ground to crawl to the cache while others ran doubled over. It didn’t matter. The unseen gunmen found their marks and the guerillas died. Those that tried to flee into the jungle were shot in the back. Those that turned to beg for mercy were shot in the front.
At the instant of attack, Poli was far enough from the mass of rebel soldiers to escape immediate detection. Rather than run and draw attention to himself, he eased to the ground and edged toward the river embankment, crawling so slowly that in the fading light he looked like nothing more than a faint breeze blowing through the undergrowth. When he reached the steep hill, he slowly rolled over the precipice and slid down the unprotected face, keeping his arms and legs spread to maintain a slow pace. He allowed himself to roll into the water without making a splash, filled his lungs with as much air as his powerful chest could hold, then struck out underwater for the far shore.
He surfaced near a felled tree and drew himself from the water with the patience of a crocodile stalking a shore animal. Despite his exposure, he crawled slowly and steadily, knowing a sniper with a night scope could easily pick him off. But he reached the top of the escarpment and faded into the jungle. By the time the firing in the village stopped, he was a half mile away and eating ground with every pace.
Mercer hadn’t told Cali about seeing the shadowy figures encircling the village, because he wasn’t sure if he’d really seen them himself. They were like wraiths, hints of movement rather than solid form. He hadn’t wanted to give her false hope again. His whole charade about wanting to give the command to fire was his way of helping his rescuers if they really existed.
As soon as the first rounds raked the firing squad, he dropped to his backside and leaned as far over as he could, trying to present as small a target as possible. He couldn’t shout to Cali over the din of automatic fire but he saw she had followed his lead. She’d even managed to flatten herself to the ground using some double-jointed maneuver.
The one-sided firefight lasted less than five minutes, dwindling to silence as the unknown force picked off the last of the rebels who’d fled into the night. In all, one hundred and forty-eight well-armed guerillas had been massacred. The mysterious attackers had done what neither the Central African Republic’s army nor the UN had been able to do.
When it was over Mercer stood on shaky legs. He’d hoped for this but the aftermath left him drained. Cali didn’t bother to stand. She lay back against her pole, her eyes shut.
“You knew they were out there?” she finally asked.
“I suspected.”
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“You’re right. I would have thought it was a lame attempt at being gallant, and I would have died thinking you were a misogynist jerk.”
“And now?”
She finally looked over. “Well, you’re not a misogynist.” And then she rewarded him with a tired smile.
A few seconds later Mercer felt someone behind him. He stiffened before feeling a knife slice through the ropes securing his wrists. When he tried to turn to face his rescuer, strong hands clamped the sides of his head.
“Do not turn around.” The voice was pitched low and expressionless, as if masking an accent. Keys rattled next to Mercer’s ear. “These were in Dayce’s pocket. The two men he sent to search for your vehicle have been dispatched. Take your woman and go. Never return here.” The man thrust the keys into Mercer’s hand along with two other items. “You dropped these.” It was the canteen and the necklace made from the bullet that the old woman had worn.
“Who are you?”
“That is not your concern. Go.”
“But-”
“You leave in five seconds or die in six. We give you this chance for our own reasons. Take your woman’s hand.” Cali was moved next to Mercer, her fingers locking with his, their palms tight. “Walk straight forward until you reach your truck, then drive to Rafai. Tell them Dayce is dead and then never come back to this area again.”
As soon as the unseen man released Mercer’s skull, an accomplice racked the slide on a pistol to emphasize his point. Cali and Mercer needed no further urging. As if they were soldiers on parade, they marched in lockstep from the ruins of the village, bodies rigid, eyes straight ahead.
Only after they’d made their way along the dike separating the mine from the riverbank and climbed up from the cut left by the RPG did Cali finally ask, “What the hell just happened back there? Who were those guys?”
Mercer noted they were still holding hands. “I don’t know. That wasn’t another rebel faction. They fought like commandos and the guy who spoke sounded white, although not American.”
“Could they have been UN?”
“If they were, why not let us go with them? No, this is something else. That warning about not returning to the area. They were here to protect something and I don’t think it’s coincidence that they got here the same day as Caribe Dayce.”
“Or us for that matter. Do you think they were here all along, keeping watch over the village?”
Mercer thought it over. It was possible, with one glaring exception. “If they were here to protect the village, why allow Dayce to slaughter everyone and rape the few that survived? It’s something else.”
“The old mine?”
“I can’t think of anything else.”
“But why?”
“That’s something I plan on finding out.”
“Well, this is kind of out of both our purviews.”
“Not mine,” Mercer answered.
She glanced over, startled by the mettle in his voice. “How so?”
There was never any easy way for Mercer to explain his part-time position with the government without sounding like he was boasting. He usually just told it straight. “Two years ago I was hired as a consultant to the President of the United States. My title is special science advisor. Because my work, like yours, takes me to some pretty hostile places, I act as an intelligence gatherer for anything that could threaten the United States.”
“You’re a spy?”
“No, not like that.” Mercer reconsidered. “Well, kind of. If I come across anything out of the ordinary when I’m in the field, I write it up and forward it along to a deputy national security advisor named Ira Lasko. Truth be told, I’ve only passed on a couple of things in the two years since I agreed to take the job, and nothing’s ever come of them.”
“And you are going to follow up on this.”
“Cali, we just saw a village butchered and then some other mystery group come out of nowhere and annihilate the vanguard of a rebel army. How could I not follow up on it?”
They had reached the truck. It was almost dark. The jungle canopy was a silvery gray and the waters of the Chinko River ran black. They spied curious puffy white shapes milling around the battered cargo truck. Mercer held out a hand to take Cali’s wrist and lower her to the ground. A pair of figures stepped from the far side of the vehicle. Mercer cursed himself for not retrieving his Beretta. It was hard to make out details, but both people carried something long in their hands. Weapons?
One of the figures brushed aside one of the odd pale shapes and it protested with an angry bleat. They were sheep. As soon as Mercer realized it, the details came into focus. It was a man and a woman. They had just forded the river with the twenty-five or so sheep to flee Dayce’s army. The animals must represent the sum of their wealth. As Mercer and Cali watched, a pair of naked toddlers joined their parents. The mother lifted the youngest to a hip and allowed him to slide her breast from her blouse and begin to feed.
“What do you think?” Cali asked.
Mercer was pretty sure that all of the men with Dayce were dead, but he couldn’t take the chance a few were still out in the jungle. He couldn’t leave these people here, vulnerable. He stood, holding his arms wide in a friendly gesture as the family’s father saw him and lowered his staff as if to joust. It was all just too bizarre, but that was Africa. Mercer chuckled. “I think we’re making our escape from the CAR with a frightened family and a
