‘Where’s the phone?’
‘That bag,’ said Fisher, pointing.
Brice found the satphone and checked its screen. ‘They hadn’t called for help,’ he confirmed. ‘The last call was yesterday.’
‘That is lucky for you,’ Mukobo told Nina and Fisher. ‘So. You have not been far inside — but you must know what is in there.’
‘Something valuable,’ said Brice thoughtfully. ‘It would have to be, to bring the world’s most famous archaeologist and a documentary team to the Congolese jungle. It isn’t somewhere you come on a whim.’
‘So what’re you doing here?’ Eddie demanded. Luaba made ready to kick him, but when his boss said nothing, stood down. ‘Thought your business was looking after mining company guys, not crawling through the jungle with warlords.’
‘They’re both my business,’ Brice replied. ‘The best way to ensure visiting VIPs need bodyguards is to have something to guard their bodies against. A civil war does that quite nicely.’
The Yorkshireman frowned at him. ‘Bollocks. There’s more to it than that — you wouldn’t be allying yourself with this lot otherwise. You want them to win.’
‘Independence for eastern Congo would benefit a lot of people, yes.’
‘Including the mining companies,’ Fortune said.
‘There’s a lot of money to be made out here — if you deal with the right people. At the moment, those people aren’t in power. That will change if the LEC takes control, though.’ Brice nodded at Mukobo, who smiled smugly. ‘All the deals for mining rights made with the current government will have to be renegotiated. I’m here to facilitate that.’
‘For a cut,’ Nina said acidly.
‘Well, naturally. As for why I’m here, specifically…’ He took out the small tube he had taken from Wemba. ‘Tracking device. Wemba has certain financial difficulties, so he was good enough to make it possible for us to follow you.’
‘Why?’
‘As I said, it would take something very special to bring you into the back end of beyond. And here it is.’ He spread his hands wide to encompass the surrounding ruins. ‘No matter what’s here, it’s in the LEC’s interests to control it. Even if it was looted a thousand years ago, it’s still an astounding archaeological find — and anyone wanting to study it will have to pay for the privilege. But if there really is a great treasure hidden here, well…’
‘It will be mine,’ said Mukobo firmly. ‘It is mine. If it is gold, or jewels, they can be sold to buy weapons. And you will help me find them.’ He issued a command in French. Some of his men moved to stand behind the prisoners. ‘Take me to the treasure, now.’ Another order, and the expedition members were yanked roughly to their feet. Rivero screeched as a blood-drenched length of gauze pulled free of the wound beneath.
‘For God’s sake!’ cried Fisher. ‘He’s hurt, you bastards! Leave him alone!’ He tried to break loose from the man holding him—
‘Mr Fisher, no!’ Fortune barked, but it was too late. Fisher was clubbed to the ground, another militia man grabbing him.
Mukobo had frozen at the American’s shout. He seemed almost expressionless, but rage was burning beneath the surface. ‘Did you,’ he said, voice low and angry, ‘dare to challenge me?’
‘No, he didn’t,’ Paris said quickly. ‘He’s just a dumb American, he doesn’t know about Le Fauchet. It’s our fault, we should have told him to respect you. Please, he didn’t know any better.’
The warlord’s searing gaze turned upon him. ‘It is your fault?’
Horror rose on the bodyguard’s face as he realised there was no good answer. ‘It… yes,’ he said, mouth dry. ‘Please, I am sorry.’
For the normally ebullient Congolese to become so fearful told Nina that something terrible was about to happen. But there was nothing she could do to intervene, except—
‘Okay, okay!’ she gabbled. ‘Any treasure that’s here, it’s yours. You can have it all. Nobody meant any disrespect, nobody has to get hurt. Okay?’
Silence. The Insekt Posse exchanged looks of nervous anticipation. Then Mukobo advanced on her. Now it was Nina’s turn to feel fear. Somehow, she knew that his pitiless face was the last seen by too many people to count. He stopped just two feet from her, regarding her unblinkingly…
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
‘Okay,’ he said.
She hardly dared breathe. ‘Okay?’
‘Okay. You will let me take all the treasure. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding repeatedly. ‘Yes, I will.’
‘Good.’ He stepped back.
Heart thudding, Nina finally managed to exhale. She gave Paris and Fisher relieved looks. The moment of terrifying tension had passed—
Mukobo whirled, stabbing a finger at the two men. ‘It is not yours to give! Tenez-les!’
Several militia swarmed upon Fisher and Paris, holding them immobile. The rifles of the other Insekt Posse snapped up to force the others back. ‘No — no! What’re you doing?’ Fisher gasped.
‘Do you know why my men wear red bands on their arms?’ Mukobo said. ‘To show that I own their blood — that I own them. I demand it from all who follow me. From those who do not follow me, from those who oppose me in any way… I also demand blood. They too have a red band upon their arms — and now you will see it. Luaba!’
Two of the militia grabbed Paris’s right arm and forced it straight across a tree stump. The big man drew the machete from his back — and in a single savage strike chopped it through the bodyguard’s forearm to bury the blade in the rotten wood beneath.
Paris fell backwards — as the men gripping his wrist lurched in the other direction, the two halves of his arm separating with a gushing crimson burst. Nina stared in shocked disbelief, her mind unwilling to accept what it had just seen… until Paris’s scream drove home the appalling reality. Blood gushed from the stump of his arm, white bone glistening amidst the gore.
But the horror was not over. Mukobo shouted another order. The men holding Paris swung him around, sending a bloody spray over the other militia as they whooped and chanted in demented glee. ‘Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet!’
‘Oh my God!’ Nina wailed. She stumbled back, falling to the ground. ‘Oh my God!’
Mukobo was not finished. ‘Encore!’ he roared, pointing at Fisher.
Luaba yanked up the machete as the militia dragged the director to the blood-covered root. Fisher snapped out of his stunned paralysis. ‘No!’ he screamed, struggling to break free — to no avail. ‘No, don’t do it! Please! Don’t—’
Two cackling young men slammed his arm down on the stump. Luaba swung the machete again. It hacked through the American’s forearm with a crack of bone. Fisher shrieked, eyes wide in shock as his captors pulled him back.
‘Steven!’ wailed Lydia as the two men flung his severed hand over their comrades. The awful chorus echoed through the jungle again.
Paris was thrown to the ground at Fortune’s feet, Fisher following. ‘This is what happens to anyone who challenges me!’ bellowed Mukobo. ‘This is what happens to my enemies!’
He rounded on Eddie. ‘And you,’ the warlord snarled, ‘you are most definitely my enemy. You captured me — you humiliated me. Now, you will pay! I will take your blood, from both your arms — and both your legs! Amenez-le!’
Men dragged Eddie, kicking and thrashing, to the tree. ‘You sick fucker!’ the Yorkshireman shouted at Mukobo.
‘No!’ screamed Nina. ‘No, don’t!’ But her desperate pleas only roused the militia’s frenzy, the sadistic chanting starting again as her husband was slammed down on the stump. Luaba grinned as he hefted the machete. He looked to Mukobo.