with those male children too young to work in the mine. Mercer had studied it in the early-morning hours before his shifts and knew its only weakness was the guarded entrance. He didn’t have the luxury of time to burrow under the coils of razor wire as he had done earlier.
Like the men’s enclosure, the guards here had erected a tent to shelter themselves from the elements and to give privacy to their nightly rapings. There was just enough light for Mercer to see the gleam of brass when he snapped the banana mag from the AK to check its load.
The guards’ tent was quiet as he approached. He had no way to disguise his clothes and white face, so he simply ducked in. The first Sudanese to notice him was sitting on a wooden stool. When he stood to challenge, Mercer cracked the butt of the AK between his eyes, sending him sprawling. Another guard dodged away when Mercer twisted to repeat the attack, rolling to the floor next to a low pallet the men used for sleep. The Sudanese hadn’t had the time to arm himself and Mercer ignored his supplicating hands. The gun butt made a sickening crack when it landed on the soldier’s skull. Of the third guard, there was no sign.
“Damn.” The guerrilla was either at the latrine or inside the women’s stockade selecting a victim for the night. Mercer couldn’t spare the time waiting for him.
He looked into the enclosure, but the rain obscured his vision beyond ten feet. Everything farther was a murky curtain of darkness. The lock on the barbed wire gate was off, suggesting the Sudanese was inside. He stepped in and cleared his eyes of water. But it was his ears that gave away his quarry’s location.
A sharp, feminine scream lanced out from the far side of the stockade, and Mercer took off to track down the source. There was a large square of plastic on the ground, shiny wet and glossy, and Mercer knew the majority of the women were beneath it, huddled like their male counterparts a short distance away. He skirted the tarpaulin and came up to where two dark figures struggled in the rain. From a few feet away, it was impossible to make out who was who, and Mercer committed his charge to taking down the taller of the two combatants.
Then, at the moment before he jammed the AK barrel into the Sudanese’s kidney, he realized that it was the shorter figure who was the man. The taller person was Selome! Redirecting his aim slightly, the rifle barrel caught the rebel in the lower back, rupturing his skin until the steel was buried in the man’s flesh up to the forward sight. The African arched his spine in agony. As he bent back, Mercer released his hold on the assault rifle, grabbed the man by the throat, and slammed him to the ground. He clamped a hand over the man’s nose and mouth until his struggles ended.
“Hope I’m not too late?” he whispered to Selome.
She composed herself. “I’d say you were right on time.”
“We’ve got about three minutes to meet up with Habte. Come on.” They ran from the stockade.
“The other women are going to make a break for it,” Selome said as they passed the guards’ tent. “They’ll try to free the men and scatter into the surrounding hills.”
“That should make Gianelli’s job of finding the rest of us a little more difficult.” He prayed that the Italian’s revenge when he rounded them back again would wait until after he’d dealt with Mercer’s group.
Near the mine opening, another large razor-wire enclosure encircled the area where the women and children crushed the kimberlite ore. It was deserted now except for a couple of guards standing under the cover of a metal shed erected to hold the safe Gianelli was using to store the diamonds. A generator hummed nearby, and a single floodlight shone in the rain. Mercer and Selome approached cautiously, using the big Caterpillar excavator as cover.
They were late. Habte should be around here someplace, waiting for them, having worked his way into position from above. Before their dash to the mine, Mercer had to meet up with him because the Eritrean had another task to perform tonight, something more important than anything else.
“What now?”
Mercer’s eyes rested on the Bobcat sitting a short distance away. “Ah, instant tank. Follow me.”
As they reached the skiploader, Habte raced from behind a mound of mining debris to join them.
“I was starting to wonder if you had gone off to elope,” he said, struggling with the unfamiliar word.
“Thought about it, but she wanted a big ceremony. You know how women can be.” Mercer clasped Habte’s hand. “Everything ready?”
“Detonator is lying behind that hill where I was waiting, and there are thirty pounds of explosives rigged above the mine entrance.”
“Any trouble?”
“No. You were right. It was easy to smash into the explosive locker with the hammer.”
“They were relying on the guards to prevent us from getting to them and didn’t bother with a stronger lock.”
“Lucky guess,” Selome quipped.
“Elementary, my dear Selome.” Mercer reached into his kit bag and extracted his Iridium satellite phone. He handed it to Habte. This was the one with the stronger charge, so he wasn’t concerned about draining the batteries when he powered it up. “The number is programmed into the phone, just hit this button here and dial 25. You may have to get away from the surrounding mountains to get a signal, I’m not sure. The man you’ll be talking to is named Dick Henna. If he needs verification that you’re with me, remind him about our conversation in his car and tell him that if he and his wife do get a dog, they should get a tail-less Pembrooke corgi. He’ll know what it means. Tell him what’s been happening and to send troops here as soon as possible. He can get our exact location by contacting the NSA. They’ll be able to determine our position by triangulating which communication satellites are handling the call. Make sure he notes the exact time of your call. It’ll make the technician’s job a hell of a lot quicker.
“Tell him that Harry White is being held by Israeli extremists linked to Defense Minister Chaim Levine and to start working on getting him freed. Make sure he knows that we’re in a bad way here, and the longer it takes to get the Marines on the ground, the more people are going to die.”
“Shouldn’t Selome make the call? Her English is better than mine.”
“No, I’m going to need her.” Mercer turned to Selome. “Unless you want to go and do it.”
“No, I’m staying with you.”
“Okay. Habte, as soon as we’re twenty feet from the mine entrance, I want you to blow those explosives.”
“But with this phone we can contact the authorities, and by tomorrow the Eritrean military will be here.”
“In an hour the guards I killed tonight will be discovered, and you can believe the refugees will pay for their deaths. Gianelli’s going to realize I took the phone, and he and his band of bastards will be safely across the Sudan border by the time the army arrives. We need to keep them here. This is the only way. Get into position at the detonator, and after you seal the mine, get away from here and make that call.” Mercer hopped into the bucket seat of the skiploader and motioned Selome to get on his lap.
Habte vanished back into the storm, and Mercer handed the AK-47 to Selome. “As soon as you see someone notice us, take them out.”
The key was in the overhead ignition, and Mercer gave it a twist, timing the firing of the diesel with a rolling boom of thunder. He feathered the throttle to its lowest setting and eased the twin control arms forward. The heavy tires clawed into the mud, slipping for a full revolution before finding purchase, and the Bobcat was under way. Twisting the wrist actuators on the controls brought the bucket up to partially shield them from gunfire.
When the skiploader entered the glow from the tall spotlight atop the shed, the guards saw the unauthorized vehicle and opened fire, winking eyes of flame jetting from their weapons. Selome shrieked as a fusillade rattled against the bucket, sparks shooting off the metal. “Fire back!” Mercer screamed.
The Bobcat was taking a pounding, both front tires deflating when struck, though the vehicle continued to crawl forward. Mercer rammed the throttle to its stops. Despite the increased speed, it was obvious he’d underestimated the number of guards at the mine entrance and their accuracy. Selome was returning fire, controlled three-round bursts that pinned men behind cover, but had yet to diminish the Sudanese ranks.
Mercer chanced a look under the bucket just as one of the guerrillas caught a bullet and flew back into the mud. He was about to congratulate Selome on her shot when he realized she was changing clips. Another Sudanese went down, punched through the mouth so his entire skull erupted as the round passed through. Mercer thought Habte was shooting from his cover behind the mound of tailings, but the angle was all wrong. It was during a second-long pause in the murderous exchange of fire that he heard the sharp, distinctive whip crack of a high- powered rifle.
