The jungle around Mbandaka was exactly like the other jungles they’d explored, except this time, they had a beacon to follow. And an actual plan. Not to mention that for once, they had a good idea of what they’d find when they got there.
After disembarking with their packs and motorbike, they purchased breakfast from a street vendor and sat on the riverbank, eating as they watched crates being unloaded from the barge. Upstream, rusted riverboats—remnants of the colonial era—sat on the bank, a dead fleet.
If Freya were here as a tourist, she’d take photos, and so she did, but then she returned her attention to the barge and continued snapping photos of the lone man who claimed the crates with the kite symbol. He loaded them into the back of a pickup truck, which also entered her photo library.
She checked the signal for the tracker on her computer. It was transmitting perfectly. To save battery power on the tiny device, it was set to update the location every thirty minutes. With the frequent transmission rate, the battery would last a few days at most.
The one she’d planted in the yellowcake had been set to transmit once every twelve hours, extending battery life to ten days or more. Half of those days had been used up now, but yesterday, there’d been movement. The drum had traveled a mile north before the signal was lost—likely because it was now inside the tunnel, where the transmitter couldn’t connect with satellites.
Cal left her by the river to fill the tank of the bike and the empty jerry cans, while Freya watched the truck with the crates. When the driver left the parked truck to visit a small grocery store, she followed him. She and Cal would need food, and she had no idea how long their next journey would take.
She purchased smoked fish, beef jerky, and a precious block of cheese. She added bread to the basket, and canned beans and vegetables. They had enough to last a few days, at least.
It was noon by the time the truck left town. As much as she feared letting the vehicle out of sight, she had to trust that technology wouldn’t let it disappear. Waiting for the next transmission had her sweating even more in the equatorial sun.
Relief settled in when the data came and included the full route the tracker had followed. It recorded everything. In the minutes since the truck had left the riverfront, it had traveled south two and a half miles and was now exactly on the equator. They would wait another thirty minutes for the next transmission before setting out. The bike could go much faster than the laden truck on the pitted dirt roads. They had to give the truck a solid head start so they wouldn’t be spotted following it.
Thirty minutes later, they had their direction. The truck was still moving south. They followed, moving slowly and taking breaks to make sure they remained thirty minutes behind. It was late afternoon by the time the tagged crate stopped moving. After two reports of no movement, they moved in on it, hiding their bike in the jungle two klicks away from the final coordinates.
They moved on foot. When they were a klick from their destination, they hid in the thickness of the jungle and waited. Night fell. Insects grew louder as the birds went quiet. A large cat or other creature made a sound in the distance.
They each donned their skintight night-op suits, and Cal helped Freya apply the dark greasepaint to her skin. His lips brushed over hers, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “When we get back to Camp Citron, I want you to put this suit back on just so I can peel it off you and fuck you blind.”
She smiled and kissed him but said nothing. What could she say? She doubted she’d return to Camp Citron as anything but a prisoner.
Cal’s adrenaline pumped as they waited for the midnight hour to roll in and they could inspect the so-called school.
He and Freya agreed it was time to call Captain Oswald and let his XO know exactly what was going on. He outlined the situation and gave the GPS coordinates of the crate. SOCOM could dive into that information and send a team to liberate the children if what they suspected was true.
They might send someone to arrest Freya and him, but that was a risk they had to take.
Before hanging up, Cal asked, “What are you hearing from CIA?”
“Not a word. I went around Seth Olsen, but no one on the food chain will talk to me.”
“Shit.”
“You’re sure she’s telling the truth? About the money? About the dead agent?”
Cal looked at Freya. Or at least, he looked in the direction where he knew Freya was. They had no light and weren’t wearing their NVGs—they needed to save the charge for the night’s recon mission. In the nearly absolute darkness, he couldn’t see her expression. She couldn’t hear his XO’s side of the conversation, but she could guess.
He knew Captain Oswald had to ask the question, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “Yes. She’s innocent. I’m innocent. We’re busting our asses out here trying to stop a coup and save some kids.”
“I hope you’re right, Sergeant.”
“I am, sir.”
“Report in after you locate the school. We need pictures. Preferably video. If the asshole is using children, we’ll bring him down.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was hard to approach a place in silence in the jungle. Freya knew that special forces from all branches of the military practiced that sort of thing often. She’d learned the skills herself when she trained for SAD, but she was out of practice. Djibouti didn’t have much in the way of jungles, and prior to this deployment, she hadn’t been in any jungle but the urban kind.
Ingrained lessons came back to her as she attempted to move with the stealth of a panther. At last they arrived at the perimeter of an encampment. Three long canvas tents—old military squad tents that probably dated back to the Korean War—were lined up side by side. There was another structure farther back, hidden in the trees. Was that the “school”?
The camp was quiet, but they remained on the lookout for guards. They separated to circle the squad tents, blow darts at the ready should they come across a patrol. They were both fast and silent, and reached the truck that had delivered the crates at the opposite end of the camp at the same time.
A whiff of cigarette smoke told her why they hadn’t spotted a sentry. With a hand signal, Cal indicated he’d caught the scent too and would take care of it.
Only one guard on duty and he was taking a break? But then, this place was so remote, they probably didn’t think they had much to fear except children escaping.
Cal was back by her side a moment later. “Did you tranq him?” she whispered.
He nodded and showed her the used dart before tucking it away. “I propped him against the bumper. He’ll think he dozed off while taking his break.”
“Perfect.” They didn’t want anyone to know they’d been here. Best not to spook the guards and have them do something drastic to the children before a team could arrive to liberate the kids.
If this was what they thought it was.
If they were way off base and this was really a school? Well, then they still didn’t want anyone to know they’d been here.
The guard would be out for at least a half hour. First, they scouted the squad tents, each entering from opposite ends. An adult male slept on a cot in front of the door. A tranq dart to the neck ensured the man wouldn’t wake while they searched. She retrieved the dart and glanced across the tent to see Cal also bending over a cot in front of that opening.
She walked silently down the center aisle between rows of cots stacked like bunk beds. Each cot was filled with a sleeping boy or girl. She guessed they ranged in age from eight or nine to fourteen.
This could actually be a school. They needed to check out the building on the other side of the trees, where there would probably be more guards. Cal snapped photos of the sleeping children with an infrared camera. They would delete them if they were wrong and this really was a school.
They peeked in the other squad tents, seeing a similar setup to the first. These were barracks, nothing more. She signaled for Cal to lead the way through the trees to the structure on the other side. There were no guards around the building, which turned out to be a mill.
Even though it didn’t surprise her, it still made her stomach twist. The children weren’t just mining, they were operating a mill. Before entering the structure, they needed to scout the area. Another clearing not far from the trees drew their attention.
They carefully approached the opening. It appeared that what had started out as an open pit mine had led to tunneling. Cal led the way down into the pit while she watched his six. In the pit, they found several mine shafts cut into the earth. The ceiling was low, the opening narrow—child height and width.
He snapped photos with an infrared camera, just as he had the children. Then he changed the setting to video and whispered a narration of what they were viewing as he recorded the shaft, kneeling to record the first few feet of the tunnel.
Freya wondered if they could make it back here tomorrow and get footage of the children entering and leaving the mines. It didn’t get much more damaging than that.
They returned to the mill and slipped inside, startling a guard who’d been sleeping on the job. Another blow dart from Cal, and the man was dispatched. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember the encounter, or if he did, he’d think it was just a dream.
Inside, she spotted crushing stations followed by large vats. It was at the far end of the room that everything became clear.
Fine powder was spread out on trays to dry.
Horror filtered through her as she realized what she was seeing.
These kids weren’t mining diamonds. The powder was yellow—like mustard. The children were mining uranium.