48

“I see you found my strays,” remarked General Pascal, heading straight for the bar as if he owned it. His eyes bloodshot, his skin oily with sweat and his injured arm wrapped in a bandage, the rebel leader looked the worse for wear following his battle against the government troops. But the infamous military skill of the man had evidently secured him another victory.

“Drink!” he barked to one of his soldiers. Scurrying behind the bar, the boy grabbed a bottle and filled an empty glass. The general drained it in one hit and the boy replenished it immediately.

“I was told that the army had been diverted to sector four of the park!” growled General Pascal, glaring at the minister. “So how come soldiers attacked our camp this morning in sector eight?”

Minister Feruzi blanched at the news. “Th-the major general must have changed his plans without informing me.”

General Pascal stabbed a finger at the minister. “You realize I lost good warriors,” he snapped. “What’s worse, the army’s probably blown half the diamonds to dust!”

Tugging a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, the minister mopped his brow in panic. “I assure you, the major general was instructed to search the southern sector of the park. But what about the diamonds? Do you still have control? Are there any left?”

“Don’t worry your fat face about it! My forces still command the valley and there’ll be enough for everyone,” replied the general, grimacing as he inspected his swollen arm. “First let’s deal with this little problem of my strays. Then we can discuss the future of this country, and your place in it.”

Stepping forward, Gunner spat at the minister’s feet. “You treacherous piece of scum—you traded our lives for diamonds!”

Minister Feruzi glanced down at the spit smearing his shoe. “You shouldn’t have done that, Gunner.”

General Pascal nodded a silent order to No Mercy. A deafening bang rang in all their ears as the boy soldier shot Gunner in the chest.

“Consider yourself fired,” said Minister Feruzi with a gloating smirk as the ranger writhed and groaned in pain on the floor.

“No, Gunner, no!” cried Amber, dropping down beside the ranger and pressing her hands to his wound, blood oozing from between her fingers. Connor kept Henri close as Zuzu stared in wide-eyed shock at the boy soldier standing over the ranger.

“Finish him off,” said the general, his tone bored. “I can’t stand the groaning.”

On a do-or-die impulse, Connor snatched one of the tribal spears from the wall. “Stay back!” he warned.

General Pascal eyed the old weapon with amusement as he leaned against the bar. “Now what are you going to do with that, my White Warrior?” he inquired. “Spear a lion?”

“No,” Connor replied, pointing the iron tip at him. “Skewer a snake!”

The Black Mamba laughed. “You have fighting spirit, I grant you that. But playtime’s over. Drop the spear or Blaze kills your girl.”

Blaze drew a handgun and aimed it at Amber’s head. Connor turned the spear on the rebel. If he was quick, he could perhaps drive it through the man’s chest before he pulled the trigger. But No Mercy would have more than enough time to shoot Gunner again. And then what? Connor glanced toward the double glass doors. He wondered if they could flee via the veranda. Then a rebel soldier appeared on the other side of the bay windows, cutting off their escape route. Left with no option, Connor discarded the spear, the weapon clattering to the wooden floor.

“You disappoint me,” said General Pascal, coughing into his fist. “I’d hoped you would die fighting like a warrior.”

The general headed for the main door, beckoning Minister Feruzi and the half dozen rebel soldiers to accompany him.

“Blaze, kill the strays,” he ordered. “Any way you wish. Just make sure the Batwa girl, who put the arrow through my arm, suffers most.”