Havoc - v4 (6 page)

They covered another ten yards before the gunmen calmed themselves enough to aim. Hornet swarms of 7.62-millimeter rounds cut the air around the fleeing pair, stitching fist-sized craters in the dirt at their feet. A round hit something solid in Cali’s pack and the force of the impact saved her life. She pitched to the ground as a half dozen rounds sped through the space where her head had been.

Mercer barely broke stride as he dragged her back to her feet, then bodily tossed her into the trench now three yards away. She rolled with the impact and fell into the ditch as Mercer leapt over her, hitting the far wall of the eight-foot-wide trench and sliding into the fetid water.

“Are you okay?” he gasped, spitting a mouthful of water.

Cali stripped off her pack, taking just a moment to examine the bullet hole. She tossed it aside and nodded wordlessly, her cheeks flushed and her breathing coming in irregular gulps.

“Come on.” Mercer took her hand and began wading through the thigh-deep water. It would take less than a minute for the rebels to reach the open-pit mine. Mercer and Cali had to lose themselves in the labyrinth and then find a way back out.

They half-ran half-swam, their feet sliding on the slick mud of the trench’s floor. Mercer led her into the interior of the maze so that gunmen at the perimeter couldn’t simply pick them off. He had no idea how many of Dayce’s men would come, all of them probably, but with four acres of trenches to cover he doubted the rebel leader had enough troops to fully encircle the mine.

The dirt walls were sheer and all the corners were still sharp. Their view of the leaden sky was reduced to angular ribbons, like walking through a scaled-down version of Manhattan’s canyons. Mercer hadn’t taken a close enough look at the mine to know the way out of it, but his acute sense of direction had been honed through years working in the three-dimensional network of tunnels in coal, gold, and diamond mines. And while the sun was hidden behind storm clouds, he could judge its direction and thus maintain his own.

Two minutes after tumbling into the trench, Mercer estimated they were a quarter of the way across. He heard voices behind them, far enough away that he knew the men had just reached the lip of the workings, but close enough to make him quicken their pace. A soldier fired off half of his AK’s banana magazine. His cohorts cheered him on. The rebels didn’t have a clue where their quarry had gone.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Cali asked after another minute.

“Not exactly,” Mercer admitted. “But we need to get away from the river, where Dayce is sure to station troops along the main trench. I think our best hope is to get to the opposite side of the mine, nearest the jungle, and hope we can make a break for it.”

“Lead on, Macduff.”

Some of the trenches were long, straight galleries while others dead-ended or branched into innumerable side channels. As he ran, Mercer scanned the edge of the trenches above them, in case rebels had managed to reach the interior earthworks and were searching for them.

They rounded yet another corner. “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“That tree branch leaning against the left wall. We passed it a minute ago. We’re circling ourselves.” Mercer looked back the way they’d come, then glanced at the sky. He could no longer tell where the sun had hidden itself behind the scudding clouds. It began to drizzle.

He turned around and led Cali the way they’d come, feeling a slight hesitation in her step. He didn’t blame her.

The young rebel had already killed three people today, but wanted more. His friend, Simi, would be able to cut six new notches on his AK’s already serrated stock. He had managed to jump the outside trench and had been running along the top of the maze in his search for the whites. Suddenly he saw where the normally calm water sloshed against the side of the channel. They were near. He kept running, his rubber sandals mere inches from the lip of the trench. He turned another corner and saw them. They were below him, running in his direction, their legs hidden by the water, their heads down.

He skidded to a stop and was about to fire when something slammed into his shoulder. His feet slid out from under him. As he fell he managed to twist himself and clutch the ground before sliding into the trench, his assault rifle pinned uselessly under his chest, his feet scraping against the trench, trying to climb back out.

Mercer stopped and raised his pistol, yet hesitated to fire at the defenseless, wounded boy. Who knew how many people this child warrior had killed, how many women he’d raped, how much suffering he’d caused? At that moment, it didn’t matter. Mercer couldn’t shoot him in cold blood. Instead he ran forward and grabbed the boy’s skinny ankle. The rebel shouted out to his comrades as Mercer yanked him off the wall.

The boy splashed into the water and before he could regain his equilibrium, Mercer fired a straight right fist into his face. With a broken nose and several loose teeth, the boy would be unconscious for hours. Mercer made sure the kid wouldn’t drown, tucked his Beretta into the flat holster sewn into the back of his pants, and took the AK-47.

Who had shot the kid? he wondered. Could there be government troops in the area? Is that who took out the second rebel when he and Cali were pinned in the open? Because Mercer was sure his second shot had gone high.

A shadow passed over his face. He whirled, firing from the hip. The first two rounds blew dirt from the lip of the trench; the other three punched blooming crimson holes in the chest of another rebel. An instant later a third rebel ducked his head over the parapet. Keeping out of view, he swung his weapon and sprayed the trench with a full magazine.

His shots went wild as the assault rifle bucked in his hand. Mercer and Cali raced around the next corner. A moment later came an anguished cry as the rebel peeked over the rim of the mine and saw the cloud of blood forming around the friend he’d just finished off. The rebel and three others jumped into the trench and started after the whites.

Hand in hand, Mercer and Cali ran on, staying in the shorter stretches of trench, trying to keep from being spotted, but Mercer knew their wake was as easy to follow as a trail of bread crumbs. At the next corner, he pushed Cali ahead of him and flattened himself against the wall. The pursuing rebels made no effort at silence, coming on like charging crocodiles. Mercer waited another two beats, then rounded the corner.

The AK was at his shoulder and he had complete surprise. He killed the first before they were even aware they were being ambushed. The second went down an instant later. The third dove flat and Mercer fired his last two rounds into the spot where he’d sunk. The body floated to the surface, two neat holes in his back. Mercer threw the gun aside and took off after Cali.

He caught up with her just as she rounded another corner. Twenty paces away a rebel stood in the center of the trench, a rocket launcher tucked under his arm. Mercer and Cali both dropped into the water as the RPG punched out of the launcher and ignited. A blazing trail of fire and smoke corkscrewed down the trench and hit the far wall. The projectile detonated an instant later, blowing a twelve-foot hole in the dam separating the flooded trenches from the steep riverbank.

Mercer erupted from the water, pistol in hand. The instant his vision cleared, he put two rounds in the terrorist’s chest. As he fell back he realized what had happened. With the dam breached by the RPG, the stagnant water began to rush through the opening, worrying at it, eroding the sides so the hole doubled in size in seconds. Caught in the inexorable pull, he and Cali were swept along with the current. Neither could dig their heels into the muck at the bottom of the trench or find purchase on the crumbly walls.

Water swelled through the cleft, a remorseless torrent that bore them like so much flotsam. Mercer cursed and Cali clung to his arm as they were sucked through the opening. They went airborne for what seemed like forever before crashing to the ground, tumbling in the flood, and sliding down the bank amid a batter-thick sludge of water and mud. They cartwheeled over each other and the Beretta was stripped from Mercer’s grip.

When they hit the river, they were pushed far out into the stream but were so disoriented they couldn’t seize the opportunity to escape. Together they struggled back to the bank, choking and coughing up water with every painful breath. Mercer pushed Cali ahead of him as they floundered back to land. Neither looked up until they’d dragged their upper bodies from the surprisingly cold river.

The man was huge. Six four at least, with a broad chest and a head like a cannonball. He wore fatigues, new boots. A leather vest made of some animal hide was all that covered his muscled upper body. His features were cold and distant while his sunglasses mirrored the pitiable figures at his feet. The holster belted around his waist was big enough to carry a railroad gun. He took an unlit cigar from between his teeth and gave a short derisive laugh.

“Welcome to hell, Mr. CIA Man.” The looming rebel removed his sunglasses, revealing deep-set fanatical eyes. “I am General, soon to be Emperor, Caribe Dayce.”

Bound at the wrists, Mercer and Cali were dragged back up the riverbank to the village and dumped into one of the few surviving huts. The men took everything from their pockets and performed an exhaustive search of Cali’s breasts and between her legs. By their expressions, there was little doubt what was in store for her when Dayce was done with them.

Two of the men remained outside the hut while the others went on to continue ransacking the small village to a chorus of screams and rifle fire.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” Mercer whispered, shuffling across the dirt floor so he could lean next to Cali. Their clothes were soaked, and despite the tropical heat he could feel her shivering.

“Are you out of your mind?” she hissed, her eyes wide. “In an hour or two you’re going to be shot and I’m going to be raped to death.”

“No, listen to me. I don’t think we’re alone. The kid who fell into the mine, he’d been shot in the back and the second guerilla who went down just before we reached the trench, I don’t think I hit him. I think there’s another force out there who took them out, a rival faction or maybe government troops.”

“I’d like to think so,” she said in return, “but doesn’t it make a little more sense that they were shot by their own men? Please be quiet and let me think for a second.”

Cali didn’t get her second. Caribe Dayce wedged his considerable bulk into the thatched hut, seemingly dropping its temperature by ten degrees just with his presence. He didn’t remove his sunglasses in the dim recess of the rondavel. The clouds of smoke wafting from his cigar masked the stench of abject poverty.

Blood dribbled from the bottom of his knife scabbard, forming a black pool in the dirt as he hunkered down to stare at his seated captives.

“The CIA must not think too much of me to send just two of you, and one is a woman.” Dayce spoke slowly in English with a deep, commanding voice.

“We aren’t from the CIA,” Cali said before Mercer could buy a little time by replying in French. “I am from the Centers for Disease Control. The CDC.”

“Ah,” Dayce said as if he’d heard of the organization. “That is the arm of the CIA that controls disease and spreads it among the people of Africa by pretending to vaccinate our children.”

“No. It is not part of the CIA,” Cali replied hotly. “I’m here to prevent the spread of disease. I hope to save your children.”

He casually backhanded her. Mercer stiffened and Dayce’s enormous pistol was suddenly pressed between his eyes. “Next lie I use my fist. You are here to spread AIDS and to give me AIDS, like how the CIA tried to kill Brother Fidel by overwhelming Cuba with pigs.”

It took Mercer a moment to realize Dayce’s warped sense of history had led him to believe the Bay of Pigs invasion was quite literally an invasion by a bunch of pigs. In another time and place he would have laughed.

“You are assassins sent to kill me and end my revolution.” He switched his attention back to Cali. “You carry the disease, yes? I am supposed to want you because you are white? And when we are done you will tell me I have the Slim.”

“Yes.” Cali scoffed in a display of bravado or idiocy. “We’re here to assassinate you with a disease that takes years to kill.”

“And you.” He turned back to Mercer, never once lessening the pressure of the gun between his eyes. “What disease do you carry?”

At that moment Mercer saw a white man pass by the rondavel’s open door. He was dressed for combat and carried a machine pistol slung under his arm. He moved with an easy professional grace, almost like a shadow in the smoke of burning huts. He had to be from the UN, one of the Belgian soldiers on guard in Kivu sent north to hasten the evacuation of the region. And if there was one there had to be more. Mercer swiveled his eyes back to Caribe Dayce and kept all trace of emotion from his voice. “Optimism.”

The African guerilla leader rocked back on his heels and laughed. “That is something that you can’t spread in Africa.”

“I know.”

Dayce got to his feet, remaining in a stooped position because the hut wasn’t tall enough. He holstered his sidearm. “I think we will not take chances with the two of you. I decree that you are CIA spies and sentence you to death. Execution is at sundown.”

“Did you see him?” Mercer asked as soon as Dacye had walked out of earshot.

Tension ran from Cali so her body sagged against his. “Yes, Jesus, I did! Who is he?”

“I think he’s a UN peacekeeper and he won’t be the only one. They must be getting into position. Get ready to bolt as soon as they attack. Can you get your hands free?”

“I can’t even feel my hands.”

“Doesn’t matter. As soon as they attack we’ll kick out the back of the hut and drop straight for the river. The truck’s only a mile downstream. All we need is three minutes’ head start and we’re gone.”

They crawled to the back of the hut and braced their feet against the wall. One or two good kicks would likely knock the entire structure down. The tall riverbank was only a couple of yards beyond the hut. For the first minutes Mercer felt adrenaline sing in his veins as he waited for the inevitable assault. But after five his body relaxed as his mind began to wander. The UN soldiers had to have seen their capture. They wouldn’t wait until the last minute before attempting an attack. Granted they were outnumbered, but Mercer had taken out a half dozen rebels and he had nowhere near their combat training. More experience maybe, but not training. Even if they didn’t attack Dayce’s entire force, they must know where he and Cali were being held and could rescue them.