Mikhail said, “Now what?”
Dikembe stood up. His hunched shoulders, striking the tunnel’s ceiling. “Now we rest so we can perform tomorrow.”
Mikhail had heard the argument many times before. The man had the patience of Gandhi. “What about the plan?”
“When the time is ready.”
“And when will that be?” Mikhail looked at some of the other men who laid on the floor, no longer able to support their failed bodies. “Your men already have the weapons they were promised. When will we attack?”
“When the time is right and all is ready.”
If the guy wasn’t twice his size, Mikhail seriously considered hitting him. “Can’t you see? Dikembe, your men are dying around you. Their once strong and healthy lives, withering away to greet death, for nothing!”
Dikembe walked away, descending further into the mine, silently.
“You owe them a better death?” Mikhail stopped him, by reaching the giant’s massive shoulder with his hand. “And you owe me a better explanation, after all I have done for your cause.”
Dikembe looked at him. His gray-blue eyes somehow ghoulish in the poor light. “You don’t know a thing about this mine, do you?”
“No. But I know I don’t intend on dying here for no purpose at all, while a coward waits for his own oblivion.”
The giant stopped. He turned around abruptly. For a second Mikhail thought the giant was going to kill him with his bare hands. Instead the man looked to the ground below. With his massive finger, he drew a series of horizontal and vertical lines. There were four separate mines, each one extending miles upon miles in a series of tunnels, spanning every direction. The four mines were all joined by a rectangular tunnel that formed at level ten. And above that, three tunnels traverse in an ascending direction, until all three joined together and finally reached the surface.
Dikembe said, “This is the Lake Tumba Lithium Mine. There are eighty-four levels. As you know, throughout a twenty-four hour cycle we need to extract a total of ten tons of lithium from inside this maze. That includes both the metal separated from other elements in igneous minerals and the lithium salts extracted from water and brine pools.”
Mikhail nodded and said nothing. Dikembe wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.
Dikembe drew a line across the top levels of the mine. “At night time, Ngige’s men lock gates at this section, keeping us trapped below level ten.”
“Yes, but give me enough time and I’ll break through those gates.”
Dikembe ignored his request. Instead he drew the three main tunnels that led to the single tunnel that extended all the way to the surface. He then met Mikhail’s eyes. “Do you know what’s directly above these three tunnels?”
“No.”
“Lake Tumba and nearly three hundred million gallons of water.”
Mikhail nodded. If anyone tried to tunnel out, they would have no way of knowing when or where they would reach the bottom of the lake. Even if they didn’t try to escape, General Ngige must have ordered dynamite to be drilled into the ceiling of one of those tunnels. At the first sign of a revolt, the dynamite would be blasted and all of them would drown below.
“There must be something we can do?” Mikhail said. “Maybe we could somehow build our own barrier. Or find another tunnel out?”
Dikembe nodded. “It will be hard. The work needs to be undertaken after lithium has been extracted for the day. And it needs to be done so quietly. Using a chisel only, to carve a fault in the tunnel’s roof. And it needs to be completely invisible by the time the first guards enter the tunnel in the morning.”
“But it must be possible!”
“It’s possible. Of that I’m certain.” Dikembe spoke with the slow, deep and almost reverent voice of a spiritual leader. A man born to lead men to greatness. “It’s taken nearly a year. But the work will be complete by the end of the week.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Nestled on the eastern side of Malta’s Grand Harbor, the Maria Helena casually swung a hundred and eighty degrees on her anchor, as the peak tide turned. The outward appearance suggested she was once little more than an icebreaker, more recently retrofitted to meet the demands of her wealthy owner who wished to play mariner at all ends of the globe. A large helipad stood out on the aft deck, and several weather and navigational instruments were visible above the four story high bridge. Otherwise, the ship was relatively barren. It had a reinforced steel hull with sharp, angular lines, making her exceptionally stable at sea.
Along her hull were the words, Deep Sea Projects.
Inside, she contained some of the most advanced marine and submarine equipment available. To manage this equipment and support the range of deep sea projects around the globe, was a unique team of highly intelligent people, all specialists in their respective fields. After three weeks at harbor, most of these experts had passed the point of enjoying their reprieve and were now finding they were thoroughly bored.
The eastern wall of Malta’s Grand Harbor turned gold as the setting sun struck it. Sitting alone at a workstation inside the bridge, Elise pulled up the GPS tracking chart. Stared at it for a few moments and then checked the previous forty-eight hours to confirm her concerns.
She gently bit the top corner of her lip. Sighed and then called out. “Matthew, get your ass in here.”
“What have you got?” Matthew, the ship’s skipper, replied as he climbed the steel steps up from the deck below.
She didn’t wait until Matthew was on the bridge to explain. “This is the GPS tracking beacon Sam’s been using. Either he’s completely lost focus and direction, walking around aimlessly, or his sat phone is on his camel and he’s lost his camel.”
Matthew smiled reassuringly. “I wouldn’t worry, too much — Sam hates riding. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t do something stupid like get rid of his camel because he couldn’t handle the damned thing.”
Elise asked, “He hates riding camels?”
Matthew nodded. “Horses, camels, donkeys. We’ve tried him on all of them over the years. Can’t relax you see. Hates to lose control. He’ll be fine. He’d have to do something pretty stupid to run into trouble in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“And that’s what Tom’s doing there — making sure he keeps Sam in check.”
Elise brought up the image of the last waterhole where the camels had taken a direct route three days ago. “We know someone was guiding the camels at this point. The lines are too direct to be accidental. Afterwards, they seem to go around in circles before repeatedly returning to the same oasis.”
“Where’s the oasis?”
“It’s called mini Bilma Oasis. Somewhere in Niger, bordering with Chad.”
“Okay, can you get me current satellite imaging?” he asked.
“I’m already on it. The computer’s currently communicating with the satellites overhead. I’ll have an image for you any second now.”
Three separate images appeared on her screen. Each taken from a separate satellite and representing a single snapshot of the location. Elise clicked on the first one. The image blurred for a moment while the resolution finished pixilating.
The image became instantly clear. Elise stared at it for a few seconds and then her eyes met Matthew’s. His hazel eyes had the kind of steely resolve of a man with decades of command under his belt. The sort of person who knew when it was his job to make decisions that might cost the company a fortune for nothing, or worse still, the lives of his people.