He reluctantly acquiesced. ‘Okay. But I’m not going to stand around doing nothing!’ He reached back into the boat and lifted out one of the expedition’s packs.
Rivero put the surviving laptop in Lydia’s backpack before starting to gather his own gear. Nina retrieved its damaged twin. Howie’s blood had been wiped off the casing, but there were still dried traces around the bullet hole. She suppressed a shudder, but the underlying pain was harder to push down. She would have to contact the families of all those who had not returned, not only to express her condolences but also to explain how their loved ones had died, and her part in their deaths…
The rising rasp of an engine cut through her grim thoughts. ‘Someone’s coming!’ Eddie warned. The expedition’s vehicles were parked not far from the shore; he pointed to them. ‘Get in, quick!’ Fortune jumped from the boat and hurried after Lydia towards the buses, but Rivero remained aboard, stuffing the last of his gear into a bag. ‘Just leave it, for fuck’s sake!’
‘No way,’ the cameraman insisted. ‘I almost died to get this footage, I’m not leaving it behind!’ He yanked the zip closed and grabbed his camera before climbing out, about to turn back for the remaining packs and equipment until he wilted under Eddie’s impatient glare and followed his companions.
Everyone hurried to the minibuses. Eddie looked down the village’s main street as the approaching vehicle came into sight. It was a dirt bike, riding high on its heavy-duty suspension and chunky off-road tyres: the perfect choice for anyone who wanted to traverse the DR Congo’s rutted, broken roads at speed. The rider had a gun slung over his back — not the ubiquitous Kalashnikov of the militia, but its American equivalent, one of the many variants of the M16 assault rifle.
The man drew nearer, his attention fixed upon the minibuses. There was no way the group could make a getaway without being seen… ‘Nina, give me the laptop,’ ordered Eddie.
‘But it’s our only bargaining chip,’ she protested.
‘It’s also what he’s been sent to get — so I’m hoping it’ll hold his attention while the rest of you escape.’
‘We are not leaving you behind,’ Fortune insisted.
‘Hopefully you won’t have to. Come on, hurry up.’
Nina reluctantly gave him the computer as the rider pulled up near the parked vehicles. The villagers retreated nervously at the sight of his gun. He dismounted and took off his helmet, revealing a tanned Caucasian face and a greasy blond mullet. ‘Saw him at the airport,’ Eddie muttered. ‘One of the mining company bodyguards.’
‘Not one of these Removal Men?’ Nina asked.
‘No, he’s just a mercenary — but Brice’ll definitely have sent him—’
‘Eddie Chase!’ the man called in confirmation. ‘Nina Wilde! Show yourselves! I know you’re here!’ His accent was German or Austrian.
‘Who’s asking?’ Eddie shouted back.
‘A man called Brice.’ He unslung his rifle, a Bushmaster M4 carbine painted in striped jungle camouflage — but rather than ready it, he held it in one hand while he took something from his dark jacket with the other. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
‘Yeah, to hear our last words,’ said Nina, seeing the merc hold out a satellite phone — the one Brice had taken from the expedition. ‘Can we trust him?’
‘Nope,’ said Eddie. ‘But he could have just come around here and shot us all if he’d wanted, so…’
He stepped out from behind the bus, the laptop in his hand. ‘I’m here.’
‘Eddie!’ Nina gasped, but the mercenary’s rifle remained lowered.
The blond man regarded Eddie with suspicion. ‘And Nina Wilde?’
She leaned cautiously out from behind the bus. ‘Hello, hi.’
He waved the phone impatiently. ‘Come here. He’s waiting.’
‘Keep everyone safe,’ Eddie told Fortune quietly before he and Nina went to the new arrival. ‘All right. Give us the phone.’
The merc handed it to him, then stepped back. Eddie brought the phone to his ear, Nina craning her neck to listen in. ‘Yeah?’
‘Good morning, Chase,’ Brice replied. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. You and your wife survived, so I have to assume that your friends did as well — and that you’ve told them about our little chat at the bottom of the mine.’
‘I didn’t tell ’em anything,’ said Eddie, deciding the lie was worth trying. ‘Safer that way.’
‘Sadly, I don’t believe you. Or rather, I can’t believe you. Occupational hazard. Considering the circumstances, however, I am prepared to offer you a deal.’
‘Which is?’ Nina asked.
‘Ah, the redoubtable Dr Wilde, sharing your husband’s indestructibility as ever. Simply put, I want you to turn over all your electronic equipment to Mr Hapen. Laptops, hard drives, SD cards, phones, anything and everything upon which you might have made a backup copy of the drone recording.’
‘You put a bullet through the laptop,’ Eddie reminded him. ‘And the kid holding it, you bastard. It’s wrecked, we haven’t been able to copy anything off it.’
‘Again, I can’t risk believing you. But if you do as I ask, I give you my word that you and your friends will walk out of there alive.’
‘And if we don’t, we all die, right?’ said Nina.
‘Oh, much worse than that,’ Brice told her. ‘Your daughter will die.’
The threat sent a fearful chill through her. ‘What?’ she gasped.
Eddie’s response was one of fury. ‘You listen—’
‘No, you listen, Chase!’ barked the MI6 officer. ‘Macy is currently in Southampton with her grandparents — your father, Larry Chase, and his wife Julie. Quite the age difference there, but that’s by the by. My watchers tell me that Macy’s wearing denim dungarees with a purple long-sleeved top underneath, and red shoes. Does that sound familiar?’
Macy’s parents looked at each other in appalled shock. They did indeed know the outfit. When Eddie spoke again, the anger in his voice was ice cold. ‘If anything happens to Macy, when I find you you’ll fucking beg to end up like Mukobo. Do you hear me?’
Brice’s snort of disdain was faint, but still audible. ‘You’re making a threat you can’t carry out, Chase. But you know full well that I can carry out mine. And I will — but only if I have to. I’m a professional, not a psychopath. Turn everything over to Hapen, and you’ll get to walk away. And so will your daughter.’
‘Why would you let us go?’ Nina demanded, not believing him for a moment. ‘We could tell the world what you were doing in the Congo.’
‘This may come as a surprise, Dr Wilde, but outside your insulated little echo chamber of United Nations do-gooders? Nobody cares. Nobody cares what happens in the Congo, or the rest of Africa either.’
‘The people who live here care,’ Eddie growled.
‘What they think doesn’t matter. Not to me, not to my government — our government, I’ll remind you — not to any other government in the civilised world. Without proof, you can tell the world whatever you want, but even if you shout it from your media bully pulpit, Nina, nobody will care. Anything you say about Mukobo or the crash of Flight 180 will be met with a shrug of indifference or dismissed as a conspiracy theory. The moment you mention Africa, eyes will glaze over.’
‘And with proof?’ said Nina.
‘Well, that would be more complicated, wouldn’t it? The British government implicated by one of its own operatives in the downing of an American airliner and actively backing a coup in a supposedly democratic nation? It would be… troublesome, to say the very least. This isn’t 1953 any more.’