Warlords had been laying low - real low - since the fire in the refugee camp. Sneezing wrong now could bring down
the kind of trouble on them they hadn't realized existed until now. Odd how it took something like this to get everyone
to calm down. Not that it would last but for the moment it was a welcome reprieve. Let them concentrate on just one
thing. Getting their doctor back.
He drove with his knees while he shifted out of his gear and set it in order on the floor near Hector's feet. It would take
him less than thirty seconds to be entirely geared back up again if need be. As much as he wouldn't mind a fight, he
hoped it wouldn't come to that. Then he slowly worked his way through loosening his joints and muscles. It had been
a long time since he'd pulled shit like this. But you never forgot some things. Thank God.
When they finally neared the village he slowed down a bit. No one rushed in towns like this. Not unless they wanted to
attract attention or were headed for a fight. And since they weren't advertising...
"Heads up." He commented mildly. "If it’s the one I think it is, we've got a couple minutes and some confusing side
streets and we'll be there."
Hector's eyes snapped open and he took a slow easy breath and stretched a bit in the close confines of the front
seat and exhaled.
"Well, at least you know where you're going." Hector said, checking his weapon, a smaller one easy to hide on his
person.
"We're playing this cool, remember?" Swanson reminded him. Hector nodded curtly at that. He didn't need to be
reminded how to do his job, and it annoyed him. Then again his nerves were on edge to begin with, wouldn't take
much to set him off. Bad for the person who set him off.
"Cool as ice." Mike said as he maneuvered along the unpaved dirty roads until they hit gravel and stopped in front of
one of the shops. Hector didn't need to be told, he got out right away, making Mike shake his head. Swanson
followed close, since he was the translator of this job, as Hector walked in and got the attention of the man they were
looking for.
"We're looking for some vehicles." Swanson said.
"You've come to the right place my friend." The man, Kareem, said. "What are you looking for?" He was the go to
man for vehicles in this area, white men didn't bother him. They paid well.
Swanson gave him the specs. "What have you got?"
"Two." Kareem said. "One in mint condition, another a little banged up."
Swanson told Hector this, who made a show of disagreeing. "We really need three." Swanson said.
"I sold my other one."
"To who?"
"A good seller never tells."
"I want to buy it off him." Swanson said, laying some money all the guys had divvied up to bribe the man.
"Indeed." Kareem took the money smoothly. Information was just as powerful as anything a man could lay physical
hands on. More sometimes. Why the white men with savage eyes wanted to know who had bought the truck wasn't
any of his business.
Getting killed for giving away that information however was his business. And the man that had bought the truck had
been too fluid with his money to be anyone other than dangerous as well.
Getting killed for not saying anything wasn't welcome either though. And while the man that was speaking seemed
safe enough, as safe as a man got in this world at least, the two standing back a bit in the shadows of his shop had
dead eyes.
And were the more immediate threat.
"I don't ask for names." He began. Thinking over his words carefully. "But his accent was foreign. From the
mountains. He was dressed well, a business man. He paid me cash for the vehicle, only as much as it was worth. But
he did not take it with him when he left. Men came in the night and took it. I live in the back of my shop and the truck
was just there and I did not hear them." He paused again. Ghosts that could steal away a vehicle could easily steal
past locks on doors and murder you in the night.
"We need three trucks." Swanson said, laying out more money. "We'll buy out the other guy, but we need three
trucks. Identical." He said.
Hector nearly cast a sharp look at Mike. The businessman? T Hat didn't fit. Maybe it wasn't the psycho, which would
be a good thing.
"You said mountains. Now the mountains all have different accents. Which mountains?" Swanson said, as Hector
became interested in other things in the store, or at least appeared to be.
Kareem wet his lips and looked around the shop nervously. He was no fool.
"North of here." He stated. "Very far north. But I think the business man does not live there." He hesitated. He was just
a business man himself. He didn't ask questions and he didn't go looking for trouble. "Ask Rapheal." He finally stated.
The shadows in the night... there was something about them he didn't want returning to his town. And he lived in a
bad world to begin with. "Ask Rapheal." He repeated. "You can find him at the coffee shop."
Hector looked at the man, then at Swanson. "Tell him if he's leading us on a goose chase, I'll be back in a bad mood."
Hector said. Swanson passed the message and Kareem visibly swallowed, not wanting to know what the dark haired
white man's idea of a bad mood was, if he wasn't in one now.
"Raphael. He knows everything that goes on in here. In the city." Kareem said. Swanson nodded and led Hector and
Mike out.
He looked at Jet. "going to see a Raphael at the coffee shop. You speak the language, Jet? You might get better
results." They all seemed skittish around white people, understandably.
Jet made a hand motion.
"Only so well." He offered. He lacked the fluency to blend in with casual conversation. His skill wasn't
in linguistics. Mike rubbed his jaw and the accumulated stubble.
"Rapheal sounds like the local gossip or a village boss man. Either way he's not going to intimidate the way our friend
in there did." Mike headed back for the truck, thinking out loud as he walked. "Look, we just lost a Red Cross doctor,
right? We're keeping it quiet but they don't know that." Climbing into the truck he rested his hands on the wheel.
"Three white guys aren't going to get good intel. But what about one?" he looked over at Hector. Gave a shrug. "We
could try the 'reporter' bit. Have Jet pretend he's the hired protection so he doesn't have to say much and send Swan
in as the reporter looking to dig up information on the missing Red Cross doctor for his paper. It'd be tricky making
sure you ask the right questions though. We mention the business man and it might shut him down entirely." He
raised his thumbs on the wheel, still looking at Hector. Who, as far as he was concerned, got to make the calls on
this. He had the most to lose. Mike's mind, never content to offer just one angle, kicked in again. "Either that or we
play the trying to ransom her back angle and have Swan there play the go-between her family hired to do the job. If
they're freaked enough over Red Cross possibly pulling they might even be helpful."
"Go with the ransom idea." Hector said. "Bribe him." Man, this was getting expensive, but it was worth it.
"Got a picture of her?" Jet asked randomly. Hector reached down toward his flak helmet and detached the picture he
had of her in there and handed it to Swanson.
"I either get this back unharmed or one of your testicles on a platter." He said, dead serious about that. They drove to
a block from the coffeehouse, where Jet and Swanson got out to go talk to the guy. Hector sat in the front seat still,
the perfect image of 'stoic,' even if he didn't want to admit it. Expressionless as granite, and about as hard as he
stared straight ahead.
"We'll get her back." Mike said. "We're making progress."
"It’s taking too long." Hector said through a clenched jaw.
Mike sighed. Wasn't anything he wasn't thinking himself. He stared out the windshield along with Hector. At the coffee
shop they had a decent view on thanks to their angle and glances in the side view to make sure no one was sneaking
up on them. Not that there would be reason to - but damn, you didn't get over being paranoid just because it might
not be necessary anymore.
"We'll get her back before its too late." He stated. Because there was no alternative. 'Too late' implied a lot and death
wasn't really what he was thinking of. He was worried about her physically. But it was her heart, her soul...
"Where'd you get the picture?" He finally asked. Voice softer. "She's always been camera shy around everyone at
camp."
"I'm not everyone at camp." He pointed out, but not harshly. He cast a side long glance at Mike. "Her mother sent it.
I'm her mother's latest project it seems. My chalk doesn't mind, she sends food. My sister does too, I think they
assume we're under fed. We're really not." It was all semantics and extemporaneous talking at this point, but it passed
the time.
"But you know, everyone's been so worried about my life, and my job and I've gotten non stop lectures on it." He
pointed out, for Mike had done some of the lecturing himself. "Everyone forgot she wasn't exactly out of danger."
Probably not, but he was still touchy.
Hector wasn't 'everyone at camp'. And Mike still didn't understand exactly how he'd earned that right.
"Don't pick a fight with me, Garrett." Mike rumbled mildly. "We both know we'd beat the hell out of each other and that
would only slow us down when its time to go in and get her." Actually the possibility was pretty good they might put
each other in the hospital with the way they were both wound backward at the moment. Mike rubbed his thumbs
absently against the steering wheel his hands were resting on and shot an automatic glance in the side view.
"Not everybody forgot." He stated softly. "Just - Andi listens about as well as you." Mike didn't go in for recriminations.
He knew he should have been paying more attention, been more suspicious, keep an eye on everyone that night. If
Andi was where she was now, it was his fault for not keeping her safe. Despite the logic he knew he should have been
able to do something differently. "For some reason she wanted to help people here in Africa instead of a nice safe
pediatrics office in London somewhere. You ever try to tell her no when she's sure she's supposed to be
somewhere?"
"Not yet, but you can bet when this is over, I'm going to work it into conversation." Hector said and rubbed his face.
"Trying to remember why I gave up smoking. Haven't craved one in years but right now, I really think I could use one."
He didn't really mean that, he liked the ability to run and breathe. Again, talk. And talk that diffused the situation
between the two men couldn't be a bad thing. Or they might come to blows due to how worked up they both were over
this.
Hector looked in the rear view mirror. "Here they come." Swanson was unmistakable in these parts after all, walking
casually and loosely, as if he really were a tourist on an adventure and didn't have weapons hidden all over his
person.
Mike gave a crooked, almost there smile. Both at Hector's decision to nail Andi on her occupational
choices and the smoking comment. Damn. He was tired. Physically he was fine. Functional and that fun
stuff. But, inside - inside he was just tired. Tired and wound. What a lousy combination.
He nodded and started up the truck as Swanson and then Jet climbed in. Jet swallowed water from his bottle while
Mike started the truck moving.