Devil's Gold (50 page)

“No farther.”

Jake heard a rustle and squinted through the darkness at Cassidy. She struggled to her elbow, holding her palm out in his direction. “Stop, Jake. Listen.” Her breathing was ragged, and he could hear the pain in her voice. “Michelle. She infected me.” His heart clenched as her entire body shook with the energy she used to speak. “Antidote at NWP.”

He swallowed and inhaled, calming his panic. “Cole has an antidote?”

Cassidy nodded weakly. “Go. Hurry.” She collapsed back against the thin mattress.

Jake closed his eyes and reached a hand in her direction, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I told you not to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Her voice drifted into a soft chuckle.

He couldn't stand facing her illness. Jake spun on his heels and headed out of the building, yelling over his shoulder. “You know what.” He paused outside the building and pointed a finger at the two witch doctors conversing softly in their singsong version of Pidgin English. “She dies. So do you.”

The man who'd prevented him from moving closer to Cassidy gripped his shoulder. “Bad mojo running through her body. She try to keep me away, but I tell her my life for our land is an easy sacrifice. Be swift so that we may fight this black magic.”

Jake nodded. “Keep her alive.” He ran into the clearing, moving around the bodies of the concerned villagers. Fighting back their questions, Jake fled into the jungle, keeping his pace steady. He whistled through his teeth as he ran. Time.
Damn
. How long did he have? His brain ran through a million scenarios, and not one was satisfactory. He'd never realized he'd been lonely, not until her touch and warm laughter claimed his heart and his world brightened beyond anything he'd dreamed possible. Without Cassidy, the future felt empty.

He paused, bending over and heaving in deep breaths. Glancing around wild-eyed, he swore at himself for running headlong into the jungle without bothering with direction. The rustle of leaves and a cracking twig snapped his attention to his left. Sunday stepped from the shadows of an overgrown fig bush. “You need help?”

Jake laughed bitterly and pushed his hair off his forehead. “Hell, yes. Can you lead me downriver?”

Sunday nodded. “Your woman?”

“Poisoned.”

Concern and alarm invaded the man's eyes. “Bad mojo.”

Jake snorted, checking his gun and other ammunition strapped to his body. “So I've been told.” A sweet scent drifted in their direction; it smelled musky with a tinge of sandalwood.

“The medicine men are calming her spirit. They will burn away what they can. Their powders are potent, pulled from some of the most poisonous frogs in the world. If nothing else, it'll give her the rest her body needs to fight the poison.”

Gazing at Sunday, Jake decided not to contradict the man. “Let's go.”

Jake and Sunday moved to the banks of the Niger River. Stepping over the claw-like roots of the mangroves, the two men climbed aboard the rubber boat Jake had pulled onshore upon his and Cassidy's return from the cave.

Sunday sat in front navigating as they silently paddled through the murky water. He refused to use the motor. Kill-and-Go swarmed this zone like flies on cow dung. The jungle flanked both sides and vibrated with the power of the drums as they resumed their steady beat. Thick foliage ruffled in the breeze, bringing with it the mixed scent of burning fires and dank composted earth. Jake said a silent prayer for Cassidy and focused his energy on the task before him.

Now this is worth killing for
.

T
ERRIFIED SCREAMS FILLED THE AIR AS
S
UNDAY'S MEN SPREAD
across the jungle, killing all in their path. Sunday glanced over his shoulder, and Jake nodded in understanding. The Ijwo were performing as promised, eliminating the Kill-and-Go squads and protecting those to the north.

“How much farther?” Jake's voice was barely a whisper on the breeze.

Sunday studied the coastline and responded in the same hushed tone. “We've passed into the western coastal plain. The beach and barrier islands are straight ahead.”

They slipped from the relatively calm current of the river into the turbulent surf of the Gulf of Guinea. The skyline flared with the preternatural light of hundreds of gas flares. Jake's vision adjusted to the sudden glare, and he leaned forward tapping Sunday on the shoulder. “That's it. That freighter up ahead. Can you swim back from here?”

Sunday nodded and silently slipped overboard, leaving Jake alone to paddle across the choppy water. Sulfur and methane poisoned the air. He unwrapped a bandana from his arm and tied it across his nose. After several excruciating minutes, the rubber inflatable brushed against the side of the hull of the mammoth ship and Jake moved quietly and efficiently to secure the attachment lines.

Waves smacked the hull with a rhythmic slap that ratcheted up his anxiety. Like the hands of a clock, ticking Cassidy's time away. He grabbed the anchor rope and shimmied up to the first deck.

Jake crept along the bow of the ship, keeping low. He frowned at the ghostly feel of his surroundings. For a freighter this large there should be men everywhere. Heading down a center corridor, he picked up the bitter scent of burning coffee. Fluorescent lights were dark upon the ceiling, leaving only the dull amber glow of generator-operated bulbs.

According to the map Cassidy had prepared for him, the conference room, offices, and sleeping quarters all originated in one sector. He twisted the handle on the door she'd indicated was Robert Cole's office.

Empty, except for an odd shadow cast upon the carpet.

Jake pushed the door open a bit farther, placing his back against the jamb and sliding through the gap gun first. Silence.

He followed the black silhouette back to its source. A body lay sprawled before a mammoth desk, arms splayed to the side. Fluorescent light filtered from outside, flickering against an all too familiar tattoo. Michelle. Dark spots splattered across the rug, and a puddle of blood seeped into the fabric. He cautiously stepped around the wet material. Kneeling down, Jake felt the pulse at Michelle's neck. Remorse didn't register a one on his emotional scale. In fact, if she'd been alive he'd probably have killed her himself for poisoning Cassidy. He patted her down but found no items of worth or clues to the whereabouts of the virus.

Jake stepped back and silently exited the office.

He proceeded forward and checked the conference room and then the small cafeteria.

Empty.

His stomach tightened, and his gut screamed loudly. This wasn't right. He frowned and moved toward a door that filtered a small sliver of light into the corridor.

Jake tested the knob. It was locked. He pulled out his Army knife and picked the lock. Jake opened the door slowly, aiming his gun at the interior of the room.

A man sat in the center slumped over the edge the counter. His hands and feet hung loosely, and his head rested at an odd angle. Jake moved cautiously. He reached forward and checked his pulse. Dead. The head flopped back, and Jake noticed the outline of a bullet hole in the man's temple. Glancing at the rounded figure and manicured hands, Jake guessed he faced Edward Fiske. A quick glance at the laboratory surrounding him and a pad of scribbled notes with the scientist's signature confirmed his supposition.

Stepping back, Jake noticed a metallic briefcase on the counter. He flipped it open and counted a dozen vials marked CPV-19 and a dozen more marked antidote. “Bingo.” Jake spun on his heels and exited the small room.

Nick strode through the door of Robert's office with his gun drawn and eyes wary. His boss glanced up and then stared at the drawn gun. “You sure he's onboard?”

Nick nodded his head once. “Cameras caught him.”

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Set the charges.”

“It seems a waste to blow this place up.”

Robert stepped around the desk, carrying a suede satchel. “You filmed Michelle shooting Fiske?”

“Fuckin' A. A bit twisted, that one. Shot herself up with the antidote, then put a gun to the doc's head, kissed his mouth, and blew the fucker away.” Nick shrugged. “Too bad you offed her.”

“I don't need her anymore.”

Nick nodded, quietly opposed to the death of Michelle. She'd proven to be a wealth of information, coercing Drew Sharpe to their side and wiping the blood off their money by washing away NWP's connection with the Nigerian government.

Cole sighed. “She failed to find me the geological survey. It was my only course of action. ZEBRA will be blamed. It'll be an international incident that will close their doors for good. The survey will be buried.”

Nick tightened his mouth. “I've hooked up the live feed video.”

“Excellent. In the lab?”

“Yes.”

Robert headed toward the door. “The feed has been programmed to my computer in Port Harcourt. You sure your man can alter the image?”

“To show Anderson setting the charges and placing the virus onboard instead of stealing it?”

“Exactly.”

Nick followed Robert out the door. The two men walked down a thin corridor and began climbing steep metal stairs. “Yes. He'll do that.”

They reached the top, a blast of ocean air tossing Robert's neatly combed hair into a frenzy. “Superb. That's all the evidence I'll need to incriminate ZEBRA.”

Nick paused and surveyed the near empty ship. There were a few workers ambling about, but nothing more than a skeleton crew. Collateral damage.

Robert broke the silence. “What are we waiting for?”

Nick grinned. “I'll start the fireworks.”

Jake pressed his back against the wall of the corridor; he could feel the rivets of the soldered metal through his shirt. The cool metal of the briefcase was a comfort in his hand, his fingers gripping it in a solid hold. He placed one foot in front of the other, his ears tuned to any noise that would signal the approach of his enemy. His gun faced forward, ready to slay anyone that attempted stopping his escape.

A muffled boom echoed up one of the stairwells. Jake tensed and cocked his head, listening for the source of the noise. A dark cloud of smoke flooded the stairs ahead, and panicked screams echoed from below. Jake slipped quickly down the corridor, pausing at the stairwell. Another explosion ripped the silence, this time followed by several smaller detonations.
What the hell?
The ship listed, tossing Jake backward and slamming his shoulder against the edge of the wall. A concert of groans and creeks from strained metal filled the corridor.

The barge was breaking apart.

Running as fast as the lurching craft would allow, Jake navigated farther down the hall and toward the exterior deck. More booms interspersed with bright flashes of light cascaded across the ship. The heat of fire reached his face. Skidding on his heels as the ship dipped and dove in the opposite direction, he exited into the night at mid-ship.

Swinging his head from fore to aft, Jake saw nothing but pandemonium. Whatever crew had been hiding when he arrived was now yelling for help and racing for safety. Men streamed from the belly of the metal beast, swarming in panicked circles around lifeboats. Others, dressed in khaki security uniforms, fired their weapons into the air in an effort to gain control. Bursts of orange flame blasted from portholes and stairwells as the lower levels of the barge began to disintegrate and take on water.

Another explosion and the ground dropped from beneath Jake's feet. He hit a lower deck, rolled to his right, and jumped up. Jake clutched the suitcase, ducked his head, and ran toward the railing. He choked and covered his mouth as he passed a fiery hallway. Blinded by the smoke, Jake reached his gun hand forward and searched for the metal railing. His arm connected with something solid and he blinked, momentarily confused by the block in his path.

A fist connected with his jaw and his neck snapped back, sending bright flashes of white before his eyes. He stumbled but kept his hold on the briefcase. Jake dropped beneath the line of smoke and crouched, gazing through the haze at his attacker. The other man coughed and moved forward, his arms out and ready to seize Jake by the throat.