Son of Cerberus (The Unusual Operations Division Book 2) (9 page)

“If you’re going to push the subject, Mister Constantine,” Lambert croaked, “you should consult with your boss before we delve too deeply. What-if’s are simply that—the possibility of something happening that has not already come to pass.”

It was the moment everyone had been waiting for. The anticipation the room seemed to have gone from nothing to as thick as butter in no time flat. What started with something of an explanation had now turned into a cockamamie scheme to trek across the globe.

Everyone wanted to go.

“There’s an extremely small amount of supporting evidence,” Gregory admitted. “You’d be going to Nigeria hoping to find something you’re not at all sure exists. Along the way, we would be using government resources and taxpayer money to fund you. You’d need transportation, in the form of a jet and some sort of ground transport, too. You’d also need to be working in secret. If anyone catches you, you don’t belong to us.”

“It’s our job,” Brenda said bluntly. “It’s why we’re funded—to protect the United States and the people of America. If we can stop this terror weapon from spreading, why wouldn’t we go?”

“That’s all the convincing I needed,” Gregory said, smiling mischievously.

“This is nonsense,” Lambert said while the others rejoiced quietly. “You’re going to great lengths to prove you’re useful, you know. Can I at least make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” Gregory said, quieting the agents as best he could. “You’re our guest and a valued advisor. Obviously we need as much help from you as we can gather.”

“You’ll be better off if you take Stewart here,” Lambert said. “He has traveled the area extensively both in my stead and as a guest. He knows the ins and outs, and he will be able to speak with my employees so you’ll have more cooperation. At least afford me this small token of appreciation and help.”

“Sir,” Stewart put a gentle hand on Lambert’s shoulder. “My place is at your side.”

“Nonsense,” Lambert said. “You’re my most trusted assistant. I would trust no one else with this assignment. Now, you’re going whether or not Gregory allows it so you might as well get used to the fact.”

Gregory smiled smugly. He knew Lambert was sincere. Since he was a partial owner of the mine, everyone was sure it would be easy to get him into the country. He would probably beat them to the mine if they didn’t offer to take him along. Regardless, Gregory was happy to have someone who knew the mines and the local area tag along. It would mean the crew of his employees would be all the safer.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Gregory said, holding his hand out to the older gentlemen in a gesture of good faith. Lambert took it and both of them shook firmly.

“You’ve reached an accord,” Marcus grinned. “When do we get to leave?”

“I would imagine you’ll want to leave as soon as possible,” Gregory said. “First, we need to lay down some rules and at least a set of quickly drawn plans, as you could imagine. With Mister Stewart here, we might get a distance further than we would normally get. I imagine he will be able to provide us with some sort of ground transportation?”

“Easily,” Stewart answered, adjusting the perfectly round glasses on his face. “I’ll ensure we have transport and a contingent of bodyguards to keep us safe. Even if you pretend to be missionaries, you’ll want the extra firepower. I don’t know about food and lodging yet, but I’m sure I will be able to provide.”

“Don’t worry about food,” Henry said from the back of the room. “We’ll bring our own. As far as lodging goes, if you don’t have anything convenient, we’re all more than comfortable in tents.”

“That might be best,” he answered honestly. “The area is pretty poor.”

“Great,” Cynthia said. The hesitation and sarcasm that had been present in her voice earlier was all gone. Now, she seemed lively and ready to act. “I call girl tent.”

“I don’t know who is sleeping in there,” Brenda said laughing. She eyed Stephen with a trace amount of lust which everyone caught immediately. Both of them started laughing.

“Jesus,” Gregory said angrily. “I didn’t realize I had to say this, but not all of you are going to be going. Two of you are going to be staying behind in case our mystery girl resurfaces.”

“But, pa,” Stephen said with his best hillbilly accent. “You can’t separate the team.”

“Shut it,” he responded. “It’s up to you, Marcus, to decide who stays and who goes, but two people need to stay behind. If we get a tip on that mystery woman, we need to be there to help her out.”

“Got it boss,” Marcus answered. “It sounds like we’ll be drawing straws.”

Marcus could not accurately gauge which was worse—the flight to Nigeria or the ride in the military-like vehicle. The flight, generally a comforting ride across the world due to the deep pockets of the United States government and ground breaking technology in both speed and comfort, was bumpy and long and annoying. He couldn’t pinpoint what had made it so, other than the nagging fact that Julie had been beyond angry with him. She slammed the phone down angrily and told Marcus he had better get his priorities in order if he didn’t want to spend his life alone.

The team had been happy to get a move on. After making no progress for the last few days, they were antsy to finally be able to put their skills to good use again. They had loaded themselves down with weapons, sensitive analytical equipment, and a communications suite complete with satellite dish. Not to mention the fact they would be using even newer technology in order to test its usefulness—a single drone would be flying overhead, as small as a throwing disk with cameras as powerful as those found in higher-end drones.

Everyone was excited, especially since they would be enjoying the delight of having an armed escort present. The local Nigerians were happy to help. They were a friendly people who cared deeply about their neighbors. Besides what Marcus had seen on television, he had never experienced African culture. It was a pleasant surprise knowing they were working with people who were genuinely concerned about their fellow human beings.

Unfortunately, he had been hot and angry since he departed the flight in the nearest city in which they could safely land—Abuja. The temperature hovered around thirty-two Celsius and the humidity was no better. What made it worse was that the team had been told they would have to endure about six hours in the back of the military-style vehicle with all of their equipment before they arrived at their first rest stop. Once there, they would have to set up camp and wait for the next day to start their investigation.

Besides all of that, they had all received shots and pills to stave off malaria and other nasty diseases. Marcus hated the pills—they backed him up something fierce.

It had only been about an hour on the back of the truck before they ran into their first roadblock. Several local paramilitary groups had been active in the area lately, raiding villages and making off with whatever sorts of supplies they could. A few of the attacks had proven deadly to all but a few witnesses. That meant Marcus and the team had to be checked extensively before they were allowed through any village along the way.

With guns leveled on the team members, they were forced to show their papers and documents to prove they were only in the area to help. Stewart, with his smug face and fogged glasses, had told the crew how difficult it would be to get them through the numerous villages they would encounter. New diseases had been threatening the area leaving superstitious men and women looking for answers while armed guards ensured that no one stirred up trouble.

They were all hard men with wide noses. Each of them had probably killed and been shot at by the time they’d reached puberty. It was the way in these parts of the world still, unfortunately. The team noted their features with a casual grace, knowing that they were harder and more dangerous than the team could ever be in many aspects. At least the members of the UOD received adequate pay and had a place to live. These men most likely had the clothes on their back plus a few spares, and if they were lucky they had huts to go home to, and if they were very lucky a wife with a malnourished child. 

Marcus grinned at the guards as their own personal envoy of well-armed and even better informed associates let the locals know Marcus and his team meant well. It was met with something like stoic frustration. After what seemed like hours, their personal escorts jumped back into the cabs of the military vehicles and started off again down bumpy, pot-hole ridden roads.

Cynthia groaned when the weather took a turn for the worse and the skies opened up. They hadn’t seen it coming, due to the thick canopy of trees that had blotted out almost all of the sunlight. When the pattering started on the back of the truck, the men in the front started cursing in their own native tongue. It was something guttural none of the five team members understood.

Marcus had let the team draw straws to see who would be coming along. Phillip and Brenda had been the unlucky two, though Brenda hardly seemed to mind. She knew things were going to be needing attention back in D.C. She had no qualms with being the one to take care of paperwork, logistics, and hopefully the investigation of the young woman.

Phillip, on the other hand, had nearly torn the place down with frustration. He didn’t care at all about some little girl who had wandered off down the street, or about hacking into street cameras in order to try and find her. He wanted to use the team’s newest piece of gadgetry.

A modern device, the unmanned aerial device the size of a dinner plate could zoom in on bad guys from thousands of feet high. The fact the team was taking the drone with them sent Phillip into a tantrum full of cigarette smoke and curse words. He had been the one that pitched the idea of the drone in the first place.

Anger had receded once he was told the drone could be used from the United States, via the comfort of his own computer and a high-speed internet connection.

As it stood, everyone on the team and Stewart had been crowded into the back of the truck. Though the bed of the vehicle could have easily fit ten more people, the equipment they brought with them along with the three armed guards made it a tight space to sit. With the rain spilling through the many rips and tears in the canvas cover above, it was even less comfortable.

After a few hours, the truck had to stop to fill up. Marcus couldn’t tell whether or not they had climbed any higher in elevation, but he knew the going was getting slower. With the roads slick and muddy, they had been forced to spin their wheels more than once to make it out of lower areas. On top of that, every single rock they encountered seemed to battle against them. The team all applauded loudly when they won their fights with nature while the guards smiled and laughed.

They stopped between towns for the night, making sure to set up camp in a location that was both secret and far away from any towns. The armed guards took shifts guarding the camp while everyone else caught some rest.

As the sun poked up over the horizon, they broke camp and left.

The security in the next town was much less stringent, yet it seemed as if it lacked any sort of personality at all. Smug faces looked grimly upon the team as they headed toward something that resembled a military fuel point. The buildings were hard stand, at least, and had something that looked like running water coming out of many pipes along the road. Kids didn’t play in the street here like they had the last town, but a plethora of four-wheel drive vehicles were parked here and there.

It was there that someone poked their head into the truck and smiled broadly. His bald head and extremely bold features were highlighted by the sheen of sweat that covered his impossibly black skin. White teeth simply added to the contrast.

“Ekundayo!” Stewart said, jumping up from his seat near the back and easily dismounting. “You old ham! How are you?”

“I heard that you were coming, Mister Stewart,” the native Nigerian said brightly. The two hugged each other warmly while the team looked on in confusion. “You are in need of transportation to Mister Frederickson’s mine, am I correct?”

“He called you?” Stewart asked, surprised. “I was going to meet you all at the mine.”

“I no longer work at the mine, Mister Stewart. I have a small office here now. It gives me easier access to both the city and the camp.”

Stewart and the native man, Ekundayo, looked into the vehicle at the confused team. Though they could have said something to clear up the issue, they simply went back to talking between themselves.

“I don’t want you all to have to sit in the back of this piece of junk any longer,” Ekundayo said. He wore dirty military fatigues yet they seemed much newer than those worn by his counterparts who were filling up the truck. “You’ll be more comfortable in my trucks anyway. Besides, many of the roads have been washed out and we will be traveling close to the river. You’ll need a good truck, unless you want to get stuck along the way.”

Marcus took the opportunity to jump down from the truck. He hadn’t realized just how tall the new man was until now. He towered over Stewart and Marcus both by at least a foot. Cynthia noticed the difference and barely stifled a burst of nervous laughter from the darkness of the covered truck. The rest of the team jumped out to stretch their legs, all sharing in the comedy of how tall Ekundayo was.

Stephen stood close by trying to gauge how much taller the native Nigerian was. He stretched his neck, yet still fell short.

“All,” Stewart addressed the group, “this is Ekundayo. He is an employee of Mister Frederickson’s and is generally in charge of mining operations and safety. I guess my employer sent him down to meet us, which I’m not going to turn my nose up at. Perhaps we will make better time this way.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” the giant said. “You are all welcome in my homeland, especially if you are friends of Mister Frederickson. He has always been good to us and we thrive as a people because of him and his associates. If you need anything at all, please let me know.”

“A bathroom would be nice,” Henry said, bouncing from foot to foot. “I haven’t peed in hours.”

“There is one this way, let me show you,” Ekundayo said. “As for the rest of you, please pack up anything you are taking onto the top of the trucks over here. We will be leaving as soon as we can.”

Marcus didn’t like being at the mercy of anyone but his own employer, but he knew the situation here was heavily dependent on Lambert. Though he couldn’t quite pin down the feeling he had inside his chest, it was something like mistrust. He hated being told what to do from someone he didn’t know—half the reason he was happy to have gotten out of the military.

Instead of voicing his concerns, he complied silently. The teammates made a small chain gang and started passing luggage down from the high-backed vehicle. The men who had driven them all that way were paid and disappeared back into the brush.

The four-wheel drive vehicles were more comfortable by far than the back of the cargo trucks they had been crammed into. It wasn’t long until the team was saddled up and Stephen had fallen asleep, despite the bumping that would keep nearly anyone else on the planet awake. They all wore pants with cargo pockets and high boots to keep water out and socks dry. Marcus had worn a long sleeve shirt, regardless of how hot and humid it was. It kept him well protected from the mosquitos that plagued the land.

Henry smiled from above a cream-colored collared shirt. His mutton chops looked more distinct here than they had in a while.

The going was hard, but their newly acquired vehicles were up to the task. Sometimes, the team ended up going slower than walking speed, but Marcus knew it would pay off after they all made it with their gear. They were in no rush, anyway, since they could easily get back to their corporate jet within a day.

In less than two hours, the team was pulling up into the village Stewart had assured would lead them into the mines. It was nothing like the other towns they had passed through. Its placement near a river which thrust itself through the thick foliage in violent swirls left the air full of noise. Marcus felt as if the place was more dependent on their surrounding than the other villages.

There were no armed guards standing watch over the village either, which set Stewart on edge immediately. Though the sign stated unlawful entry would be met with violent force, it seemed no one was there to enforce the standard.

Marcus felt as if something was wrong. He trusted his intuition more than he trusted any modern day gadgets and something was telling him he should be seeing people. If what he had heard from Lambert and Stewart was any indication of what he should be seeing, this was all wrong. 

“Slow down,” Stewart told his driver and friend Ekundayo. The man complied without a single word. He, too, knew that something was wrong. “Kill the engine and radio for backup. Marcus, get your weapons out and follow me.”

“What are you talking about?” Henry said quietly. “We’ve only just arrived. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that we usually have ten men standing guard at the entrance to this village,” Stewart growled, pulling the slide back on his pistol before he let it slam a round into the chamber. “There is smoke up ahead and no one guarding the entrance. Something is not right.”

Marcus couldn’t agree more. If there were usually men standing guard at the entrance to the village, it was a pretty conspicuous time for them all to take breaks. A cursory glance around revealed a few things to Marcus that made his skin crawl. Though he could only see a few hundred yards down the dark trail, the guard shack was full of holes, blood, and dirt. It made Marcus’s stomach surge in anxiety.

He reached around behind his seat and started pulling semi-automatic carbines from the large duffle bag in which they had been carried. The weapon held thirty .40 caliber rounds in a single magazine and shot them with expert accuracy up to two hundred yards. Adding to the fact that they were small was the stopping power. Forty caliber rounds had enough juice to put even the biggest man down for the count.