“They’re there,” Quinn said.
“I know. But I don’t see them.”
There were a series of numbered buttons on the base of the joystick Quinn was holding. He punched number 8 and began panning a camera covering the outside of the church’s south end.
“There,” Nate said, pointing at the monitor for camera eight.
Quinn could see them now. There were two of them, crouched low and half-hidden by the thick brush. As Quinn and Nate watched, one of the men sprinted forward, stopping only when he reached the outside of the church wall. He then moved down the wall until he came to what had once been a doorway, and peered inside.
“Are we going to play games, or are we going to meet?” It was Otero. He was still standing in the middle of the church, not concealing his presence. When there was no response, he said, “Two minutes and we’re leaving.”
The man who had been looking into the church from the doorway glanced back at his partner and waved for him to come over.
“Quinn,” Nate said.
“What?”
“I thought they were only allowed one companion.”
Quinn shot Nate a glance, then looked at a monitor Nate was pointing at. It was the one covering the north approach to the church, the way Otero and Ownby had come.
“I don’t see anything,” Quinn said.
“In the tree,” Nate said. He leaned forward and touched the screen.
For half a second, Quinn still didn’t see anything, then a slight movement revealed the form of a man lying prone on one of the branches, facing toward the church.
A quick glance at a monitor that gave a broader view of that side of the church confirmed Quinn’s suspicion that the man was high enough to see through the missing roof into the abandoned structure.
Quinn pushed the mic button again. “Peter, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Check the feed to camera six. In the tree, near the top of the image.”
There was a pause.
“Do you see him?” Quinn asked.
“Yes.”
“Is he one of yours?”
“I played by the rules. Only two,” Peter said. “He must be one of theirs.”
Quinn wasn’t convinced of that, but there was no time to argue the point. On another monitor the two newcomers stepped through the doorway, entered the church, and walked a couple paces before stopping. They looked nervous, like this was the first time they had ever done anything like this.
“You need to abort right now,” Quinn said.
“We need that information,” Peter said.
“Peter,” Quinn said, “if you don’t abort, you might not get anything.”
At the church Otero said, “You guys are going to have to come a little closer.”
The taller of the two men shook his head. “We are fine here. I think you have something to show us.”
Otero smiled, then tossed a coin in the air so that it landed a foot in front of his counterparts.
“Your turn,” Otero said.
The tall man tossed his own coin toward Otero. This was the prearranged recognition signal. Otero had been carrying a fifty-yen Japanese coin, and the informant a 1998 Canadian half-dollar.
“Peter!” Quinn said.
“The meet’s already started,” Peter said. “They won’t answer their phones until they’re back in their car.”
“They might not even make it back to their car,” Quinn said, then let go of the button.
“We can start the van,” Nate suggested. “That should throw everyone into a panic. We could even fire off a shot.”
It was an excellent idea, Quinn thought. He relayed it to Peter.
There was a pause, then Peter said, “Do it.”
Quinn pulled his SIG Sauer P226 out of the holster under his left arm as Nate moved toward the back door to open it.
Several rapid flashes from one of the monitors caught Quinn’s eye. It was the one showing the close-up of the man in the tree. He glanced at the view of the church. Otero, Ownby, and the man who had been talking for the other party were all on the ground and not moving.
The final man had just exited the church and was making a run for it. Then there was another flash. The man jerked to the left, his momentum dropping him into a bush at the side of the trail. Like the others, he didn’t get up.
“Stop,” Quinn said to Nate.
The door was already half opened.
“Close it. Quietly.”
Nate shut the door as Quinn sat back down.
Quinn pushed the button. “Your op is blown.”
“I can fucking see that,” Peter said. “Goddammit! You need to keep whoever that is from getting to the bodies. One of those guys is carrying something we need.”
“Don’t know if you noticed,” Quinn said, “but your men are probably dead. That guy in the tree’s got a silenced rifle, and I’m not really interested in walking into his range.”
“Do what you were going to do before! Scare him off. He’s not going to want to get caught.”
Quinn took a deep breath, then nodded at Nate to open the door again. He checked monitor six. The assassin was holding his position, waiting to see if anyone else was going to show up.
Quinn pulled one of the remote communication sets from a bag near the recorders. He slipped the receiver over his ear, then climbed out of the van.
“Talk me in,” he said to Nate.
“You’re going to try to take him out?” Nate asked, surprised.
Quinn shook his head. “I’m just going to convince him to go someplace else.”
“You want your suppressor?” Nate asked.
Quinn paused for a second. If things went as planned, he’d need the noise of the shot to scare the guy off. But if things got off track?
“Toss it to me,” he said.
Nate disappeared for a second, then stepped back into the doorway and threw a dark cylinder to Quinn.
Quinn stuffed it in the front pocket of his jacket as best he could. Once it was secure, he nodded back at the van. “Talk me in. You’re my eyes, so try not to get me killed.”
CHAPTER
2
AFRICA
THE SOUND OF THE DISTANT GUNFIRE HARDLY registered on Marion Dupuis. It was at least two kilometers away, and intermittent at best.
Just another night.
No doubt morning would bring a report on the government-run radio station about another successful raid against a rebel cell. The same report, if it stayed true to form, would also note that the government troops would have suffered no fatalities. Just like all the other times, President Pokou’s forces would appear victorious.
Only, if Pokou’s army was winning, why did the violence seem to be increasing?
Marion knew the answer. She had seen the reports, the real reports, and she’d heard other members of the UN observer force discuss the unrest. The way she understood it, there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that within the next couple of months Côte d’Ivoire would be plunged into another full-out civil war.
And once again, no one outside the tiny West African nation would care.
More gunfire. A short burst.
Marion didn’t even flinch.
The action seemed to be containing itself to the east, away from where she was, and where she needed to be. She would be willing to bet most of Pokou’s troops would be moving in that direction, too. In a way, she thought, it was sort of a blessing.
As long as she didn’t think about the lives that were being lost.
She checked the street ahead of her. Dark, quiet, no movement. She took a deep breath, then pushed herself off the building she’d been leaning against and crossed to the other side of the street. She paused, making sure she was still unnoticed, then headed down the street.
Driving would have been faster, but she felt safer on foot. With the 8 p.m. curfew in effect, a car’s engine would have drawn unnecessary attention on the otherwise quiet roads. So she stuck to the shadows and moved silently from building to building.
Most of the homes and businesses she passed were dark. It was after midnight, so even without the curfew, much of the city would already be asleep.
Five minutes later, she reached a large avenue that went east and west through the city. She started to cross, then stopped abruptly and pulled back into the doorway of a darkened building.
She’d seen headlights coming from the east, and heard the unmistakable sounds of several army vehicles. She peeked around the edge of the wall to get another look. There were at least five vehicles: three jeeps and a couple of trucks with loud diesel engines and transmissions that ground in protest of their unskilled drivers.
She estimated they would pass by her position in less than a minute. Though she knew any delay could be crucial, crossing now would be suicide. They’d spot her the second she stepped onto the street. She had no choice but to wait until they passed.
But her current position was only slightly better than standing still in the middle of the road. If one of the soldiers decided to aim a light in her direction, she would be discovered. So she slipped out of the doorway and stayed tight to the building as she looked for someplace better. She found it half a block down, an alley no more than four meters wide between a store and what looked like an abandoned restaurant.
Signs on the outside walls of the store advertised sodas and cigarettes. Like all the other buildings, it was closed up tight, but as she turned down the alley, she noticed light seeping out of one of the back windows. Marion guessed the shop provided not only a means of income for the owner, but also a place to sleep.
About a dozen meters down the alley was a pile of rotting wooden crates. She slipped behind them, crouching down so she was hidden from anyone passing by on the road. She was able to move one of the boxes a couple centimeters to the right, creating a peephole through which she could keep an eye on the army caravan as it drove by.
The rumbling of the trucks got louder and louder until the street in front of the shop grew bright from the vehicles’ headlights. She watched first as two jeeps passed, then the trucks, and finally the last jeep. Each had been full of young soldiers dressed in dark fatigues and berets.
Even with Marion’s limited vision, it looked to her like all the men were armed with rifles. She had yet to be able to figure out what distinguished one type of rifle from another. To her, they all produced the same result.
As the rumble of the convoy receded, Marion stood up and started back toward the street, intent on making up for lost time.
“Qui étes-vous? Que voulez-vous?”
Marion froze. The voice had come from behind her. It was male, deep and urgent.
“Répondez-moi. Que faites-vous ici?”
She raised her hands. “Please,” she said. “I’m just trying to get home.” Though French was her native tongue, she answered in English. In the unlit alley, her olive-colored skin might look darker than it really was, so she wanted to emphasize the fact that she was a foreigner.
She heard the man take a step closer to her. “Are you American?” he asked, his English slow and deliberate.
“Canadian,” she said.
“Turn. Slow.”
She did what he asked.
When she saw him, she realized he was older than she’d thought. His hair was gray, his body thin and stooped. He held a pistol, and was pointing it at her, though the tremor in his hands moved the barrel a half an inch in either direction every few seconds.
He wasn’t alone, either. Behind him, peeking around his hip, was a young girl. She looked more curious than scared.
“Why do you hide behind my shop?” The man seemed to think hard before saying each word, as if he was reaching back to knowledge he hadn’t used in decades.
“The soldiers,” she said. “I didn’t want them to find me out after curfew.”
“Not safe. You should not be out here.”
The little girl smiled at Marion. It was doubtful she could understand a word that was being said.
“I told you. I’m just trying to go home,” Marion said.
“No car? Alone?”
Marion looked at him for a moment, then shook her head.
“You will be killed,” the man said, but he lowered his own gun, indicating the bullet would not come from him. “Wait until morning.” He nodded at the spot she had been hiding in when the convoy passed. “There. You will be safe. I will not… give you trouble.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have to go.”
The man’s eyes grew distant, then he said, “Wait.” Only this time she knew he didn’t mean for her to hide out in the alley all night.
He turned and walked quickly away, disappearing behind the back of the shop. The little girl followed him, though more reluctantly, stealing glances back at Marion, until she, too, was gone.
Though Marion felt the need to continue her journey, she did as the old man asked. Less than a minute later he was back, this time alone. The pistol he’d held in his hand had been replaced by a rectangular box that tapered at one end and fit snug in his palm.
He hesitated a moment, then held it out to her. She took it, unsure what to do with it. Without taking it from her hand, the old man turned the device so that the tapered end lay across her palm. In this direction, her thumb fell naturally across the top of the box and rested on top of a square button.
“Touch someone with this end,” the man said, pointing at the wide edge of the box. “Push button. Electric.”
“You mean shock?” she asked. “Like a Taser?”
He looked at her like he hadn’t understood what she was asking.
“Electric. Electric,” he said, then he shook his body, imitating the results.
“I can’t take this from you,” she told him, holding it back out.
“Bring it back,” he said. “After the sun comes up.”
She took a breath, then nodded and said, “Thank you.”
Without another word, he walked back the way he’d come. Marion then turned and retraced her steps to the street.
For thirty minutes Marion worked her way through half-paved side streets and dirt paths, avoiding the main roads altogether. Any time there was even the slightest sound, she would stop and wait until she was sure there was no threat. In her right hand she held on tight to the Taser as if it were a talisman guaranteeing her passage through the city.
It seemed to work, too. She had seen no one else on her trip. And while she had heard a few more military vehicles, they had been distant and of no concern.
That was until she turned onto the street where the orphanage was located.
There were two vehicles double-parked in front of the three-story building that housed the orphanage—a jeep and a sedan, both with headlights on, and drivers sitting at the ready. Two other soldiers stood near the open door of the building.
She was three blocks away, so they hadn’t noticed her. But if she continued on, she wouldn’t even make it to the next block without being spotted. There weren’t enough cars to hide behind, and, in the curfew-induced stillness, any movement would draw attention.
She doubled back, then went two blocks farther away before cutting over to the dirt alley that ran behind the orphanage. Water ran down the center of the road, the last remnants of the storm that had passed through earlier that evening. Other than that, the road was quiet. There were no soldiers anywhere in sight.