Diamond Mine (8 page)

Melanie's gaze urged her to be silent, but it was too late. A man lunged from his perch and strutted forward. Instinctively, Hannah moved closer to Melanie.

Seconds passed. The man converged on them, lifted his ebony hand, and pointed to the ground. Gulping, Hannah gazed at Melanie before stepping off the porch.

The man stepped toward her. Inches separated them. His hot breath hit her face.
She would not tremble, she would not tremble
.

Masking her fear, Hannah stared him in the eye. He grabbed a lock of her brown wavy hair and twirled it around his finger, giving it a sharp tug.

Hannah itched to slap him or spit at him, but Melanie's swift intake of breath made her think insulting this man wouldn't be a good idea. Anger in check, she stood frozen as he spoke in a foreign tongue. Whatever he said to his comrades must have been funny because all the men laughed aloud. Only Melanie and the children's expressions conveyed worry.

Hannah looked back and forth from Melanie to the gunmen. Suddenly he shoved her to the ground. Controlling her rising temper, she pushed up on her elbows, spitting dirt from her teeth. The sun blared, blinding her.

Afraid to turn her back on her adversary, she attempted to stand without rolling over. On her feet, she searched for Melanie. Sweat beaded her brow, and her pulse raced as she spotted her. Each soldier now held a different person. Watching the scene unfold in front of her was like a bad dream.

Hands were roughly pulled together in front of them and tied in place. Neither the kids, nor Melanie, resisted the rough treatment. Secured, they were hauled into a truck at the rear of the small convoy. They allowed themselves to be shoved into the stationary vehicle without even a whimper.

Hannah stood with her mouth open. It was like a bad movie. There was nowhere to hide. All she could do was wait.

Maybe they would forget about her, and she could run for help. First, she would call Tonya and inform Mike. Hadn't he worked at a couple of foreign embassies? Rubbing her forehead, Hannah wished she could remember.

While she fantasized about escape, she discovered her own fate. Hannah wasn't to be left out. The man who had thrown her to the dirt grabbed her hands. He wound rope around her wrists and tied it in a knot. A smile graced the captor's face as he dragged her to the back of the truck, picked her up, and bodily flung her inside. She landed on her side on the splintered floor, holding in the groan that threatened to escape.

None of the uniformed men rode with them. The truck lurched into motion, and Melanie reached forward with her bound hands and helped Hannah into a sitting position.

Benches lined both sides of the ancient truck. The top was covered with a canvas flap, like an old-timey covered wagon. If Hannah hadn't been so afraid, she was sure she could have made a decent romance story out of her circumstances. As it stood, she focused on the ropes cutting into her wrists and the fact that there was no knight in shining armor waiting in the wings to come and remove them.

Melanie's whispered voice interrupted her thoughts. “What were you thinking?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! If you would've remained silent, maybe they wouldn't have noticed you.”

The angry whisper only fueled Hannah's fury. “Oh yes, I'm sure if I'd kept my mouth shut, my lily-white skin wouldn't have been noticed in the sea of darkness!”

Melanie dropped her chin to her chest, her expression downcast. “I'm sorry, Hannah. Korzan and I moved the orphanage here because of the violence in Sudan and…”

The words lodged in her throat and she stopped. Hannah placed a hand on Melanie's arm. “Is Korzan really dead?”

Melanie's bright eyes dimmed as she relayed their story. “When we arrived here with the children, we were ecstatic. The church provided farmland and a home. Everything was going so well. Then a few weeks later, one of our wards went missing. The girl, Eshe, I'm ashamed to say, had run away a few times before, so we thought little of it. But then when Bunmi, who had been with us since he was a toddler, disappeared, we became worried.

“Korzan drove into town and informed the authorities. They laughed at him, and said Eshe had probably just left to find a man. And Bunmi wasn't worth searching for because he was already a man. Can you imagine? A man at thirteen. He was just a child.”

Melanie sighed. “Korzan came home in a rage. If the authorities wouldn't help us we didn't know what to do.

“Several days passed and men with guns arrived. They told Korzan if he went with them peacefully, they would leave me and the children unharmed.”

Melanie studied her nails, a wave of fresh tears trailed down her face. Hannah's heart felt like a giant fist squeezed it. She waited on the rest of the story until it felt as if she would burst. When she could stand it no longer, she asked, “And?”

“And he went. That was almost a year ago.”

“Melanie! Why didn't you contact us? Tonya and I would have done something. Marched on Washington, stormed the embassy, written letters. We would have thought of something to get him back.”

Melanie shrugged. “After the men left with Korzan, we didn't hear anything for awhile. I knew we were being watched. I could feel it. But I had a plan, and I decided it was worth the risk.

“I went to see a local priest at the monastery. I assumed that would be safe enough. They are secluded on the outskirts of town and rarely receive local visitors. But I was discovered, and I received a visitor of my own. Tapiwa, the rebel leader, came to my home.
My home
. Fortunately, the children were away gathering supplies.” She laid her head against the canvas wall and closed her eyes. “He told me if I tried to contact anyone else, he would know and I would regret it. I guess he wasn't lying.”

“What? I don't understand.”

Melanie sat straighter, turned her head, and gazed at Hannah. “He hasn't been around for months, but miraculously the day you arrive, his men show up.”

Hannah hung her head. All this time she'd been concerned about publishing another novel, about being remembered for doing something of little actual importance in the world, while Melanie had been alone, waiting for a miracle, waiting for a husband, who she thought was dead.

“You said Korzan sent you a ticket?” asked Melanie.

“Yes. It was postmarked from South Africa almost two years ago.”

“That was right after the bab—”

Hannah grabbed Melanie's fingers and squeezed. Tears streamed down her dust-streaked cheeks.

The meaning of all this was elusive. Korzan gone, maybe dead. Melanie, the kids, and herself being carted off to who knows where or for what purpose.

Mimicking Melanie's pose, she closed her eyes and prayed. Only one thing was certain, God always has a plan. Hannah just hoped she hadn't messed it up.

Today the hot sun beat against Rory's back. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and pooled across his chest. He swiped his hand across his forehead. Luckily, he tanned; otherwise, the South African sun would have burnt him to a crisp.

Placing the shovel on the ground, he leaned on it. Today his leg hurt more than usual. But it was okay. It was a sign he'd worked off his guilt, made up for his sins. Atonement was meant to be painful.

Forearms steady, Rory watched a newcomer enter the outside gates of the monastery. A boy, around twelve years of age with tattered clothing, his hair standing up, and eyes opened as wide as they could go, ran in circles and waved his arms in a frantic manner.

“Help me! Please someone help me! I must speak with the priest!” he yelled.

Father Thomas emerged from a nearby building and walked to the boy's side, whisking him to the chapel.

The child's dilemma piqued his curiosity. No bloodstains dotted his clothing. All the child's limbs appeared in place and in working order. Obviously there were no problems with his lungs. What else could cause such urgency?

Shaking his head, Rory continued digging. The hole around the tree widened with each passing day. Eventually the roots would be exposed and the tree could be moved to its new home.

Whistling under his breath, he continued his assignment. A shadow fell across him and Rory lifted his head.

“Mr. Chance, I must speak with you in private. It is of the utmost importance.”

Rory glanced at the father. The man fidgeted with his robe.

Using his good leg, Rory hoisted himself out of the hole and followed the priest to his office.

Pain radiated from his knee to his thigh. The doctor had checked it the day before and said it was healing nicely. Questions about phantom pain and longing for the lost limb came to him, but he kept his mouth shut. What good would it do? The pain would always be there. Whether it was at the end of his stump or in his heart didn't really matter.

Focusing ahead, he followed Father Thomas' hastening gait. Inside the church, they walked through the aisle of pews and ended at the office in the back of the chapel. Open windows offered little respite from the heat.

The young child sat in a chair, swinging his skinny legs back and forth. The door clicked closed, and he jumped up and rushed forward. Brittle arms wrapped around Rory's leg as the boy lifted his gaze to meet his face. Words rushed from his mouth, and Rory missed the translation. Lifting his brow, he looked to the priest.

Speaking in the child's native tongue, Father Thomas soothed the boy. Reluctantly, he released Rory and sat back in the chair. The words volleyed and Rory waited.

Father Thomas said, “This child came from Grace Children's Home. He claims Melanie Sekibo, the leader of the orphanage, and all the children living there, were taken.”

“All right,” Rory said, shifting in his seat, missing the significance.

“They were taken by a faction of traders working for Biashara Githinji. The man runs a notorious criminal empire. Most notably, he trades in illegal diamonds, but it seems he has stretched his reach.”

Rory nodded, a feeling of unease settled in his stomach.

Father Thomas continued, “This is not all. The child says a white woman, an American, arrived earlier today. A friend from the United States who came to visit with Melanie. She was taken as well.”

Rory's heart skipped a beat. Instantly he thought,
I
'
m not here
to rescue people.
I
'
m
here to
hide from the press
and repent of
my
sins
.

He gulped and twisted his hands in his lap. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

Father Thomas frowned. “Rory, you do not understand. If you did, you would be more upset. They, the women and children, have been taken to Tapiwa's camp.”

“Who?” asked Rory, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

Father Thomas' sigh of anguish filled the room. “Rory, the women and children have been taken by human traffickers. Tapiwa is the leader of Biashara's workers. As I said, Biashara has stretched his reach. These ladies will be sold into slavery and lost forever.”

Rory sat up straighter. “What? No, that's impossible.”

“I am afraid not. South Africa has laws against such actions, but they aren't always enforced. Often it is the foreigners, or visitors, to the country who are in the most danger.”

These weren't the answers Rory wanted or needed. He asked, “Why was the orphanage targeted?”

The question was asked of the child, and Father Thomas translated. “The boy doesn't know. He says he was new to the orphanage. Until today, he'd not seen the traffickers.”

Rory's instincts kicked in. “How did this one escape while all the others were taken? You can't trust him, Father. It may be a trick.”

“Ah, it is no trick. The child was taking care of, um, personal matters when the men arrived.”

“You mean he was in the loo?”

“Yes. He claimed he played with the others when a very white lady with long brown hair visited with Melanie. She is the mother of the children, if you will.

“Anyway, he left and went to the outhouse right before the jeeps pulled up. He peeked through cracks in the boards and saw Tapiwa's men. Apparently, Melanie attempted to hide the woman or keep her quiet, I'm not exactly sure on that part of the story. He seems to think the woman had an infirmity of the mind because of her slow actions. Of course, that is not important.”

Father Thomas waved his hands through the air and continued. “Once they left with the inhabitants, the boy ran here as fast as he could. He says before he went to the orphanage, he'd heard on the streets that a white hero stayed here. That is why he came. Because he thought the hero could help.”

The child's head bobbed up and down. On the verge of denying the boy, the father, and the whole orphanage, he remembered something the priest said.
L
ong brown hair
.
What were the odds? There were millions, maybe billions of people with that hair color. No way was it her.

“Father, ask the boy if he knows the woman's name.”

His gut twisted as the child struggled to remember.

As if a light bulb came on, the boy's face morphed into a wide grin, and he answered, “Hannah.”

Melanie warned the children not to speak out of turn, and the rest of the trip occurred in silence. Hannah disagreed. They should peek through the slats on the truck, and when they passed through a town, scream until their lungs threatened to burst. But she couldn't go against Melanie's wishes. If she had listened to her in the beginning, perhaps they wouldn't be in this mess.

She couldn't ignore the fact that Melanie knew more about this place, these people, and this culture. Maybe if they were quiet and complacent, then all the bad people would just leave them alone.