uncertain of what they might encounter, Brad muttered “let’s go in weapons ready.”

“Sounds good,” Ving growled.

Brad entered first, followed immediately by Ving and the others. There was only one man in the building. “You must be Nuru?”

“I am,” he replied calmly.  “Who might you be?”

“I’m here looking for someone and I was told you might be able to help me locate her.”

“Aaaah, you must be referring to the white woman. You know most people who travel through here are only looking for diamonds,” Nuru said easily.

“That’s what my cousin Jessica was looking for,” Brad replied, “But why the hell would anyone search for a diamond mine in a place already notorious for the blood diamond trade?”

Nuru smiled. “Your cousin is a very smart woman.  You see, blood diamonds are mined by placer, or alluvial mining.  There were no glaciers here, so the diamonds are close to the surface.  In river sand vast numbers of workers sift thru the sand by hand. We call them diamond-diggers. 

“Artisanal diamond mining is used when there is a massive, low cost work force at hand and requires no expensive equipment.  That type of mining is ideal when everything is controlled by an oppressive government or a rebel force.  It takes lots of time and manpower to be profitable.  As you might say, it’s like looking for needles in haystacks.  The needles are there, you just need to have enough laborers looking for them.

“Your cousin Jessica was searching for the source of those diamonds.  Local legends tell of an open diamond pit in a large cave discovered by Henry Morton Stanley many years ago. The legend says that the cave is the source from which years of heavy rains and storms have swept the diamonds into the local river system. 

“If one did find such a rare mine as this, an individual could scoop up more diamonds in a single afternoon than an entire workforce might find in weeks, maybe months of sifting river sand.

“That is what your cousin Jessica has been looking for.  I can tell you right now that the rebels know why she is here. They allowed her to search around here quite freely, planning on stealing anything she might actually find. The trick would be finding the cave, and then getting out of here alive with the diamonds.”

“Do you think she found it?”

“I don’t know,” replied Nuru.  “I heard that she ran into trouble near the Kimberlite Hills at the Kotto River.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I heard she had a run in with Ostrigamo.”

“The Séléka leader? That Ostrigamo?”

“The very one.”

“Where can I find this Ostrigamo?”

“Usually where you least expect him,” Nuru said.  “He’s known for moving around a lot and routinely comes by here several times a week. He normally arrives at the airfield in a small military transport, a Caribou I think you’d call it.”

“Where does he keep his diamonds?”

“I’m sure I have no idea, I’m just a poor merchant,” Nuru laughed.  “All I can tell you is that most of the diamonds found in this part of the country get shipped out of here through the Mobaye airport.  The only planes the rebels don’t shoot down are the small military transport planes they have seized for their own use... They basically control the airspace around here, and the only thing that flies in or out are the rebels and their diamonds.”

Brad had given the wiry little storekeeper several of the wadded up hundred dollar bills from his pocket, and even though they were still damp, Nuru had accepted them as his due. As they left Nuru’s trading post, Brad’s intuition told him that he had finally gotten a valid new lead on where he might find Jessica, and incidentally, where they might find Ostrigamo’s diamonds.

“Okay, let’s go get Ving some bacon for his breakfast and make plans.  We need to check out the airport for any sign of Ostrigamo and also break out the map and GPS to plan a route to the Kotto River.  Pete and Jared, get over to the airstrip and keep under cover. Nuru says Ostrigamo comes through there several times a week and I don’t want to miss him.”

Ving was already halfway to the eating establishment they had passed earlier.  “Hurry up I’m starving,” he called over his shoulder as he raced back towards the smell of frying bacon.

CLOSING IN ON HER – Day Four - 1130 hours

They entered beneath the small covered porch at the front door opening. There were few tables inside, and they all appeared to be occupied by locals. Brad decided that the place was either really popular or that the choice of places to eat in this tiny town of three thousand souls had a limited choice of eating establishments.

Pete and Jared went ahead and ordered fried egg sandwiches and coffee from the wizened Congolese behind the crude wooden counter while Brad and Ving waited patiently for a table to open up.

Conversation had come to a complete halt when the four men had entered, and it wasn’t long before the customers started finishing up their meals and leaving. The sole waitress, a pretty young girl in a surprising clean dress and apron, brought them coffee without asking and asked what they’d like to order.

“Anything with eggs and bacon… and add a second order of bacon,” Ving said, flashing the girl a bright, broad smile.

Brad ordered bacon and eggs as well. The waitress, giving them a nervous smile, went back to give the little woman at the counter their order, then hustled back through what passed for a kitchen and out the back door opening. She had to get more eggs from the chicken coop.

Brad was sipping at his coffee and teasing Ving about flirting with the waitress when a white man strode through the door as if he owned the place. Brad did a double take and coffee spewed from his lips as he recognized the familiar voice greeting the old woman behind the counter. The old woman’s face lit up as he walked towards her.

Jack Paul bent over the counter to hug the old woman and they begin to babble together in what Brad recognized as French.

“What the hell are you doing here Jack?”

Jack spun around, surprised, but not as much as Brad thought he should have been. His eyes narrowed as his uncle spoke.

“Same as you Brad.  Trying to find my daughter,” Jack replied. “Stay where you’re at, I’ll be over there in just a second, as soon as I’m done saying hello to Jetta here. I need to update you on the situation.”

They heard the sound of more bacon being laid out to sizzle on the massive cast iron wood stove in the kitchen as Jack kept jabbering in French with the old woman. Soon the waitress came back with their plates, handing Ving one with an enviable mound of bacon stacked on it. There were no biscuits or toast with the meal, there was a small platter of flat bread that looked much like pancakes, which both Brad and Ving knew to be chapati. They looked much like a tortilla, but made with flour instead of cornmeal and at least twice as thick at a tortilla. Both men knew they were eating enough food to feed a Congolese family for more than a day, but neither had the slightest feelings of guilt. This was not their first trip to the C.A.R. Their bill would be ten times higher than any Congolese would have to pay.

They were almost through with their meal, and Ving was wiping the bacon grease and egg yolk off his plate with the last chapati, when Jack came over to sit with them.

“How did you get here so fast Jack?” Brad asked, his face a blank mask.

“I have certain confidential connections in this part of the world,” Jack blustered. Brad saw through the bluster for what it was.

“Jack you need to level with me.  I need to know everything you know about Jessica’s disappearance.”

“Okay.” Jack hesitated.  “Apparently my daughter has actually found Stanley’s legendary diamond mine.  That’s the good news.  The bad news is that this rebel leader, Ostrigamo has taken her hostage. You guys know anything about this man?"

“A little,” Ving admitted through a full mouth. He was still chewing his chapati.

“What’s he want Jack?” Brad asked impatiently.

“Well, at first he just wanted the location of the mine.  Jessica gave him that, but he still refused to let her go.  Now he wants to meet with me, to sort out some old business dealings we’ve had in the past.  I agreed to meet him about an hour from now at the north end of town at the airstrip hangar. Needless to say, I didn’t expect to see you two here.”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“I’m confident I can negotiate for her release.  Brad, I need you to back off and let me handle this.  I appreciate your efforts so far, but I want you to cancel your rescue mission, and leave this to me... believe me, I’m in a better position to handle this than you are.” 

Brad has no reason to trust Ostrigamo, and he has learned not to believe Jack. Whether his uncle liked it or not, the rescue mission was definitely still on. A sudden thought struck him.

“Have you been keeping track of my progress on this mission?” Jack. A smile spread across Jack’s face, but it never reached his eyes.

“So that car parked outside my apartment the night before I left, was one of your guys?”  Jack’s politician’s smile never faltered.

“I want to be at this meeting with Ostrigamo,” Brad said angrily.

“Not a good idea.  I’m trying to keep this from escalating into a firefight.”

“Better a firefight than an execution.  You need backup even if you’re too stupid to realize it Jack. Ving and I will go with you.”

The smile finally faltered. Jack responded slowly, carefully selecting his words.

“Okay, but I want you guys to hang back.  And try to keep the weapons out of sight, would you?”

“Sure thing, Jack.”

Brad and Ving finished their coffee, which, in contrast to everything else about the god-forsaken place was absolutely delicious, before walking outside and climbing into Jack’s vehicle, a brand new and conspicuously clean jeep, for a ride to the airstrip. 

“I’m fortunate that my business associate had this in his garage last night,” Jack said conversationally as he sped off towards the grass airstrip. “Somebody broke into my salvage yard last night outside Gemena and stole one of our better delivery trucks.”

“Imagine that!” Brad said, tongue in cheek.

“Yeah, people will steal just about anything that isn’t nailed down these days,” Ving said. “It’s a cryin’ damned shame!”

They spotted the small military transport, a C-7A Caribou, just as Nuru had said, as they approached the primitive grass airstrip. As they pulled behind the main hangar, the transport aircraft touched down on the single runway and began to rumble slowly towards the hangar.

“That has to be Ostrigamo,” Jack said.  The road to the airstrip passed behind the main hangar before circling around to the front entrance.

“Just drop us off back here Jack.” Relieved, Jack quickly stopped the shiny new Jeep. 

“You’ll thank me later Brad, you’ll see. This will go much smoother and easier if Ostrigamo doesn’t have to talk in front of strangers.”

Jack drove away as soon as they were out of the Jeep, hurrying away and not looking back, making his way around to the front of the hangar just as the small transport braked to a full stop.

Brad and Ving exchanged a knowing glance and sped towards the tiny, almost invisible access door to the hangar. As they ran, both men checked the belted box of ammunition suspended from the sides of the heavy M4A1s that Ving scared up back in Texas. By longstanding habit, Brad’s was set on single fire while Ving’s was set for semi-automatic.

Brad and Ving entered quietly through the back door.  They instinctively spread out, seeking the optimum vantage point from which to observe the meeting.  The large hangar seemed clear of personnel except for a small office near the front. There were two guards in the uniform of M23 there. Both looked as if the noise of the landing aircraft just awakened them.

As Jack climbed out of the Jeep, the aircraft stopped just a hundred feet away.  When the door finally opened, the man Brad assumed was Ostrigamo exited with a small detachment of six men armed with AK47s, and all wearing the same camouflaged uniforms worn by the guards inside. 

Jack Paul was nervous as hell. He’d had many business dealings with Ostrigamo over the past couple of years, but he’d never met the man face to face. Ostrigamo was reputed to have a legendary temper, and Jack knew for a fact that he was no one’s fool.

Brad mentally reviewed what he read about the man in the official Intelligence reports Ving had gathered before the mission. Ostrigamo was one of the founding members of the Séléka Alliance.  He was twenty three years old, about six feet tall, so black that his skin, like Ving’s, appeared to be almost blue. He was ugly as sin. He’d grown up as an orphan living on the streets of Bangui and fighting with the other beggars for scraps of food from the refuse piles of the city.

He was rumored to be mentally unbalanced, fierce, and extremely violent… but also known to be resourceful and highly intelligent. Brad realized he was a formidable opponent.

Ostrigamo joined the Democratic Front of the Central African People, an anti-government militia at the tender age of fourteen.  Instinctively he knew that was the only way to get off the streets.  He craved power and fame, and he learned that money was power.  He also understood that gaining control over a large slice of the blood diamond market would increase his fortune enough to buy his way into power and eventually become the supreme leader of the Central African Republic.

His weakness was his greed, his ego, and a massive case of overconfidence.  He wore green and brown military camouflage fatigues, and a tagelmust, or turban with a face veil to block the dust and sun.  With two ammo belts hanging over his shoulders he looked as if he had come to fight.

“Where’s my daughter?” Jack shouted with no preamble.

Ostrigamo approached Jack slowly. “Relax Jack, she’s somewhere safe.  Let’s talk a little business before we address the matter of your daughter.”

“What do you want?”

“Not a lot Jack, I’m a reasonable man. I want to modify our original business agreement. I need a bigger percentage of our ongoing trade. I have expenses.”

“Why do you even care? What the hell does it matter? Jessica handed you that diamond mine on a platinum platter!”

“Like I said Jack, I have expenses. I also happen to have a very great need for capital. I have to be concerned about all of my income sources.”

“I’m not giving you a damned thing until I see that Jessica is safe.”

“Not a good answer Jack.” Ostrigamo’s face contorted into an expression of fury. “Perhaps it would be easier if I just killed you right now for your rudeness. Do you have any idea how far away from any kind of help you are right now white man?” The lunatic side of his personality gleaming in his eyes, and his fingers tightened on the stock of the rifle he was carrying.

Two of Ostrigamo’s men quickly raised their weapons and aimed them at Jack. They had seen Ostrigamo like this before, and they wanted to make damned sure that if their leader got angry and fired on this money man they could honestly say they shot him too. Failure to back up Ostrigamo’s actions, no matter how outrageous, was a death sentence.

Jack lost it. He panicked and started to run towards the rear of the hangar where he thought Brad and Ving were hiding. 

Brad had no time to consider his options. Jack had proven to be an unworthy asshole, but he was still family. Just as Ostrigamo’s men were about kill Jack, Brad and Ving fired almost simultaneously. 

Ostrigamo and the four guards he had left were promptly joined by the two rebels from the guard office. The blood splattered remains of the two who had aimed at Jack were sprawled out on the concrete floor of the hangar. Now Brad’s team was outnumbered seven to two… Jack didn’t count, he was terrified and worthless.

Brad and Ving were able to take out two more of Ostrigamo’s men before they had a chance to scramble for cover behind some pallets of cargo near the hangar entrance.  The rebels and Ostrigamo were firing nonstop and seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammo.

Uncle Jack somehow found cover along the inside wall of the hangar about half way back.  He was slowly making his way towards Brad. 

Severely outgunned, Brad’s instincts told him to pull back at the first opportunity and find a battleground of his own choosing, somewhere that would give him advantage over Ostrigamo’s superior numbers, but he refused to leave without Jack.

Ving was holding his own, but he knew that Brad would be making a quick exit as soon as Jack reached him.  Ostrigamo loudly ordered one of his men to circle around the outside of the hangar and seal off the rear exit. It was clear that he planned to finish them off in a crossfire.

By the time Jack reached Brad, Ostrigamo’s soldier had already secured the sole rear exit from the hangar.  He started firing into the hangar at Ving from behind.

“We’re trapped!” Ving shouted to Brad.  Without hesitation Brad swung the barrel of his weapon away from a surprised Ostrigamo and aimed directly at the transport parked outside. He placed three well-aimed shots into the fuel tank of the aircraft as Ostrigamo screamed at him, and it exploded into a massive ball of fire with a thunderous roar. The blast knocked Ostrigamo to the ground even as Ving took out another rebel. The odds were still stacked against them. 

Brad had a bad feeling about this pitched battle, it hadn’t been part of the plan and he wasn’t sure they were going to get out of it alive.  He handed the M45 MEUSOC pistol he had been awarded on his separation from the Corps to a surprised Jack. “Here, use this!” he shouted. “Keep shooting until you run out of ammo.” The rebels were advancing slowly through the stacks of cargo crates.  The three of them were pinned down, beset from the front and the rear… there was nowhere to go. 

Suddenly the sound of gunfire from outside the hangar froze all of them for a second.  The rebels at the front of the hangar halted their advance and turned to see where the shots were coming from.

Brad turned and tried to pull back, but saw the soldier at the backdoor standing up to take a shot at him. Brad flung his body towards the concrete floor, hitting it hard and waiting for the bullet to strike him.

Just at that moment a shot rang out and the soldier’s head exploded in a shower of blood that reached almost to Brad’s outstretched hands.  The three of them, Brad, Ving, and Jack, stood up and rushed for the open doorway, ignoring the shots coming from behind them. 

The rebels unleashed a torrent of gunfire as the three of them fled out the backdoor, and Brad felt bullets tug at his pants leg. He had no idea if he’d been hit, and he was damned if he’d stop to look.

Immediately as they cleared the hangar they saw Pete and Jared.  It was Jared’s sniper shot that had taken out the soldier at the back of the hangar. Ving turned, flung himself to the ground, and began to rake the back wall of the hangar with automatic fire.

Jared and Pete had heard the gunfire and plane’s explosion. There was no doubt that signaled trouble for Brad and Ving, so they busted a gut running all the way from the other end of the airstrip where they had taken cover earlier. 

“Glad you could make it,” Brad gasped as he checked his legs for wounds. No one had to explain to him that sometimes a round could hit you so hard you didn’t really feel it till later. He’d had that experience in Fallujah.

“I hate it when a party starts before I can get there,” Jared quipped.

Brad, not finding any damage to himself other than three holes in his trousers’ legs where the AK-47 rounds had passed through them, swiftly checked everyone’s ammo status.

As they regrouped Brad gave the order to retake the hangar.

“Keep Ostrigamo alive,” he shouted.  “We need to use him to find Jessica. He’s got her, I heard him tell Jack he did.”

Jack, red-faced and gripping the .45 tightly, asked if Brad had any other magazines for the weapon. Brad fumbled at his belt and removed two more loaded magazines from his pouch. “That’s all I’ve got. If it’s any consolation to you, there’s a river guide back in Badokwah that has three boxes of cartridges for it in a bag in his pirogue!”

The five of them spread out and rushed the hangar at Brad’s command, Ving firing three round bursts from his rifle.

Ostrigamo decided to make a run for it.  He only liked to fight when he had a distinct advantage, and, like Brad, disliked bringing his enemy to bay on a battlefield not of his own choosing. Since his plane had been destroyed, he climbed behind the wheel of Jack’s Jeep, screaming at his guards to pile in. With a grinding of gears and a fantail of dirt spitting out from beneath the back wheels, the Jeep sped out of town in a hasty retreat.

TRACK DOWN – Day Four - 1300 hours

“Now you’ve done it,” Jack said angrily, stamping his feet and kicking at the dusty grass of the airstrip like a child throwing a tantrum.  “You’ve sealed Jessica’s fate.  Any chance we had of buying her freedom is gone.”

“Not true,” replied Brad calmly, his insides churning as he came down from his battle lust. “Jessica is valuable merchandise to him, and Ostrigamo is too greedy to pass up the opportunity to use her for leverage.”

“So what do we do now?” Jack asked.

“First, we gotta get us a ride.”

“But we’re not even sure where they’re headed...”

“Not to worry.  I have a plan.”

“You mind sharing?”

“He’s heading back to his base camp for reinforcements and to restock his ammo.  He likes much better odds and he’ll want to regain tactical advantage before he confronts us again.”

“So how do we find him?”

“We track him down.  I planted a GPS tracking device on your Jeep this morning after we left the restaurant.  Now all we gotta do is track him back to his base camp.  That’s probably where he’s holding Jessica.”

“Brilliant,” Jack sighed, relief evident in his face.

Brad shook his head. He was starting to believe the duplicitous bastard actually did care about his daughter.

“Ving, check the tracker.  Which way are they headed?” Brad asked.

“Through the jungle towards the Kotto River,” Ving answered.

“Pete, take Jared and snatch us up a vehicle.”

“Roger that!” Pete replied.  “Let’s go Jared.”

It only took twenty minutes for Pete and Jared to return with both a Jeep and a four wheel drive pickup, but neither vehicle looked very reliable.

“OK, load up,” Brad commanded.  “We’re burning daylight.”  Brad jumped in to drive the old Jeep while Ving rode shotgun. Jack sat quietly in the backseat.  Pete and Jared took the pickup.  They headed towards the far side of the airstrip where they’d seen Ostrigamo roaring away in Jack’s new Jeep. They took the same dirt road, which quickly wound its way into the jungle.  The road was extremely rough, muddy and very slow going.  Ving kept his eyes on the tracking unit. 

After half an hour Ving said, “They’ve stopped about six miles ahead.  We’re closing in on them.”

“Jack, how much gas was in that Jeep of yours?” Brad asked.

“It had over half a tank.  But this road is a little rougher than even the Jeep was designed for. They could easily have had a mechanical breakdown,” Jack replied.

“We’re gonna find out soon enough.”

Twenty minutes later they pulled up carefully behind Jack’s Jeep, looking for any sign of Ostrigamo or his soldiers.  It was instantly apparent why Ostrigamo had stopped there.

“Ain’t no more road,” Ving grunted.  What had been a rough dirt road had morphed into a narrow hiking trail through the jungle, far too narrow for any vehicle.

“Well now we’re screwed,” Jack said.  “The GPS tracker is still in the Jeep.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” Brad chuckled.  “We’ll just track them down the old fashioned way.”  Brad and his team were all trained and experienced trackers.

“Ving you lead,” Brad commanded.  “Pete, you and Jared grab what gear we’ve got left and bring up the rear.  Jack, try to keep up.”  As, they made their way up the trail the jungle seemed to close in around them.  The heat and humidity were stifling, and they were still moving slowly on foot.

“Let’s pick up the pace a little Ving,” Brad barked.

“I was just thinking,” Ving responded.  “This guy Ostrigamo is just the kind to set up an ambush.  And your Uncle Jack can barely keep up at this pace.”

“Good points.  But if it starts to rain in this jungle these tracks are gonna be all but impossible to follow.”  Brad passed Ving to take the lead. “Jared keep Jack on pace,” Brad called to the back.

The trail wound its way gradually upwards into the foothills.  The jungle was so thick that visibility was down to two or three meters. They trekked on for perhaps another two hours, going deeper into the jungle.

Brad came around a bend in the trail and came to a complete stop, his clenched fist in the air a signal for the others to stop. There was a small clearing in front of him, and standing in the center of it was an enormous bull elephant. Coming face to face with an elephant was enough of a shock, but what Brad saw sitting on the neck of the beast left him thunderstruck.

“I’m not fuckin’ believing this,” he muttered.

“What’s up brother, what is it?” Ving asked from behind him.

“It’s a fuckin’ pygmy riding an elephant,” Brad said dryly.

“Jesus Christ Brad, this ain’t no time for jok…”

Ving’s mouth dropped, his jaw threatening to hit the ground when he looked up at the gray hulk of a beast with two giant curved ivory tusks sticking out of its face and a tiny brown man with a bone through his nose sitting astride its wide neck. One of the elephant’s large floppy ears twitched as it eyed the puny humans standing before it.

Several more elephants emerged from the jungle, all ridden by the strange pygmies. The five man patrol was completely surrounded.

Ving glanced up into the trees around them and counted at least thirty more pygmies scattered along the broad limbs before he stopped counting. They were positioned strategically in almost every large tree and they seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

Any disadvantage they might have had because of their small stature was more than made up for in their numbers and their elevation… not to mention the herd of elephants their ‘cavalry’ was riding. Small men, barely four feet tall, they were armed with blowguns or bows, and all were aimed at Brad and his men.

“No sudden moves,” Brad said quietly, primarily for Jacks benefit.  The original bull elephant Brad had seen when he rounded the bend in the road, the one with the guy who appeared to be the leader on his back, took three slow, ponderous steps forward. The pygmy held out his hands, palms up, apparently to show that he bore no weapon.  It appeared that he wanted to talk.  Brad took a couple of slow steps forward to meet him.

“You are strangers in our jungle,” the pygmy said, his English slow, labored, and heavily accented. His face was dead solemn.

“Yes,” Brad replied.  “We mean you no harm.”

“Why are you here?”

“I am searching for a woman, a woman of my blood. We are following a man named Ostrigamo and his soldiers.”

“Ostrigamo is known to me. He is a bad man. You hunt these men?”

“Yes,” Brad replied.

“After you find this woman, you will leave our forest?” the pygmy leader asked.

“Yes, I promise. As soon as we find her.”

“Good luck on your hunt,” the pygmy leader replied.  He then turned his elephant and disappeared into the jungle.

They watched as the other elephants turned and marched after the largest one and the strange little man that was their leader. When Ving looked back up into the trees, there was nothing there but the leaves that grew there. He shivered. Those pygmies were fuckin’ spooky!

“What the hell?” Ving said as he finally let out his breath.

“Those men are of the Mbuti tribe,” said Jack.  “Also known as the forest people, and they’re sworn enemies of the Séléka. The Mbuti have lived in this jungle for hundreds of years… they’re the oldest indigenous people in this part of Africa.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Ving asked.

“It’s always wise to know the enemy of your enemy,” Jack replied.  “The Mbuti live off of the land.  Rebels have been destroying their rivers with widespread diamond mining.  The rebels have also enslaved many of the pygmies to work as diamond-diggers. That’s led to an ongoing confrontation between the two.  The Mbuti consider this ancient rainforest their ancestral homeland and the Séléka as trespassers... and rightly so.  They’ve lived here since the Stone Age.”

“That seems like an unfair match,” said Ving.  “The Séléka with AK-47s and the pygmies with blowguns and bows.”

“The Mbuti’s knowledge of the terrain, their stealth in the jungle, and the sheer power of those elephants have made them more than a worthy opponent for the rebels. On top of that, the elephants scare the hell out of the Séléka, who believe the pygmies possess great magic. You wouldn’t believe how accurate they are with those damned blowguns and their poison darts. The Séléka absolutely refuse to move out here in the darkness. The Mbuti sneak up on them and shoot those poison darts from high in the trees. Mbuti are flatly invisible at night, and trust me, around here, they own it.”

“Good to know,” Brad said.  “Now let’s get going, I want to narrow the gap with Ostrigamo before dark.”  Jack moaned. He’d been hoping for more time to catch his breath. 

“Ving, how much farther to the Kotto River?” Brad asks.

Ving checked his GPS coordinates against the topographical map he’d stored in a waterproof bag inside the now much lighter rucksack he carried on his back. “It’s three more miles to the river, but then this trail turns and runs upriver to the Kimberlite Hills that Nuru told us about.”

“Let’s try to make it to the river where we can camp for the night,” Brad said. He didn’t want to stop. Jessica was close, he could sense her. He had no choice but to stop though. Jack was at the end of his strength, and the team wouldn’t do Jessica any good if they were too tired to fight. There was no doubt in Brad’s mind Ostrigamo was going to fight, No doubt at all.

CONFRONTATION – Day Five at 0500

Ving woke everyone before the crack of dawn.

“It’s still dark out,” Jack grumbled.

“We leave in ten minutes,” Brad said quietly. The insects were horrible; they’d kept the team from getting any real rest.

As they left their riverside camp Brad took the lead.  The tracks of Ostrigamo and his men were getting harder to follow along the riverbank and there were more side trails and footprints to examine.  It was slowing them down but they only had about four miles to go before they reached the Kimberlite Hills. Brad hoped that might be where Ostrigamo’s camp was located.  He wanted to push on last night, but they’d been exhausted and traveling in the dark through this jungle was just too damned dangerous.

As they traveled upriver they came to a smaller tributary joining the Kotto from their left.  It was fifteen feet across, but fast and deep.  Brad looked for a good place to cross.

Ving checked his GPS and his map once more. “This is Gouda Creek.”  Roughly 50 yards up the Gouda they could see the creek coming over the ridge and dropping in a hundred foot waterfall.  Brad was trying to find the spot where Ostrigamo and his men must have crossed but it wasn’t easy.

“Do you think they climbed the ridge and crossed above the falls?” Jared asked.

“Not sure,” said Brad. He turned and followed a well-worn path along the Gouda towards the falls. His head down looking for signs of passage, Brad almost missed the crossover point. There was a narrow gap over the creek where large boulders jutted out from both sides.  It was 50 feet from the base of the falls, and the rocks were wet and slippery as hell.  The gap appeared to be nearly eight feet across Brad figured they could all jump it, even Jack. A misstep would see the jumper drop twenty feet into the fast rushing water of the creek below.

“I’ll go first,” Brad said as he handed his rifle and rucksack back to Ving.  He backed up a few steps and took a run at it.  He cleared the distance easily.

“Throw some of the gear over,” he shouted above the roar of the falls.  Pete and Jared began tossing gear over to him.  Pete backed up a few steps and made a quick run.  He cleared the gap by several feet and helped Brad catch the rest of the gear.

“Send Jack over next!”

Jack looked at the gap dubiously. Clearly nervous, he was the oldest and least physically fit of the group. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He backed away, twice as far as the others had to get a longer run at it.  But he backed into the hanging branches of the rainforest without looking, and suddenly he was staring into the flat black eyes of a huge green snake nearly nine feet long. It was dangling just inches from his head. He froze. “Snake!” he whimpered in a tiny voice.

“Don’t move,” Ving said, approaching Jack cautiously with Jared close on his heels.

“Is it poisonous?” Jack asked softly as the fear took him. He was shivering.

“It’s a mamba, a Jameson’s Mamba to be more precise,” Ving said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Powerful neurotoxin. If he bites you’ll be dead in less than thirty minutes, so shut up and stay the fuck still.”

The snake had been startled by Jack’s intrusion into its domain and was hissing loudly.  It raised its narrow elongated head, its round pupil locked on Jack, and flattened its neck. It was preparing to strike and Ving knew it, though he couldn’t think of a damned thing he might do to stop it. Two shots went off right beside his ear, and Ving immediately clapped his hands over his ears. He turned and saw Jared standing beside him, an M45 pistol with its barrel smoking held loosely in his hand. The long yellow-green snake dropped, slithered over Jack’s shoulder, and fell dead at his feet. Jack felt light headed as if he was about to pass out and stumbled out of the overhanging branches and sat down on a large boulder near the creek.

Ving seemed surprised at how fast Jared had reacted to the threat, but at the same time he was irate. Guns going off in his ear tended to piss him off and he glared at the younger man.

“You looked like you were freaking out,” Jared said with a loud laugh. 

“What the hell’s going on over there?” Brad yelled.

“Your Uncle Jack just had a close and personal encounter with a Jameson’s Mamba,” Ving yelled back. “It’s okay though, I’m only gonna be deaf in one ear!”

“Ok guys, make the jump over here and let’s get going.  We’re wasting time.”

As they moved further up the trail, they reached a clearing where it appeared the rebels had spent the night.  Brad could tell from the freshness of the tracks leaving the campsite they were gaining ground.

Pete found evidence that they were in one hell of a hurry. “I don’t know what these guys are eating, but I’m telling you right now I’ll starve before I let any of it pass my lips!” He was holding his nose and walking out of the foliage, his eyes locked on the ground as if he was looking for something. “They didn’t even stop to dig a hole man, whoever that was just dumped his load right on the ground and kept going.” He looked up at Brad. “And they’re nasty too. No sign of toilet paper, not even a crumpled up leaf with crap on it.” He reached around and tugged at the seat of his own pants, even though he was a fastidious man who never even walked around his own home town without a packet or two of military ration toilet paper in his pocket. “Nasty fuckers!”

The trail continued along the river, and there was a string of hills parallel to the river approximately a half mile to the left.  Their topographical map showed that these were the Kimberlite Hills.  The ridge of hills appeared to gradually draw closer to the river as they continued north.

As they advanced, the trail climbed higher and higher above the water as it got squeezed between the river and the encroaching hills.  There were occasional breaks in the ridgeline where narrow deep canyons had been carved out by small tributaries that emptied into the Kotto River. 

The trail got rough as they repeatedly dropped to cross these narrow side canyons and then clambered up the other side to a point high above the water level.   A series of caves began to appear near the base of the hills.

“These volcanic hills are riddled with caves,” Jack explained. “For every one we can see, there are probably ten more hidden deep in the jungle. Most of them are very shallow, but a few of them are extremely deep. Due to the high concentration of kimberlite in the caves, the potential for diamonds is very promising.  The caves you can see from the trail have been searched many times over the years.  It’s the caves hidden deep in the rain forest that are the source of ancient legends.”

Brad and Ving were more focused on tracking Ostrigamo and his men, and they’d virtually tuned Jack out. 

As they negotiated a large bend in the trail they viewed a smaller river joining the Kotto down in the valley below.  It was larger than any of the creeks they had encountered so far.  Brad had no idea how they were going to cross it. 

Ving stopped and checked his map.  “This is the Bongou River, the largest tributary of the Kotto.”

“Let’s get down there and check it out,” Brad murmured.  “We’re closing in on these guys.”

As they reached the bottom of the small valley where the Bongou and the Kotto merged, they discovered two small pirogues that had been dragged up on the beach.

“Looks like they were left here by the locals for crossing the river,” says Jared.

“Yes but the rebel tracks follow the smaller trail up this side of the Bongou,” Brad observed.  “We gotta keep moving.”

Jared did a little mental muttering. He wasn’t a wuss, but except for the snake and the little half-assed fracas at the airfield this mission had just been plain uncomfortable. Not that he really minded, Brad and Ving were both super guys and he owed them big time… but that didn’t keep him from being bored.

The jungle became denser along the Bongou and visibility became very limited.  After they traveled another two miles the river valley widened and Brad brought them to a halt.

“What’s up?” Pete asked from behind.

“The tracks leave the trail here and head straight into the jungle,” Brad told him.  “We’re damned close… heads up, everybody get ready. Remember to maintain noise discipline!” Brad’s voice had dropped to a stage whisper.

“Let’s go.” They formed into a single file at Brad’s hand signal, and cautiously made their way into the dense jungle, following the faint tracks of Ostrigamo and his men along an ill-defined game trail.  There was no real trail here, just occasional footprints and disturbed vegetation. It would have been impossible to follow by any but the most experienced of trackers, but all of them besides Jack were extremely good trackers… and Brad was the best of them. He sensed that Jessica was near. 

The ground sloped uphill and he could see what appeared to be a ridgeline up ahead.

Nearly a hundred yards shy of the ridgeline the jungle thinned out considerably and Brad saw a large cave at the base of a vertical rock face.  He squatted down and spread his arms, indicating that they should form a vee. Ving, Jared, and Pete spread out roughly fifteen feet apart, and Jack, confused by the hand signals that he had no knowledge of and frustrated by Brad’s silence, crept up behind him.

All four of the combat veterans could feel it. None of them could have explained it to another living soul, but everyone who’s ever lived it would understand. It was that feeling, the exultation mixed with abject fear that makes your heart pound hard enough that you think it’s going to explode. The feeling of impending contact.  Ving was to his left, Pete to his right, then Jared to Pete’s right. Jack, for some reason, was right on Brad’s tail but there was no time to move him away. The best Brad could hope for was that when the shit hit the fan, Jack would have enough control left not to accidentally shoot him in the back. As they crept carefully towards the cave, it happened, all hell broke loose.

Gunfire from at least a dozen men with AK-47s rained down on them as they all scrambled for cover.  After about 20 seconds the gunfire stopped and there was an uneasy silence.

“These guys are dug in good,” Ving whispered.  “They’re spread out across the entire base of that cliff, and a few of them are even in the trees.  What’s our move?”

Before Brad could respond, Ostrigamo appeared at the mouth of the cave, holding Jessica in front of him as a shield.  He could see the look of terror on Jessica’s face and he could see the bastard was fondling her left breast as he held a pistol to her temple with his right hand. Ostrigamo was leering like the demonic pervert that he was. A cold feeling of grim determination swelled inside Brad’s chest.

“Jack, who are your friends?” Ostrigamo asked loudly.  “Tell them to drop their weapons, or I will kill your daughter.”  Jack was frozen in fear, clinging to a tree and unable to speak. 

Brad finally responded. “We’re just here for the girl.  Give her to us and we’re outta here.” 

Ostrigamo backed into the cave, shouting to his men in Bantu and dragging Jessica with him. The soldiers cut loose, firing their weapons indiscriminately. Brad and the others were skilled. None of them had settled for just concealment, they had all sought cover, protection from flying lead.  Brad and his men have no choice but to return fire.  Battle drill, pounded into his head as a boot, kicked into overdrive. Brad waved everyone ahead, weapons blazing. When retreat exposes your back, and movement to either flank does the same thing, the only intelligent thing to do is rush directly into the fire, yelling and screaming and putting as much lead into the air in front of you as you’re capable of. The theory of battle drill was that the enemy would be so shocked at your actions and your forward movement so quick that you could get behind the enemy before he managed to take out your whole unit. Once you had created a salient in his lines and got behind him, you could mop him up easily.

This time it didn’t work. Brad and the others faced a literal wall of lead, and their forward progress is halted. The soldiers occupied the high ground and the team was vastly outnumbered.

Jared managed to take out a rebel twenty yards to the right, hiding in a tree.  Brad continued to return fire from behind a thick fallen log as he tried to assess the size of Ostrigamo’s force. As best he could tell, they were facing a minimum of fifteen men. Bullets were streaking over his head and shredding the jungle foliage all around him. 

Ving took out a rebel on the ground to the left of the cave entrance.  The firefight seemed to rage on forever, and Brad knew his team had to be getting low on ammo.  They were outmanned and outgunned but he wasn’t ready to give up.

He was determined to get Jessica, and once more he urged everyone forward. Pete stood up and ran forward five paces, took up a new position behind another fallen log. As soon as he hit the ground he was bringing fire to bear on one of the soldiers directly to Brad’s twelve o’clock. Then it was Jared’s turn to move up, and as soon as he rose to a kneeling position in order to get his feet under him, Brad saw him go down, his face contorted with pain, his non-firing hand covering his bicep. He glanced over at Brad, his eyes filled with pain and shock, but he didn’t even call out. Brad scrambled on his belly to reach Jared. It was a through and through, and there was little damage to the muscle, no bone impact. At that moment Brad knew he had to find a way to fall back.  It hurt his very soul, so close to Jessica, but badly outnumbered and hopelessly outgunned. 

Retreat was not an easy choice for the former Marines, but they had no option. There was no way they could help Jessica if they got themselves killed trying to get to her.  Brad hated the thought of leaving Jessica behind.  “Pull back,” Brad shouted. “Peel!”  A peel or center peel retreat is a diagonal retreat tactic that is effective for a small ground unit attempting to withdraw from a confrontation with a much larger force.  Brad’s earlier full frontal assault had confused and frightened the less experienced M23 troopers. They weren’t badly trained, but they had never been faced with anyone who fought with the ferocity and courage the way these white men had, Most of their battles had been against the Mbuti or the Hutu.

Brad withdrew his team the way he had moved them forward, by leapfrogging one man while the others did their best to provide covering fire. Ostrigamo’s men were happy to let them go, even though the action could be fairly compared to letting go of a mamba one had accidentally grabbed by the tail.

Brad finally completed their disengagement when he remembered the hand grenades in his cargo pockets. He tossed two, one after the other in quick succession, and the team moved together in a concerted rush back to the banks of the Bongou River to reassess their situation.

REGROUP – Day Five - 1500 Hours

Brad is furious over what he saw as his failure to rescue Jessica.

“Ving take care of Jared’s shoulder,” Brad barked.  “Pete, check our supply of ammo.”

Jack could see that Brad was agitated and tried to stay out of his way, and he was afraid they might have lost their only chance to save Jessica… but it wasn’t Brad he blamed. He blamed himself.

“How is Jared?” Brad asked.

“He’ll live,” Ving replied.  “But he needs to take it easy.”

“What’s our ammo status Pete?” Brad asked grimly.

“We’re down to eighty five rounds total,” Pete said.

He sounded as dismal as Brad felt. With virtually no ammo and facing a superior force, their situation seemed hopeless.

“Do you think that cave they’re hiding in is the one full of diamonds that Jessica was looking for?” Ving asked.

“That’s a strong possibility considering the way they’re defending it,” Brad replied, “but to tell you the truth Ving, I could give a shit about the diamonds right now.  I just want to get Jessica and get the fuck outta this country.”

“So what’s our next move?”

“We lost a good bit of our ammo when you decided to go for a swim with that hippo,” Brad said.

“You never let a little problem like ammo stop us before,” Ving retorted with a grin.

Brad knew Ving was right.  There was a solution to every problem. Sometimes finding the solution to the problem was a little more difficult, but there was always an answer. He just needs to figure out what it is.  He felt better knowing he could count on Ving to remind him that they had survived worse situations.

There was no sound from the direction of Ostrigamo’s troops, so Brad patted Ving on the shoulder and walked the few steps down to the river’s edge to wash his face and take a few minutes to clear his head.  He kept attacking their situation from different perspectives, searching for alternative solutions.  After cooling off some, he had a startling thought, one that should have come to him sooner.

“Wait here Ving,” he called back to his friend, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“To get reinforcements!” 

Ving wondered if his friend had lost his mind.

Brad had come to the obvious conclusion that since he was outgunned and outnumbered his team was doomed. They’d brought enough ordnance to handle a situation like this one, they’d anticipated it in their planning and had planned for this contingency. What they hadn’t planned for, what they hadn’t foreseen, was that damned hippo scaring their boat captain away. Without that extra ordnance, they were in no shape to take on Ostrigamo.

Without the ordnance, Brad needed help, and there was only one source of help that might be possible this deep in the jungle. Ostrigamo hadn’t proved to be the apex predator in this primeval hellhole. The Mbuti had.

He wasn’t even sure the Mbuti would help, but they were the only game in town. Brad had set out down the trail at a steady lope, but he traveled less than a mile before his internal alarms went off. Stopping, his breathing well under control, he went to one knee. Someone was watching him.

He only makes it about another mile down the trail and he comes to a stop.  He has a feeling he is still being watched.  He hasn’t actually seen anyone.  It is just a feeling in his gut.  The jungle is thicker here and visibility is limited.  He takes a long drink of water from his canteen and then he sees it. It was time to wait.

The colossal elephant emerged from the jungle right in front of him. How the hell do they do that? How in the hell can you keep a three and a half ton elephant from making noise when he walks through jungle so thick a man can barely move in it? Maybe these little fuckers really are magic!

The leader of the Mbuti looked down at him from his perch atop the enormous beast.

“I didn’t expect to find you so soon,” Brad said.

“We have been following you. My name is Juma,” the little man said in his slow and tortured English.

“Why did you follow us?”

“You are a small band.  You are hunting a fierce enemy.  Your enemy is my enemy.  I think you might need my help.”  Juma then made a circling motion with his arm and a dozen more elephants with Mbuti on their backs emerged from the jungle.

“Yes we could truly use your help,” Brad said, “but what I really need is ammunition for my weapons.”

Juma tapped the elephant’s shoulder with his staff and the creature knelt down, curling his forelegs beneath him. Effortlessly, Juma slid down off his elephant.  “Follow me.” 

He led Brad on a nearly invisible trail a short way into the jungle where another elephant bearing two very large and heavy looking crates knelt on the jungle floor. This one had all four legs under him.

Juma gestured regally towards the crates. “These are of little use to us,” he said, “but Ostrigamo covets them. He covets them so much that we felt it necessary to relieve him of the burden of guarding them. You are free to take them if it will help you against the crazy man.”

Brad recognized the Russian markings on the outside of the crates.  One crate has a dozen AK47s and the other is matching ammo.

“No problem,” Brad said.

“Ostrigamo and his men are a problem,” Juma said, “a problem we would like to see go away and leave us alone. We will help you this one time, so we can bring an end to Ostrigamo,” he said sternly, “but then you must leave us.”

“No problem,” Brad said, echoing his last words. He really was at a loss for words. He heard a rustling in the trees above him, and he followed Juma’s disapproving eyes up into the trees. At least fifty Mbuti were looking down on him, one of whom had a sheepish look on his face. He had been the one that made the leaves in the tree rustle. Brad could have sworn the others were smiling.

It was nearly 1800 hours by the time Brad and the Mbuti made it to the temporary camp. Brad used the short travel time to formulate a new plan of attack using Juma’s Mbuti and the weapons.

Thanks to Juma’s self-serving generosity, Brad now directed enough of a force to stomp a mudhole in Ostrigamo’s ass… literally, but he had to do it such a way as to keep Jessica from harm.

“Holy shit!” Ving exclaimed in awe. Pete, Jared, and Jack were staring at the elephants with their mouths open. Brad understood how they felt. Even though the others had been this close to the beasts just the day before, they were impressive as hell when they stood in front of you.

“I told you I was bringing reinforcements,” Brad said with a wicked grin. He turned and beckoned to Juma to join them as he quickly went over his new plan to rescue Jessica.

The crates were off loaded shortly afterwards, and Juma led his people into the jungle for the night. The old man had appeared to be a little troubled when Brad insisted on waiting until morning to conduct the assault… the Mbuti were extraordinary night fighters. The trait was also a part of their mystique, or, as they referred to it, their magic. Convincing the elderly pygmy that Brad and his Recon Marines would provide the necessary magic since Juma had provided adequate weapons and ammunition was one of the most difficult tasks Brad had ever undertaken. Oddly enough, it was Jack who finally convinced the man.

After dark, Brad sent Pete back up to Ostrigamo’s camp to recon their objective and to observe any changes. 

THE SHOWDOWN – Day Six

Daybreak came swiftly and Brad was eager to get started. This time they knew their target. Since Jared was injured and Jack lacked any combat skills at all, Brad had them circle around and approach from the north, along the top of the cliff face above the cave.  From there, they were relatively safe, but well able to bring firepower to bear on the soldiers Ostrigamo had posted on the outside of the cave.

Brad led Pete and Ving on a direct frontal assault at the cave entrance.

“Let’s get as close in as we can,” Brad whispered as they crawled on their bellies, moving from cover to cover. He waved them apart, and then initiated the attack by firing the first shot directly into the forehead of the soldier closest to the cave entrance.

They inched their way towards the cave, exchanging heavy gunfire with the startled rebels. Brad kept an eye on his chronograph, and as the sweep second hand ticked towards five minutes, he readied himself for a mad dash inside the cave. He inserted a fresh thirty round magazine into the magazine well of the AK-47 and took a deep breath. He hoped the cheap Timex Jack had given the Mbuti leader kept good time.

The elephants weren’t quiet this time as they thundered out of the jungle. The Mbuti warriors appeared almost magically in the upper tree branches and the air filled with tiny poison darts. Ostrigamo’s soldiers began to scream, and they began to die. It wasn’t pretty to watch.

Frantic rebels leaped up from covered positions, their terrified eyes wide, their hands slapping futilely at the miniscule darts stuck in their skin. Ving took precise aim at the heads popping up, squeezing off rounds carefully. The AK-47 was nowhere near as accurate as his M4A1, but as close as he was, it didn’t make a great deal of difference. At that range, he could still keep the rounds within a four inch circle, and that was adequate for head shots. The rebels were dropping like flies.

“Right on cue,” Ving shouted.

“Cover me!” Brad yelled. He ran for the cave entrance, dodging the marauding elephants busily trampling the fleeing soldiers who had managed to avoid the darts, as well as the careful aimed fire of Ving and Pete.

Jared and Jack fired into the backs of the firing positions of the rebel soldiers, and the whole scene was utter chaos.

Brad dove inside the cave entrance, crawling behind a large rock. “Jessica,” he shouted. The sound of rifle fire echoed in the cave as Ostrigamo and one of his guards opened up on him. Powder and stone chips rained down on Brad.

“There’s only two of them,” Jessica yelled. A brief lull in the rifle fire allowed Brad to hear the sound of a hard slap and a muffled cry. Brad slipped to one side of the rock and got off a shot. The guard dropped, his rifle clattering to the floor of the cave as his eyes rolled up in his head. Brad got a glimpse of Jessica as Ostrigamo knelt over her. Her hands and feet were tied, but she’d ripped out her gag. The bastard was holding her across his body, and the AK was unfamiliar enough that Brad was fearful of taking a chance at a headshot. He cursed the fact that his M4A1 was now worthless. If he had it in his hands at the moment Ostrigamo would already have been a memory.

“It’s just you and me now Ostrigamo,” Brad yelled.  “Your men are running for the hills.  Let me have Jessica and you can go.” 

Brad gingerly worked his way towards the back of the cave where Ostrigamo and Jessica were half standing. As he moved, he glanced down at the floor in amazement. The floor of the cave was littered with rough diamonds, hundreds of them.

“I’ve called for reinforcements,” Ostrigamo screamed.  “No one is taking my diamonds.”

“They’re my diamonds,” Jessica shouted, “I found them.”

Ving entered the cave, throwing himself to the rough floor a few feet away from Brad. He took up a prone firing position, sighting in on the portion of Ostrigamo’s head that was clear of Jessica’s. He wasn’t confident enough to take the shot, the AK was just not familiar enough for him.

Accepting the inevitable, Ostrigamo threw Jessica towards Brad and Ving, turning and fleeing towards the back of the cave. From Ving’s vantage point, the cave appeared to gradually narrow into a small tunnel which eventually led upwards to what he assumed was a rear exit behind the ridge.

Brad was too busy rushing to Jessica’s side to pay any attention to the fleeing terrorist leader.  She looked beautiful and defiant despite her dirty face and the angry red slap mark on her cheek.  Her long blonde hair was matted and filthy.

“Hi cousin,” she said weakly, though with a big smile. “I thought you would never get here.  I told that bastard you’d be coming for me, but he still wouldn’t let me go.” Her face clouded. “He’s got something going on with my dad.”

“I know,” said Brad, “your dad is here.”

“My dad is here?”

“I hate to break up this party,” Ving said, standing over them and smiling. “We need to run.  The soldiers that are left are trying to regroup and it sounds like Ostrigamo’s reinforcements are about to get here.”

“I’m not leaving without some of these damned diamonds,” Jessica protested.

Before Brad could correct her thinking, Ostrigamo and four of his fresh troops reinforcements emerged from the tunnel at the back of the cave and opened fire.

“Run!” Brad yelled. The three of them raced out of the cave and out into the chaos out front.  Most of Ostrigamo’s original force have been wiped out, and there were smashed and broken bodies scattered all over, but reinforcements were closing in from both sides. The sound of gunfire was deafening. Brad saw the Mbuti and their elephants fleeing into the jungle.

Brad, Jessica and Ving ran for the river as fast as their feet would carry them, but it was a losing effort. A hail of bullets rained all around them and Brad did his best to keep his body between Jessica and the gunmen.

Brad imagined the feel of the bullets striking his back, preparing himself as best he could. The sight of Jared, Pete and Jack popping out of the jungle at the trailhead in front of them to provide covering fire filled him with relief. It was just the break they needed.

All six of them hit the Bongou River trail at a dead run, with the rebel reinforcements and Ostrigamo hot on their heels.  They continued to receive incoming fire, but Pete managed to keep their pursuers from getting close enough to hurt them. “To the pirogues!” Brad yelled as they raced away. Pete waved a hand at him and slipped into the jungle beside the trail.

“I can’t believe I’m leaving without my diamonds,” Jessica gasped as she fled down the trail.  “That is my diamond mine, I discovered it.”

“Just be glad you got out with your skin intact.” Brad wasn’t winded, but he wasn’t about to argue with his stubborn cousin until they were safe. He could hear the gunfire getting further behind them as Pete delayed the pursuing soldiers.

The plan was to reach the junction of the Bongou and the Kotto Rivers where they had seen the two pirogues pulled up on the beach.  When Brad explained what he intended to do, Ving had groaned aloud. Brad, and Jack and Jessica had stared at them in confusion until Jared explained about Ving’s adventure with the hippo. The two had chuckled with delight at Jared’s explanation, even though they were still in jeopardy. The anecdote lightened the mood and all of them felt a little better for the humor.

Brad only half listened as Jared spun his yarn. The six of them would be a tight fit in the two pirogues, but he needed to get them into the boats and head back down the Kotto to the Ubangi, and then down the Ubangi through the rapids to Mobaye. 

He planned to commandeer some type of aircraft in Mobaye, something that Pete could fly high enough and fast enough to avoid the SA-7 missiles the M23 had acquired from the Russians. The worst case scenario was that they’d recover the Huey II from all the way back at Jack’s salvage yard and make their escape. At normal cruising altitude the Huey would be a sitting duck for the small shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles, but if Pete flew Nap-of-the-Earth they had a chance. When helicopters flew at tree top level, it was virtually impossible to tell what direction it was coming from or how fast it was flying. It reduced the likelihood of a missile hit to a very low percentage unless the pilot was foolish enough to hover or if he slowed down to make an insertion. It wasn’t the best of plans, but it was all he could come up with. The important thing was to keep his confidence level high so he could keep Jessica and Jack enthusiastic. Ving, Pete, and Jared would know how thin a thread the plan hung on.

They reach the Bongou-Kotto River junction in short order. “So far so good,” Brad exclaimed as they reached the two pirogues, still grounded on the beach.  They piled in and waited anxiously for Pete to catch up.  They heard him exchanging gunfire with their pursuers just up the trail. 

Moments later they watched as Pete approached them at a dead run, panting and red faced.

“Shove off!” Pete cried.   He caught up to the second boat in waist deep water just before it entered the swift current.  Jack and Jared dragged him over the gunnel and they were off.  They were out of range before the angry and disappointed rebels reached the beach. In a fury, they began firing wildly, but the rounds splashed uselessly into the water behind the pirogues. 

Brad, Jessica, and Ving led the way in the first boat. The Kotto River was smaller than the Ubangi but the current was faster. The rebels, racing down the river trail on foot, were never able to get within range.

RUN FOR IT

Brad had no doubt that Ostrigamo had radioed ahead to his troops in Mobaye to be prepared for them, but he didn’t mention it to Jack and Jessica. He kept it to himself, but he knew Ving would have thought of it.

They reach the Ubangi River faster than they expected and headed downstream towards Mobaye.  The rapids seemed rougher than Brad remembered, and the pirogues began to pitch about wildly.  Unlike the boats they came upstream in, these were propelled by paddle power and the current. Brad had his hands full trying to guide the long slender boat through the rapids.

“Not again!” Ving bellowed, gripping the gunnels tightly with his huge hands.  “Keep to the right, its smoother there.”

“I’m trying,” Brad snapped.

“This is fun!” Jessica yelled over the roar of the rushing water. Her mood had lightened considerably since the men had liberated her from Ostrigamo.  “What are you guys stressing about?”

“The hippo!” Brad laughed in spite of himself. Even while occupied with keeping the pirogue centered in the deepest part of the rapids, the image of a spluttering and terrified Ving being chased by a pissed off hippo was funny… now.

Pete was having just as much trouble controlling the second pirogue, but he was keeping up with them. Fifteen frantic minutes later, the two pirogues cleared the rapids and drifted smoothly into the swift, calm current.

They glided downriver, making good time. Their racing blood slowed and all of them felt the uneasy calm, certain it was temporary.

“Ving check our position.  I want to go ashore about a mile above Mobaye.”

“What, and miss the rebel welcoming party?”

Brad chuckled at Ving’s warped sense of humor. “Absolutely! We want to slip around the perimeter of the town and get to the airstrip… hopefully without having to engage any of Ostrigamo’s buddies.”

Ving checked the grid coordinates on the GPS and compared them to the acetate covered map he had unfolded and laid across his lap. “Okay, we should be approaching a small slough about a mile from Mobaye just around that next bend up ahead.”

“Good, keep your eyes peeled for a nice sandy beach where we won’t have any trouble grounding the boats.” Ving grunted and focused on the riverbank. Brad’s request was much more difficult than it seemed. Most of the time the jungle crowded up to the edge of the river and actually hung out over it. Bare spots were rare.

Ving spotted the short stretch of flat sandy beach at the same time Brad did, and he picked up a paddle from the floor of the boat to help him navigate out of the current. All of them were eager to get back on dry land, and they took no time at all to unass the pirogues and strike out for town. The vast majority of their gear had been left behind at the cave, so they were traveling light and moving fast.

Despite being in the middle of the day, they encountered none of the natives. Skirting the small town warily, they approached the airstrip. The scorched wreckage of the Caribou had not been touched, the pieces scattered all over the ground in front of the damaged hangar. Brad was hoping against hope they’d find another transport, maybe even another Caribou, but deep inside he believed that was a pipe dream. He was mentally preparing himself for a wild chopper ride through jungle country jammed full of missile toting rebels.

He was astounded when they spotted a gleaming new CASA C-212 Aviocar tied down beside the hangar. The odd looking, flat bottomed, twin engine short take-off and landing capable aircraft was ideal for remote jungle airstrips. The downside of the miracle was three armed guards posted around the aircraft, and they seemed to be alert. Brad grunted. Word had gotten out and they were expected.

“Can you fly that?” Brad asked.

“It’s got wings don’t it?” Pete asked wryly. “If it’s got wings brother, I can fly it.” He grinned. “Of course, it might be a little scary at first, I’ll have to get familiar with the controls while we’re flying. I’ve never even been inside one of those.”

“Shit, maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll have left the keys and the flight manual on the driver’s seat,” Brad said. They shared a grin only men who had survived the totally unpredictable vagaries and dangers of war would understand. The bond and the sick humor were entirely incomprehensible to those who had never been there.

“Recon!” Brad said quietly, raising his hand palm outwards.

“Recon!” Pete parroted, meeting Brad’s palm with his own in a high five.

“Okay guys, let’s keep this clean and simple,” Brad said to them as they gathered in a huddle beneath the canopy of the jungle.  “We need to take this aircraft quick and takeoff before all Ostrigamo’s people decide to show up. I don’t want any stray bullets hitting our plane.  Jack, you and Jared hang back here with Jessica.  Just wait for my signal.” He took a deep breath. “When we get into position Ving, you take the man on the far left.  Pete, you take the guy on the far right, I’ll take the guy in the middle.” He looked around the huddle. “Everybody got it?” They all nodded, serious now. “Let’s do this.”

They advanced silently, using the hangar for cover.  They tried to enter the hangar through the same rear entrance they had used before, but it was secured, a makeshift door and a heavy chain kept them out. Undaunted, Brad gave hand signal instructions and Pete began to slowly circle around the right side of the hangar, while Ving and Brad crept around the left side.

As soon as they were in position, Brad initiated the assault by taking the first shot. Pete and Ving responded to the signal when they heard Brad’s shot ring out.  The three guards were on the ground in a matter of seconds and Pete was inside the aircraft conducting a hasty preflight check and locating the controls while they were still bleeding. 

Brad, in the meantime, was waving frantically towards the others, urging them to run to the plane while Ving kept an eye on the road from Mobaye. None of them harbored any doubt that the gunfire had been heard by the rebel forces there.

“We’ve got less than half a tank of fuel,” Pete reported when Brad boarded.

“Is that enough to get us to Gemena?”

“Multiple vehicles approaching from town,” Ving shouted through the entry door.

“It’s gonna have to be,” Pete yelled, flipping the switch for the port engine. He pushed a button and the engine sputtered to life, running roughly. He needed to wait for it to smooth out, but there was no time. Flipping the switch for the starboard engine, he pressed the starter button for it. “Load ’em up!” he screamed to Brad over the roar of the engines as he moved the throttles toward the emergency power quadrant. The engines did their own screaming as they smoothed out and began to roar.

Jack, Jessica and Jared scrambled aboard as Ving chopped the tie downs with his fighting knife. He dove through the door and Jared, favoring his arm, pulled the entry door closed behind him. Before the door was even locked, Pete began to taxi towards the grassy strip of a runway. Rebel vehicles filled with troops drove off the road from town and onto the grass strip, the soldiers standing in the backs of the trucks firing wildly at the plane as it bounced down the airstrip.

Pete slammed the throttles all the way to the stops and began to pray as the craft gathered speed. Three rebel trucks were drawing closer and Brad felt more than heard the bullets piercing the fuselage.

“Get us the hell out of here Pete!”

There wasn’t much life in the controls yet, but Pete yanked back on the yoke and the C-212 bounced twice and lifted off the ground.

“We’re lucky this is a short take-off and landing (STOL) aircraft,” Pete snapped.  “A few more seconds on the ground and we would have been Swiss cheese.”

Their relief was short lived. Pete caught sight of a trail of smoke out of the corner of his eye and jerked the yoke, sending the plane into a steep bank to the right to avoid the SA-7 missile. It exploded in the air several meters away from the aircraft. The burst almost sent the plane hurtling out of control towards the ground, but Pete’s quick response righted them again.

Several warhead fragments had hit the right engine and it started to smoke and sputter.  Pete feathered the prop and then shut the engine down. He had to make a correction to maintain a level flight path, but he managed it after a fashion. He banked the craft gently and guided them slowly towards the D.R.C. There were no more missiles. They crossed the Ubangi and entered D.R.C. airspace.

The remaining engine was running strong, and Pete believed they could reach Gemena if their fuel held out. He began to pray.

Ving contacted Hank Guzman with the last of the charge in his battered satellite phone and arranged for an emergency military transport out of Gemena and back to the U.S. while the others heaved a collective sigh of relief.

Two hours into their harrowing flight, while Pete was carefully beginning his approach to Gemena airport, Brad looked down at floor of the plane and noticed a small package about the size of a baseball stuffed under Jessica’s seat.  He reached down to grab it.

“What’s that?” Jessica asked.

“I’m not sure,” Brad replied as he began to tear the package open.

“Diamonds!” Jessica shrieked as the rough stones spilled out onto Brad’s hand.

“I believe these are yours,” Brad said with a laugh as he handed them over to Jessica.

Jessica literally lunged for Brad and wrapped her arms around his neck. She squeezed him tightly, laughing ecstatically. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m going to share them with you guys.”

“I don’t give a damn about your diamonds Jess,” Brad whispered emotionally. “I’m just happy to have you back in one piece.”

EPILOGUE – Day 7

Brad let out a huge sigh of relief as the commercial jetliner landed smoothly at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport.  The mission had gone relatively well. They accomplished their objective and made it back with only one minor injury and zero fatalities. For a half-assed, hurry up plan, it had been a remarkable success.

He always enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction he got at the completion of a successful mission, but this one had been special.  This one had been personal, had been for family.  His cousin Jessica was the most important person in the world to him and it felt great to finally have her home safe.  His world was right again… and a share of Ostrigamo’s diamonds were just icing on the cake.

THE END

A Brad Jacobs Thriller Series by Scott Conrad:

TRACK DOWN ALASKA – BOOK 2

TRACK DOWN BOOK 3 – Coming Jan 2016

Visit the author at:  ScottConradBooks.blogspot.com