After a thirty-minute drive through mostly empty streets, the black van carrying three Russian Sentinel contractors, the South African contractor called Junior, and the two Duffy children rolled through the front gates of the home at 1 Ankama Close in the Aburi Hills.
One of the men had been hurt; Mandy heard him cussing in English in the front passenger seat throughout the entire drive, using words she’d learned from her dad, while he took off his equipment and his shirt and wrapped bandages around his waist.
As the van they rode in pulled in front of the front doors, Mandy held her brother’s hand. The two men in back with her and her brother opened the rear and side doors, and the kids were led out the side and into the house.
Mandy had been fighting tears the entire time; she was scared, but she didn’t want to freak her brother out. For his part, he looked to his sister for guidance on the drive, and since she’d remained reasonably calm, Huck had, too.
She’d spent the time trying to do exactly what her father had always told her to do if she found herself in trouble. Breathe slowly, relax, take in as much information as she could, and plan her next move.
Looking at the four men during the drive, she realized only two of the men spoke any English at all. One of the men in back with a very strong accent had to translate for both the driver and the other man holding her and her brother, while the man in the front passenger seat, the one who shot his gun during the kidnapping and was hurt himself, spoke English with some sort of a foreign accent that was much easier to understand.
Now the foreign man who’d been translating and the other man from the back of the van walked on each side of her and Huck as they passed through a high entry hall, then stepped into a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city wrapped around the curved back wall. A large open kitchen was connected to it. Mandy saw fifteen or so people standing and sitting around the large space; most of them were Asian and working at computer stations, but a tall white man with a mustache stood there in the kitchen, and he walked up to the two kids as they came into the room.
The man knelt down and spoke to her. He had a foreign accent, as well. “Your father has something I need. You’re going to stay here and be good little children, and when he brings it to me, we’ll send you back home.”
He smiled an insincere smile. He reeked of body odor, and she saw perspiration on his shirt in the outline of a vest. She’d seen pictures of her father working security when she was little, and she recognized the imprint of the body armor on the white man’s shirt.
An older Asian man came out of a side room in the back of the large space, looked at the kids for a moment, then turned around and walked back through the door, but as he did so he said, “Jia?”
A young woman in a sweatshirt with her hair in a ponytail lurched to her feet from where she’d been sitting at the kitchen island, and she scurried into the room behind the older man.
The two men standing next to Mandy and Huck took them by the shoulders and roughly walked them to a staircase, and they all began climbing up.
Kang Shikun did not have time for this distraction. Right now Addo’s Dragons were fighting at the coast, and they were about to meet the full force of General Boatang’s armored vehicles, and then Boatang would disperse his troops across the city to “restore order.” Once this was done, Kang was certain, it would just be a matter of time before President Amanor resigned or was thrown out, especially once Kang’s social media machine went into a full-on attack of the government’s leadership during the crisis.
Kang had a million things to do today, but it was clear that he had to take care of the Sentinel compromise, and the only way he could do this was to allow Tremaine to trade the children for the missing computer.
Chen Jia entered the room with a little bow and closed the door behind her. Kang, to her obvious surprise, addressed her in English. “Your file says you speak English.”
“I do, sir.”
With a distracted nod, he said, “You will see to those children while they are here.”
“See to them, sir?”
“One of the Russian mercenaries will guard their door, but you are responsible for their treatment. If they need food, if they start making noise. It is your job to control them. And they are not to leave that bedroom. Can you do that?”
Jia was not one to say no, and Kang was not one to say no to. She nodded and left the room with a bow.
The twenty-eight-year-old woman walked across the living room heading directly to the stairs, and once on the second floor she started up a long hall, at the end of which an armed man in a mask and a baseball cap stood outside a door, facing her direction.
Jia thought the man might have been Russian. He had a dangerous air about him; she’d noticed this the second he and the other man arrived, and she wondered what those two kids, whoever they were, thought of being held here by a masked man with a rifle hanging from his neck.
The two American children were prisoners here, and that was all she knew. Neither Kang, nor the big white mercenary soldier, nor the Russian guarding the kids had told her any more about what they were doing there or what was going to happen to them, and this terrified Jia.
All she knew was that she’d been ordered to take care of them. The guard would keep them here; she would keep them alive. Food, keeping them calm, watching over them, anything a Russian who only knew how to kill people could not do, Jia imagined.
But this wasn’t her main concern at the moment.
No, her main concern was that she was going to be sick.
She made it halfway up the hall to the Russian when she noticed an open bathroom door on her right. She ducked in quickly, shut the door behind her, and, ten seconds later, vomited into the toilet.
It was a full three minutes later when she stood in front of the Russian.
“Are they in there?” she asked in English.
The man just stared at her.
“Do you…do you speak—”
“Chto?” was the only reply.
She could only see his steel blue eyes as he watched her open the door, and then she entered the little guest bedroom.
The two children sat on the end of the bed; the TV was off in front of them. It appeared the girl was in the process of comforting her younger brother, but she stopped talking immediately as Jia entered.
“Hello,” she said, fighting down another wave of nausea.
“Hello,” the girl said.
Jia looked at the television. “Do you want to watch some cartoons? Maybe I can find some on TV for you.”
Mandy looked at her with suspicion. After a moment she said, “I want to see my mom.”
“Your mom is not here. But I can bring you food, something to drink.”
“Why are we here?”
Jia raised an eyebrow. “I do not know.” After a moment she said, “I will go down and get some water and some food and bring it to you. She started for the door, then turned back. “Do not try to escape. There is a man on the other side of this door, and I worry about what he might do.”
Huck said, “Who is he?”
Jia knew the man was a Russian, a mercenary, a killer. But she just said, “It is his job to make sure you stay in this room. If you do so, you won’t have to worry about him.”
The Chinese woman turned for the door, but the little girl called out to her. “You are being nice. When my daddy comes to get us, I will tell him not to hurt you.”
Chen Jia turned and looked back, an expression of shock in her eyes. Did this kid just insinuate that her father would come and hurt people here? She pushed the thought away and opened the door without another word.
Heading out into the hall, she saw the Russian reach to close the door, but before he did, he walked back through the bedroom and on into the bathroom. As Jia watched, the man tried the window latch. From where she stood, Jia could see that not only did the lock not budge, but it was also way too high for the children to reach.
The mercenary apparently came to the same conclusion, because soon he turned away from the bathroom and began to leave the room behind Jia, but as he exited, he eyed the two American kids with absolute malevolence, and Jia thought she just might vomit again.
At just twenty-one years old, Corporal Albert Sandoval of Joplin, Missouri, had been a member of the Marine Corps Embassy Security Group for six months, all of it here in Accra. He liked the work, and especially the freedom it afforded, because he spent his time away from his post here working on an online college degree with American Military University, and with it he planned on getting a job at the State Department when he left the Corps.
Sandoval was the only one of the six Marines here at the embassy presently in the Marine house, the freestanding barracks on a small hill in the trees behind the chancery. The gunny was at Post One, and the four other Marines were positioned in full combat gear throughout embassy grounds, while Sandoval was here, for now. He was due to relieve one of the other Marines in a half hour, so he’d already stepped into the Marine Ready Room to kit up in his armor when he heard someone call out from another room. Before he could answer, the new ARSO Duffy walked in, along with an FSO Sandoval had seen but not met, and a Black man in an unfamiliar-looking police uniform.
To Duffy, Sandoval said, “Good morning, sir.”
“Hey, Albert. This is my wife, Nichole.”
He looked back and forth at the couple. The ARSO had cuts on his head and a bandage on his forearm, and she had a black eye that had spread gray to the entire right side of her face.
Duffy said, “And this is my friend Isaac. He saved my life, saved the ambassador.”
The young Marine shook the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“No problem.”
Duff said, “We need to borrow some of your gear.”
“Our…gear? You mean you want uniforms?”
Duff shook his head. “Nope. We need three sets of civilian clothing. The kind of stuff you guys wear. Jeans or cargo pants, T-shirts, running shoes or boots.” He seemed to hesitate a moment, then said, “Body armor, too.”
“Oh…you’ve got to go out into the city?”
“We do.”
“Uh…don’t you have your own body armor, sir?”
“I do, but I’m looking for something with no insignia on it. Your load-bearing vests have removable patches. Mine says ‘Diplomatic Security.’ ”
Sandoval just nodded slowly. “Right.”
“Hey,” Duff said. “Do you guys have balaclavas?”
Sandoval nodded, even more confused. “Yes, sir. They’re still in their packaging. Nobody wants to wear a face mask in eighty-five-degree weather.”
Nichole shrugged. “We do. Long story. Would you have any clothes that might fit me?”
The corporal gave her a quick look up and down. “You’re about the same height as Sergeant Conti. He’s on leave, we can raid his locker.”
“Good.”
Sandoval just stood there a moment.
Duff asked, “Is there a problem, Corporal?”
To Duff he said, “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t let you take guns or electronics. Or night vision.”
“Don’t need any of that. You have batons? OC?”
Sandoval let out a sigh of relief. It was obvious to Duff the kid was terrified of the prospect of having to tell his ARSO that he couldn’t have the guns. That resolved, he was more than willing to help. “Collapsible batons and OC spray, yes, sir. We have plenty of both.”
The corporal took them to the team room, where they found the clothes and shoes they were looking for, and then they went back into a storeroom behind the ready room. Here the Marines kept extra load-outs, and the four of them took all insignia off the load-bearing vests.
Once everyone had changed clothes, their armor and new backpacks filled with various nonlethal gear still in their arms, they headed for the door.
Sandoval called from behind. “Sir, wherever you’re going, I wish I could go with you.”
“I wish you could, too, Albert. You stay here and keep the ambo safe. She’s had one hell of a rough day.”
“Yes, sir. I will. Good luck.”
Isaac, Duff, and Nichole emerged from the Marine house carrying duffel bags with their borrowed clothing: jeans, brown long-sleeve fireproof tunics, boots, socks, and utility gloves. They carried their packs and vests in their arms and headed for the chancery.
Nichole went into the building to check on Henry and Portia, and she came back ten minutes later with Henry’s truck key and his permission to use the vehicle. The truck was parked in a monitored lot just outside the main gate, and Isaac went to bring it to the entrance while Duff walked over to the garage where they had brought the three vehicles that they’d taken into the city.
As he expected, several LGF men were here, and they had removed the AK-47s Duff, Nichole, Isaac, Chad, Ben, and Malike had been carrying, unloaded them, and had them stacked on a table next to one of the Yukons.
Duff began walking over to the guns and extra magazines, ready for a confrontation from the men.
But it was a voice behind him who stopped him. “Duffy? What are you doing?”
Duff turned around to find John, the CIA officer who’d led the caravan to retrieve them from up north, standing there.
“Did you hear what happened?”
“I’m sorry, man. I know everyone is going to move mountains to get them back safe.”
Duff just looked at John, then turned to the two Local Guard Force men who’d been cleaning out the vehicles. “Can you guys excuse us for a minute?”
Both Ghanaians left the garage, and as soon as they did so, John said, “What’s your plan?”
“Gorski and Mace found the enemy safe house.”
John nodded. “In Aburi Hills. I’m on my way there now to pick up surveillance, just came over to grab a low-profile vic.”
Duff said, “Yeah, well, I guess I’ll see you there.”
“What’s your plan?” John repeated.
“Me, Nik, and Isaac are going to go get my kids.”
“Dressed like contractors?”
“Yeah.” Quickly, he added, “We’ve got balaclavas.”
“You think that will get you through the gate?”
“No, I think that will get me to the gate.”
He shook his head. “Dude, that’s a suicide mission.”
“What other choice do I have? Let the Ghanaian army slam through the front gate in an APC and pulverize the place with a heavy MG? I’ve got to go and try to do this quietly.”
John looked at the AKs on the table next to where Duff was standing. “That’s your idea of quiet?”
He shrugged. “It’s my backup plan, for when my brilliant idea crashes and burns.”
“Right. Look, Duffy, I’m not your superior, I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do, but I do have to let Mace and the ambo know that you just scooped up a bunch of guns and mags and left the embassy.”
Duff looked to the floor of the garage, then slowly back up to John. “Do you have kids?”
“My daughter Shyla is friends with Mandy. They played in the pool at the cookout Sunday.”
Josh had met two hundred people in the past two weeks, and he couldn’t remember all of them. “Right,” he said. “What would you do if someone kidnapped Shyla, you knew where they took her, and nobody had a good way of getting her back?”
John stood there looking at Duff a long time. Finally, he gave a little nod, then said, “I was never here.” He backed out of the small garage and walked away.
Duff scooped up a dozen loaded magazines and three of the AKs, then left the garage.