Blue fire, p.2
Blue Fire, page 2
“It is time.” Mosi’s words broke her thoughts. “Tonight there is no moon.”
She sighed. “I hate this plan.” Her hand tightened against the worn leather strap of her watch, but the graduation gift from her dad nine years ago offered no comfort. “I know I’ve done some things barely this side of legal, but this — we’re planning to break into a mine, Mosi. There has to be another way.”
“I can think of nothing. Security is too tight for the men to smuggle anything out of the mine.”
They’d been through this a dozen times since she’d returned from seeing Scott. Each time, they came to the same conclusion.
“I still think I should be the one who goes into the mine,” she said. “I can see the mineral seam for myself and—”
“That is not possible, Alex.”
A flash of irritation hit at the foolish superstition that would force her to stay behind, the fear that a woman in the mine would bring bad luck. Women geologists twice her age had no doubt heard this same foolishness countless times, but attitudes had changed over the past thirty years. More women than ever worked underground, while others took over operations. Yesterday, she’d seen that for herself when Scott introduced her to one of the owners of the Cruzeiro tourmaline mine — a woman. But despite Alex’s best arguments the two Brazilian miners refused to budge.
“Then we should wait for my dad. He said he could be here in two days.”
“By then we will have lost the advantage of darkness. We would have to wait another month to get into the mine. The miners grow anxious even now … they may change their minds long before then.”
The high fence and the guard station at the mine entrance served notice to visitors that only those who belonged could enter. They’d been forced to dig deeper, to find miners willing to do the unthinkable. Mosi had practically grown up inside the mines of Tanzania, and he knew how to find such men and how to convince them.
“These miners, Paulo and Benjamin. How do we know we can trust them?”
“We cannot know.” He smiled. “But the money we pay them will give their children a future. I understand such men — they will do as we ask.”
Mosi’s limited Portuguese, learned years ago in Mozambique, had been enough for him to forge a bond with these miners before she finally met them. Still, they were entrusting their lives to men they barely knew, a thought that pierced her heart.
“For eight nights, Alex, we have watched the guards. You have seen how they patrol only the mine tunnel entrance. Only once have we seen the guards walk the fence line of the mine property, and even then they stayed within sight of the entrance.”
No fewer than two guards paced past the well-lit metal gates that barred entry to the ramp down to the main gallery of the mine and to the tunnels beneath it. Beyond those gates, spotlights cast only shadows on the few buildings clustered nearby. The rest of the mine property, more than a hundred acres of trees and grass that to the uninitiated looked no different than so much of Minas Gerais, lay bathed in darkness — including the many air shafts that punched into the network of tunnels below.
“And the snipers? There are three sniper towers, Mosi.” She shifted in her chair, unable to still herself. “We just don’t know how much of the mine’s property those snipers can see … whether they can see the air shaft. And it doesn’t matter if there isn’t much light — not if they’re using infrared gun sights.”
“We will be far from the tower at the front gate near the highway. The other two…” He trailed off. “Only the one on the hilltop keeps me awake at night, but it is more than a mile from the air shaft.” He smiled. “That is a very difficult shot, even for the most experienced African hunter. And I do not believe those snipers watch anything but the mine entrance.”
“But if—”
He covered her hand with his. “I have outrun more dangerous predators.”
Whether he spoke of man or beast, she wasn’t sure. “This is different. If just one of those snipers spot you, they’ll raise the alarm. You’ll be trapped.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Kanoni would never forgive me for being part of something that took you away from her and your children.”
Eric. If she too were caught, she might never see him again.
“Kanoni will understand.” He smiled. “And you underestimate me.”
In his eyes she saw his calm confidence and his determination. There was too much at stake to turn back. Everything from the ultra-tight security to the gems described by the miners pointed to this mine being something other than it was portrayed. If this mine secretly produced tanzanite, it was the reason four people were already dead — and it could mean the deaths of thousands more.
I have to know.
“We go tonight.”
3
Novoteras Mine
Mosi blinked back salty beads of sweat before he dropped his foot into the emptiness beneath him. Hands slippery with sweat, he gripped the thick rope and felt for the next rung of the ladder, praying his aching arms would keep him from plunging to his death. And when the toe of his boot caught the thin wood slat, he breathed deep.
He slid his foot forward onto the slat, testing its strength, testing his balance, before he eased his two-hundred-and-ten-pound frame onto it. He longed to lean back and rest against the timber-lined shaft, but he dared not. Not without knowing how far above him Benjamin Costa climbed. An impossible task in darkness so complete that he could not see his own hand.
He reached his foot downward once again, like he had done dozens of times already, dropping deeper into the mine. But this time, instead of the thick rope, his boot clipped solid rock.
Finally.
“Reach out your hand.”
A quiet voice in the darkness, closer than he’d imagined. Mosi stretched his hand out in the dim light toward Paulo Alvarez.
The young Brazilian man’s calloused hand closed against Mosi’s wrist, and he stepped off the ladder, half expecting the move would pitch him into the depths of darkness. But the sole of his hiking boot gripped the rock.
Paulo held him steady, guiding him over the rock floor to stand clear of the ladder. Mosi had only just turned on his headlamp when Benjamin jumped from the last rung and shimmied cat-like toward them.
Almost an hour had passed since they sprinted from the fence to lift the grate his young guides unlocked from inside the mine. Since then, they had climbed down what was more of a rat hole than a true air shaft.
With Paulo in the lead, the three men finally pushed into a tunnel wide enough for a team of men and equipment. And as they put the vertical shaft behind them, the air grew warm and stale.
They had climbed three ladders to what he guessed was the one-hundred-and-fifty-metre level, the deepest working part of the mine. He now stood more than three hundred feet underground, beneath two levels of galleries that tunnelled through miles of rock, like this one did. Mine security was no longer a threat — this deep, the danger came from toxic gases that killed without warning.
He knew of many men suffocated by carbon dioxide in the Merelani mineshafts of Tanzania, a merciful death compared with that suffered by men torn apart in methane explosions. He knew nothing of this mine, of its temperament — its ability to kill.
His hand touched emptiness as they passed stopes, ragged holes dug out of the rock walls. Some, likely excavated with dynamite, were as wide and tall as a room and followed thick mineral veins, while others slanted upward, raises that let miners scramble up to rich gem deposits between levels.
Paulo pivoted into an opening hardly big enough for a man to squeeze through. Mosi twisted back. Reassured that Benjamin was tight behind him, he scrambled ahead, determined to keep Paulo in his sights.
The jagged rock that protruded from the low ceiling flashed into view too late for Mosi to call out a warning. But the spry Brazilian miner passed beneath it without difficulty — a reminder that this mineshaft was meant for nimble young men, not someone his age.
He gave silent thanks for the helmet, a luxury not often given to men who mined the depths in Tanzania. In his younger years, he had often worn nothing but a small flashlight attached to a cotton hat with the flimsiest of brims, little protection from the rocks that gave way in mine shafts dug for speed rather than safety.
With his left hand braced against the rough wall, he crouched and slipped beneath the hazard. Pain flared as his wrist caught against a sharp rock, and he jerked his hand up into the light. Blood streaked down the back of his hand, vivid against the grey dust that coated his skin, dust that quickened his pulse.
Graphite.
His face pressed close to the wall, he peered at the marled rock and smiled. The geology was similar to what he had seen before. He wiped his bloody hand against his pant leg and turned.
In the darkness he could find no sign of light, no sign of Paulo.
He jerked his head back. Benjamin should be right behind him. But his light revealed only empty blackness.
I am alone!
He pressed his palm against the rock wall. Rooted in place, afraid to lose his sense of direction, he twisted his body around, searching for a pinpoint of light from another’s helmet.
Did these men bring me here to die?
He heard only the echo of his ragged breath. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hand tight to the wall as though held by glue.
Can I find the ladder?
They had walked fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to this point. Two turns, maybe three. Mosi jerked his head left, then right, his hand never leaving the wall.
There! The faint glow of light. And a single breath later, he saw Benjamin’s dust-covered face.
“Are you hurt?” Benjamin asked.
Mosi pulled his hand from the wall. “It’s nothing. A cut.”
“Then we go.”
With Benjamin tight behind him, Mosi plunged ahead into the darkness. Each step took him farther into a tunnel that grew increasingly tight, forcing him to stoop low to avoid the rock ceiling. Then he broke free into a wide, rock-carved tunnel, where Paulo stood waiting.
Mosi swept his headlamp across a rock wall marred by picks. Glittering crystals shone in the dim light of his headlamp, translucent quartz held tight in a gnarled mix of minerals. He was not a geologist, but he recognized pegmatite, as did every miner who worked in the African Great Rift Valley. Here lay the prize, a rich vein that would bring wealth from gems like emerald and topaz.
Paulo rested his finger against the rock. “This is what we take from the mine.”
He drove the tapered steel of his pick into the wall, digging out this fragile prize. After several strikes, he dropped his pick and used his fingers to pry free a rock the size of a golf ball. He brought it up close to his face for a brief moment before he handed it to Mosi.
“This is a good piece. It has much purple and blue in it.”
Mosi took the fragment and cradled it in the palm of his hand. When his light struck the lustrous rock, revealing a flash of purple, he stopped breathing.
Tanzanite.
He shone his light over the wall and saw more of the same purple-hued mineral thought to exist only in Tanzania.
“How long have you been mining this stone?”
“Here, in this place, not for very long. But for seven years I have worked places like this in the mine. It is a good mine.”
Seven years? He could not believe it. Did not want to believe it.
Mosi closed his hand over the gem. “This is what I came for. We can go.”
Paulo clapped Benjamin on the shoulder. They spoke in rapid words he did not understand, but their smiles told the story. He could not blame the men for their excitement. They had been promised ten thousand dollars, a small fortune in this part of the world, if Mosi found the rock he sought. Just as important, they did not need to risk any more time in the mine.
Benjamin took the lead at a pace that was almost a run, and he was soon down the rabbit hole that snaked back to the level from which they had entered. Mosi struggled to keep up, his head low and his ankles rocking with each step on the uneven ground.
His boot clipped a large rock, dropping him hard onto his knees. Pain shot through his left kneecap, and he dared not move. He forced air deep into his lungs, willing the pain away.
Paulo crouched beside him. “Can you walk?”
“I must.” Mosi grabbed Paulo’s extended hand and pushed himself to his feet, relieved that the pain did not worsen. “It is bruised, not broken.”
But with his first step he faltered, saved only by Paulo’s strong arms against his back. Supported this way, he limped to the ventilation shaft, where Benjamin stood waiting.
When they were within reach of the ladder, Benjamin climbed the first few rungs and then turned, waiting for Mosi to do the same.
How? And yet he must.
He swung himself onto the ladder and pulled up his injured leg. When the knee bent, pain surged through his leg. Through clenched teeth he pushed himself forward, up an endless set of rungs to the surface.
I will not be caught underground. He forced his thoughts to his children, to his wife, and to Alex, who waited for him above.
His headlamp faltered before they reached the third ladder, but the air grew sweet. And then his hand touched Benjamin’s boot.
“Wait,” Benjamin whispered down to him. “I must be sure no guard is here.”
Mosi had barely caught his breath before he felt Paulo’s hand against his own boot. He whispered Benjamin’s warning back to Paulo, and together the three men, their head lamps off, stood in the darkness.
“Come!”
Benjamin’s command spurred Mosi upward in one final push, and he landed hard on the ground.
“Quickly!” Benjamin sprinted for the path beyond the fence.
Mosi pressed his balled fists into the ground and climbed to his feet, but he could only limp on a knee made worse by the climb. From behind, Paulo wrapped his arm around him, giving him strength.
Crack!
A bullet hit his leg. He thudded to the ground, taking Paulo with him. The young miner scrambled to his feet and threw a hand out to him.
A second rifle shot. Shouts. The pound of boots.
“Quickly!”
Paulo yanked him to his feet, and together they plunged into the darkness.
4
Novoteras Mine
A gunshot!
Hands tightly curled around the steering wheel, Alex stared down at the sprawling mine with its prison-like security. The darkness, punctuated by spotlights and a blaze of fluorescence from the main building windows, revealed no movement. Not inside the buildings or near the narrow path through the trees, where she expected Mosi to emerge.
A second shot cracked the silence.
She watched the darkness, willing the men to appear. They had to be down there — had to be coming her way.
Finally, a dot of light near the fence. A flashlight.
She blew out a breath she didn’t know she held. Mosi, Benjamin, and Paulo were climbing toward her — fast.
Her finger hovered over the ignition button. She’d wait another few seconds until the men were closer to the highway before she risked the noise.
The ink-black shadow of a man appeared near the top of the path. She punched the ignition button and jammed the 4x4 into gear.
She froze.
In the headlights she saw the unmistakable barrel of a rifle.
A shout, angry, demanding, pushed her into action. Heart pounding, she stomped on the accelerator. But the guards were closing on her.
A bullet slammed into the side of the 4x4. She swerved without thinking, sending the nose of the truck toward the hillside just as another bullet hit. Her foot pounded on the brake for the barest instant. She yanked the steering wheel around hard — too hard. The vehicle careened across the centre line before she managed to gain control.
A shot crashed through the back windshield. She ducked, head barely above her white-knuckled grip, just as another bullet hit.
Five seconds. Then she’d be out of range. Or around a curve. She pressed harder on the accelerator.
Silence.
Eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror, she watched the empty highway through the shattered back window. She leaned into the curves of the highway, foot barely lifting off the gas.
But each mile took her farther from Mosi.
Two shots. She’d heard them before the guards appeared on the road. The men had been gone more than two hours before the first gunshot. Whatever had gone wrong happened when they surfaced or when they tried to slip through the mine fence.
If she were lucky, the guards had caught only the barest glimpse of the 4x4. Even that, though, was enough for them to find her on this deserted highway.
Her boot tapped the brake, and she scanned both sides of the highway for one of the many side roads that snaked through the countryside. Despite driving this road for weeks, nothing looked familiar.
She glanced up at the rear-view mirror, expecting headlights. If the guards pursued her, they were far behind. It gave her time. Still, she yanked the steering wheel toward the first strip of gravel that crossed the highway edge, not caring where it led.
The rumble of rock beneath her wheels sounded too loud to her ears. Afraid someone would hear her, she slowed to a crawl past fields where cattle grazed and farmers slept in homes just out of view. Only when she found a dark patch of road bordered by trees did she finally ease the 4x4 over to the side.
She reached across the seat for her cell phone. No service. Her satellite phone lay buried in her backpack, but it was of no help. Mosi carried only a prepaid cell phone like the phone in her hand, both purchased in São Paulo six weeks ago. Even if Mosi did escape the mine, he was on his own.
