All three French Airbus helicopters hovered over a dusty grass-covered soccer field just to the west of a thick copse of trees. It was just a hundred-meter walk down a path through the trees to the power house, at the bottom of the dam and alongside the swiftly flowing river.
As the helos landed, Josh caught a glimpse of the front gate of the entire facility. It was a couple hundred yards to the south and he could see a manned guard shack and a RIVCOM vehicle parked next to it, and the fact that this area was closed off to the public eased his mind considerably.
After the Caracals settled onto the dusty field, one in front of the other, everyone waited inside till the rotors spooled down. Once the door to their helo was opened, Josh, Chad, and Benjamin climbed out, followed by Jay and all four of the embassy’s Local Body Guard protection detail. The LBG men put on their sunglasses and moved into position near the door to enshroud the ambo along with the DS men and Ben Manu.
It was just after six p.m.; the sun was low in the west, and it looked to Josh like it would set in a half hour or so.
Josh eyeballed the trees down the hill in front of him. A paved pathway intersected the copse, and beyond the trees he could see the Volta River in the distance. To the north was the dam and the lake, high above his position; to the south, about a mile distant, the river turned sharply to the west, surrounded by jungle on all sides.
A large cluster of hills loomed over the far side of the river, much higher than the top of the dam and covered in dense foliage, but Josh could make out antennas on the top of the hill, as if there was some sort of structure there.
Scanning up the road in the direction of the dam, he saw a pair of pickup trucks with men in dark camo and purple berets rolling towards the landing zone. Duff had never worked with RIVCOM before, as they were part of the Volta River Authority and nowhere near Accra, where Josh had been since his arrival in country, but Ben eyed the men a moment and then waved.
The men waved back, and then the vehicles stopped on the road next to the soccer field and the cops dismounted.
Duff, Larsen, Manu, and Costa escorted Dunnigan out, surrounded by the LBG protection detail, while the security teams for President Amanor and EU High Representative Aldenburg did the same.
The press that had flown in with the entourage scrambled to get in front of the principals as everyone began walking behind the RIVCOM men, who led the way on foot down the path through the jungle towards the power house and switchyard on the riverbank.
Duff found himself in the fray behind Dunnigan and realized he was walking along right next to Nichole. His wife carried a backpack over her shoulder and cradled her iPad, but he didn’t avert his eyes to focus on her. Instead he looked over the road, the trees, even the skies above. He was one hundred percent in work mode now, as she had been in the helicopter.
Amanor, Aldenburg, and Dunnigan chatted as they moved down the trail; they were so close together that their security teams were intermingled. Nichole knew enough about Josh’s job to give him some space, so she stepped away from the scrum, although some of the other European staffers and Ghanaian officials remained in the way of the security men, and the media presence made the situation even that much more complicated.
Josh had a good view through the entourage to the switchyard, a several-acre housing of transformers, switches, and breakers that energized or deenergized power on transmission circuits leaving the hydroelectric plant. He looked for signs of movement, and soon he saw some RIVCOM men standing next to their vehicle at a small equipment shack. They watched the procession, their American-made M4 rifles hanging off their chests.
At the front of the power house, a low riser had been set up with a lectern displaying the symbol for the Volta River Authority; it was positioned so that the backdrop would include the dam and the roiling river water, and the three principals climbed up onto it with two members of each security detail.
Chad and Jay climbed the riser with Dunnigan, while Benjamin went to the left side of the little stage, and Josh stayed by the steps on the right side.
Jay and Chad stood behind the ambo; Julian and the female EU security staffer stood behind Aldenburg, and two large Ghanaians, the agent in charge and deputy agent in charge from the President’s Own Guard Regiment, stood behind President Amanor. Everyone had handguns but no one was too concerned because of all the RIVCOM men encircling the parking lot, their rifles at the ready.
The sun had dipped down even lower in the west; someone in the press contingent said light was going to be an issue if they didn’t start immediately, but as far as Josh was concerned, the river and concrete of the dam were perfectly lit for the photo opportunity to come, even better than it would have been the following afternoon.
Jay spoke into his mic and it came through Josh’s earpiece. “Everybody scan sectors. Duff, the riverbank and jungle on the other side is yours; Ben, the switchyard; Chad, the dam. LBG, keep your heads on swivels.”
Josh’s job was to stand to the right of the riser near the three steps up, ready to pick up the rear of the diamond coverage after Dunnigan left the stage. He found his position, faced the river as instructed, and peered into the dense jungle rising on the hill on the other bank.
The door to the power house behind Duffy opened, and a man in a coat and tie stepped out along with a pair of RIVCOM police. They came to the riser, Josh looked them over, and then Nichole stepped up to the man.
“Good afternoon.” She checked her iPad quickly. “Are you Mr. Mensah?”
The man nodded and they shook hands. He looked nervous, Josh noted, but he chalked it up to the fact that this plant employee was about to meet the president of his nation.
Nichole escorted him up the riser, and he greeted the three dignitaries.
Mensah spoke softly, but Josh was close enough to hear. As cameras rolled, he said, “I apologize that we do not have a better reception prepared for you. We are having a problem with the turbine controls, and we just received word of your visit a few minutes before we lost power.”
Amanor’s booming voice contrasted with that of the mild-mannered deputy plant operator. “I am the one who must apologize, Mr. Mensah. We’re truly sorry about our unfortunate timing. I think we can manage here with our event, so you and your people can continue to do your difficult work. We know the power is the most important thing, so I encourage you to put all your efforts into fixing the issue as quickly as possible.”
Amanor seemed to be playing to the various press outlets recording this exchange. He said, “This illustrates how important and beneficial to Ghana it will be for the EU and the U.S. to begin modernization efforts here at the Akosombo Hydroelectric Facility.”
Mensah just nodded, and Duff thought the man looked greatly relieved. He said, “Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. President, Madam Ambassador, Madam High Representative, I must get back to the control room.”
With a second handshake with the three principals, Mensah left the stage as Jennifer Dunnigan began her brief remarks at the lectern.
Mensah passed by Josh at the bottom of the stairs, and the DS special agent registered beads of sweat visible at the man’s temples. Josh thought he must have some sort of extreme social anxiety, but no red flags were raised by this. In his career he’d seen military officers sweat while talking to senior officers, embassy staff shake in the presence of higher-ranking diplomats, even military contractors protecting celebrities show their nerves around their principals.
But as the two RIVCOM men began returning with the deputy plant operator to the power house, Josh took a moment to look over the cops. It was a common practice with all security forces: size up the equipment, the bearing, the demeanor of those around.
The RIVCOM men wore camo uniforms with the VRA RIVCOM patch on their shoulders, M4 rifles, Browning pistols, radios, and maroon berets. They appeared surprisingly young, early twenties, and very serious, again, Josh assumed, because of the presence of the president of their nation.
Josh had just finished his evaluation of the men and started to turn around to look out over the river when he looked back, this time more carefully.
Something was off.
He only caught a brief glimpse of the front of the man on Mensah’s left, but it appeared to him the man was missing a magazine from the rig on his chest. The farthest left pouch seemed to be empty, and Josh found this both odd and unprofessional.
Having any magazine pouches empty was strange, but the front left pouch was the closest one to where a right-handed shooter reloads, meaning it’s chosen first if a right-handed shooter needs another magazine in a gunfight.
And both the orientation of the other two magazines and the setup of the cop’s rifle told him that this young police officer was, indeed, right-handed.
Not to be carrying a magazine there meant that if the shit hit the fan, this cop would have to reach farther to reload, slowing down the time it took him to get back into the fight.
Soon the three men walked back into the power house, and looking around, Josh couldn’t see any more RIVCOM men close enough to him to evaluate the same way.
Benjamin Manu was on the other side of the three little steps up the riser, facing back towards the power house.
Josh caught his attention, then beckoned him over. Manu came close as Dunnigan finished her comments for the cameras, and Johanna Aldenburg stepped up to the lectern, shadowed closely by Julian Delisle and the female EU security officer.
Manu shouldered up to Josh, then leaned in.
Josh continued looking across the river as he spoke to the Ghanaian employee of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security. “These RIVCOM guys. They look right to you?”
Manu said, “Yes, although it is very strange that Superintendent Baka isn’t here. He’d have nothing to do with fixing the power outage. He should be present.”
“You worried?”
Manu shrugged. “I’ll ask someone about him before we go. Maybe he’s out sick today.”
Josh nodded and said, “One of the men was missing a mag on his chest rig.”
The Ghanaian police advisor for the embassy gave a little sigh. “These guys are so young. They’re supposed to be elite, but…they aren’t paid very much.”
“Let’s keep an eye on them,” Josh whispered. Manu nodded, went back to his position, and resumed scanning his sector.
Just forty feet from Josh, Johanna Aldenburg spoke into the cameras. “The ingenuity, the creativity, the resourcefulness and resilience of this nation are all something to be admired, and something we in Europe want to learn from.”
Josh tuned her out when he heard voices behind the riser. He looked there and saw three of the president’s guards conferring over something in hushed whispers. He couldn’t tell what they were talking about but imagined it must be important.
With nothing else to do he turned again to the front, looked over Manu’s shoulder, and went back to scanning the hillside on the other side of the river, but still he wondered what the president’s security guys were so agitated about.
Conrad Tremaine pulled his Russian-made Dragunov rifle from its canvas sheath, then hoisted his backpack and his shooting mat and left the Toyota behind on the rocky hill road, pushing himself deep into the dense jungle.
It took him a minute of navigating the brush before he saw the river below, then the switchyard, the power house, and the riser in front of it. The dam was on Tremaine’s right, and he scanned it quickly, made sure he saw no threats there.
He went fully prone on his mat, pushed his pack in front of him, and rested the Russian rifle on top of it.
As he looked back to the power house, his laser rangefinder told him he was three hundred thirty-one meters from the lectern on the riser, so he dialed this distance into his scope and leveled the rifle, then aimed at the EU high representative. The sixteen-power magnification afforded him the ability to see the woman’s face relatively clearly from this distance, and when he put the optic’s chevron on her chest, he knew the Ghanaian president would present an even easier shot for him to make.
But he couldn’t see the president from here. Amanor was seated, security officers stood on either side of him, and the South African across the river had no shot, at least not until the man rose to give his speech to the cameras.
Tremaine swiveled the weapon a little to the left and right to take in the entire entourage. Security officers stood around the two seated principals on the riser, more stood directly behind it, and here he saw some of the president’s detail talking to one another, not even looking at their charge. He scanned right and saw the various junior diplomats and government officials behind the riser, standing there, no doubt, to make this photo op appear bigger than it was, when, in fact, there was no crowd from the facility in attendance at all.
Tremaine was happy to see that the Dragons of Western Togoland, all dressed as RIVCOM soldiers with the exception of four dressed as VRA technicians standing by the switchyard, were all staying off to the sides, none closer than twenty-five meters away from the security people. He knew that any real close scrutiny or questioning of the men would reveal that they weren’t police and had never before set foot inside the gates of this facility, and he hoped like hell none of that happened before he took his shot, because his entire plan could unravel very easily if the delegation realized they were surrounded by rebel infiltrators.
None of these Dragons had any idea he’d be targeting the president, and Tremaine had no idea what their reaction would be when he did. He knew the protective details would pull guns, and he imagined the poorly trained Dragons would spook, and then all hell would break loose. He didn’t think there was much chance the U.S. ambassador or EU high rep would get out of this unscathed, but he thought this would only benefit Kang’s plan. If high-level Westerners were killed at the hands of the Dragons of Western Togoland when Kang’s General Boatang took power by eradicating said rebels, then he would enjoy more support from the West because he was the one who achieved retribution for the deaths of their diplomats.
Tremaine smiled a little. The Chinaman wasn’t the only bloke on this continent who could think strategically.
Shifting his view to the right side of the riser now, he clocked a couple more security men: one white and facing his way, and one Black, facing away towards the power house. They might have been here with the Americans or the EU, he couldn’t tell; they weren’t part of the president’s detail, he was certain of that much.
He looked over the man facing him and eyed him intently, as if their eyes were locked on each other. And then, just for an instant, Tremaine got the feeling the man looked familiar.
As he was about to focus even more on him, however, Johanna Aldenburg stepped away from the lectern, and President Amanor rose from his chair and walked forward, presenting himself to the rifle hidden in the jungle.
The bald-headed man put his hands on the lectern; his pair of security men on the stage moved to positions just behind him, but neither of them impeded Tremaine’s line of sight on the man’s left temple. As Amanor began speaking, the Sentinel mercenary thumbed off the safety, took a deep breath, and then slowly let it out.
Then he took in another breath, pausing a moment to consider this move of his. Killing the president of the most democratic nation in West Africa would put a target on his back for the rest of his life if word somehow got out. He told himself he could no longer get drunk in bars or talk of his past exploits with friends, because that was the only way he could imagine this would ever come to light. Krelis, Junior, and Baginski wouldn’t snitch; they’d been with him for years. The Russians and the Dragons wouldn’t know, and his other mercs weren’t around.
Tremaine was about to do something big, but something he’d have to keep secret for the rest of his life.
But he told himself that was fine. He wanted this trophy, wanted the knowledge that he’d personally decapitated a government, personally initiated a coup d’état.
And he wanted the extra quarter million euros he’d get for ensuring that the coup was a success.
And really, how could it fail if the president was dead?
Tremaine had to work to control his breathing now; the excitement threatened to get the best of him. But finally, some twenty seconds or so after Amanor arrived at the lectern, Conrad Tremaine took another slow breath and put his finger on the trigger of his sniper rifle.
Josh Duffy did his best to keep his focus on his sector, but he found it difficult to do so because now the security men from the president’s detail had begun slowly fanning out behind the riser. Any sort of repositioning while their leader was making remarks seemed bizarre, and he flashed his eyes up to Jay on the riser and saw him taking a quick glance back over his shoulder to check on the commotion, as well.
Behind the riser and right next to the men, however, he saw that Nichole and the three other American FSOs seemed completely unaware; they were concentrating on the president and his comments, and Josh told himself he needed to focus on his job and let the Ghanaians deal with whatever it was they were dealing with.
But just as he turned his eyes back to the other side of the river he caught a quick flash of light, halfway up the massive hill there, deep in the jungle. He furrowed his brow, looked again, but saw nothing. It had been brief, little more than a sparkle in the fading light, but he saw no metal, no water, no glass—nothing that could have made such a flash.
It was just green brush and grasses, darker green trees, and long black shadows brought on by the low sun.
Still, even though it had been nothing more than a flicker, his heart began to pound, and an alarm somewhere deep inside him went off.
He looked to Costa on the riser, then back to the jungle.
Bells clanging in his brain, he unclasped his hands.
And then it happened again. In the same area as before, a gleam of light in the waning moments of sunshine. There and gone.
It would have meant nothing to most, but Josh Duffy had lived in this world for a long time, and he knew what he’d seen.
Without hesitation he shouted at the top of his lungs as he moved, racing up the stairs and onto the riser. “Sniper!”