Blue fire, p.3
Blue Fire, page 3
Paulo and Benjamin would know how to escape, where to hide. But would these men take Mosi with them or cast him aside like dead weight?
They’d planned to meet in Coronel Murta if anything went wrong, a plan that now seemed ill conceived. That town lay half an hour south of the Novoteras mine — an impossible distance with guards in pursuit or if one of the men were injured.
I have to go back.
In a few hours, she might slip into the line of traffic headed toward the morning shift at the mine. The guards could hardly expect her to return that way, and all she needed was enough cell service to reach Mosi to arrange to pick him up. But this rental, new and expensive, would stand out, especially with its shattered window. If the guards patrolled the highway, she might be arrested before she could find Mosi.
She ground the heels of her palms against her thighs. Every geologist at Graham and Associates knew their first call should be to Tracey Caminski, their unflappable manager with a reputation for working miracles in tight situations. She’d do no less for Alex if she were arrested, but Tracey could do nothing for Mosi until he surfaced.
Coronel Murta — it was her best choice. That’s where Mosi would head. And there were enough back alleys in the town of nine thousand for her to hide until she heard from him. First she had to get rid of that back window.
Stretched across the seat, she dug a flashlight out of the glove box and scrambled out of the 4x4. At the back window she pulled her sleeve down over her hand before she pushed at the spider-webbed fracture, but the glass held firm.
She grasped the angled edge of a glass shard and tried to wriggle it free, only to yelp as the razor-sharp edge sliced into her finger. Blood ran over the palm she held up to the light.
She yanked the back door open and dropped the flashlight onto the seat. Digging into her backpack, she found a tissue and wound it tightly around the stinging cut. As she twisted back to the door, she saw it.
A hole in the leather seat back, just inches below the driver’s side headrest.
She dug her finger into the hole and touched the cold steel of a bullet aimed at her. The guards had appeared on the highway with guns blazing, as though they’d known she waited there. Paulo, Benjamin — one of them had betrayed her.
No. The timing wasn’t right. Those two gunshots came just minutes before the first guard showed up. They must have fired on Mosi and chased him up toward the highway. The guards had found her by accident. They must have.
But I didn’t see Mosi.
Whatever the answer, she needed to find a safe place to hide. She scrambled from the vehicle and searched the roadside until she found a grapefruit-sized rock. At the back fender, she heaved the rock into the window, showering the cargo area with glass.
Dogs barked in alarm. She whipped her head around, searching for lights, but if there were a house nearby, she couldn’t see it.
Heart pounding, she jumped into the 4x4 and hit the starter. She pulled into a tight U-turn and headed back to the highway. For the briefest second she hesitated, wanting to turn left up the highway, back to the mine, knowing she couldn’t.
A glance at the rear-view mirror revealed only black pavement, but still she floored the gas pedal. Only when the first of the tiled roofs of Coronel Murta came into view fifteen minutes later did she ease off.
Slowly now, she drove past darkened windows until she neared the centre of town. She squeezed into a row of parked vehicles and shut off the engine.
Her phone showed just one bar of signal strength, but it was enough. She redialed Mosi’s number, and hand tight on the phone, listened to each ring. Fingers tapping the steering wheel, she waited for his smooth voice to replace the static that crackled in her ear. But the phone rang until his voicemail picked up.
“I’m in—” She cut herself short. There was no way to know who might listen to Mosi’s messages, who might come looking for her. Mosi would see the missed call and hear her voice. It had to be enough.
She dropped the phone into her lap and closed her eyes.
He has to be okay.
Mosi, the gentle bear of a man who’d taken her by the hand to explore life beyond the Tanzanian mine sites that stole all of her father’s attention, had to come back to her.
5
Novoteras Mine
One more step. It was the mantra Mosi repeated each time he dropped his weight onto his injured leg. He clutched Paulo’s shoulder for support and felt Paulo’s grip against his waist tighten as they manoeuvred through the narrowest of gaps between the trees.
His foot caught in a tangle of branches, and he pitched forward, saved from crashing to the ground by Paulo’s strong hands. Teeth gritted, he froze, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass.
How far they had travelled since they had slipped through the mine fence, he did not know. But he could go no farther.
“I must rest.”
Paulo jerked his head back, scanning the shadows, before he answered. “For a few minutes only. We cannot stay here. We must keep moving.”
Leaning heavily on Paulo, Mosi eased himself down to sit next to a slender tree trunk. Eyes closed, he rested his head against the rough bark, forcing breath slowly into his lungs in rhythm with the pain that pulsed through his leg.
Paulo crouched beside him. “Where is the bullet?”
Mosi stared down at his left leg and ran his hand gently over his thigh. When he felt the wetness of blood near his hip, he stopped. “Here, I think.”
Paulo yanked off his cotton jacket and pulled the belt from the loops of his cargo pants. Down on his knees, he forced the leather belt beneath Mosi’s leg.
“How far are we from the highway?” Mosi asked this man close enough that he could feel his breath.
“Not far. But we cannot go in that direction.” Paulo did not look up from the belt in his hands. “The guards will be there. Your friend will be captured.”
Fear stabbed at his gut. He prayed Paulo was wrong and that Alex had heard the shots and fled. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
“And Benjamin?”
Paulo reached for the jacket and wadded it into a tight square before he replied. “If he escaped, he will find his own way to safety. We can do nothing more.”
Mosi swallowed hard. Survival. He too had done things no man should have to do just to survive, to claw his way out of one of the poorest Tanzanian villages. Brazil was no different.
“It is best if they do not find you or the woman. If they learn foreigners broke into the mine, there will be very much trouble.”
He is right. Theft could be accepted, but the mine owners could not risk news of their find reaching the outside world.
“There is a man I know who lives not far … maybe half hour from here. He will help us.”
Mosi winced and clenched at the grass when Paulo pressed the jacket against the wound.
“I will only slow you down. Go.”
Mosi stared into the face of the man who had saved his life. But in the dim moonlight he could not see the man’s eyes, could not see into his soul.
“Go. Find help and come back for me.”
What does he fear most? Staying or leaving?
Paulo dropped his head. “You will need to hide, keep low in the bushes.”
Mosi clenched his jaw against the explosion of pain that hit when Paulo cinched the belt against the makeshift bandage. And then the bronze-skinned Brazilian slipped through the trees.
He watched the spot where Paulo disappeared, his leg held steady against the pain. There was no way to know if this miner with a quick smile would return. He knew little about this man he now depended on for his life — their meetings, furtive and brief, had not allowed for it. Only when they had first met had the thirty-something miner talked about his family, a wife and eight-year-old son. They were the reason Paulo had agreed to the offered money, and now they would be the reason Paulo walked away.
He closed his eyes and summoned his own wife’s beautiful smile. How he missed Kanoni, the woman who had been by his side for almost ten years. She had pulled him from the pit of despair when his first wife, Chania, died of malaria and left him a widower with two children to care for. Kanoni became the only mama his son Abasi and his younger sister knew — even he had long forgotten the delicate curves of Chania’s face.
His hand rested on the gold buckle of the leather belt that tortured him. He desperately wanted to pull it free, to loosen it, but he knew it might be the only thing that would keep him alive. The only thing that would deliver him to his beloved family.
I will not die here.
He shifted his weight onto his left hip, a move rewarded with a jolt of pain. Hands tightened into fists, he sucked air through his teeth. One breath, then another, until the pain eased.
He zipped his fleece jacket tight to his chin, shivering now that the cold dampness of the ground seeped into his muscles. His eyes darted skyward to the clouds that hung in the starry sky. If he were lucky, the rains that had dogged them these past few weeks would hold off until morning. By then, he and Alex would be far from the mine.
Unless she has been caught.
He refused to believe it. The gunshots would have warned her, and she had a head start on the guards. She must have escaped and gone on to Coronel Murta, as planned.
Unless she had waited there on the highway for him to return too long, and she had been captured.
No! She knows better.
From his pocket he dug out his cell phone. He touched the screen, sending a too-bright light into the dark night, a beacon that would betray his location in an instant. He hunched over the screen just long enough to see that no signal travelled this far from the mine and the main roads.
There would be no call to Alex. Not from here.
His head snapped up at the crack of wood. Quickly, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket, dousing the light.
The thud of boots, quick steps taken without care on the uneven ground, closed in.
One man? Two? Uninjured he would easily survive, but now? How foolish to sit, to make himself weak to his prey.
He whispered a prayer, one that had comforted him many times before. Face pressed against the tree, he searched the tangle of branches and leaves for his hunters. The dim beam of a flashlight approached.
He dropped his face to his chest. He knew enough to hide his eyes from these men. He would not give their flashlights anything to fix on.
The crunch of leaves.
One man. Close now.
He clenched his hand into a fist, his only defence. It would do nothing to stop a bullet.
But he would not let this man take him alive. He would not lead them to Alex.
The footsteps stopped. The sweep of a beam cast a shadow beyond his feet. It passed left and right and then just as quickly delivered him again to darkness.
The hunter moved on, pounding a path through the dense jungle.
He closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow. He could do nothing to help Paulo. The young miner would meet his fate in the hands of this hunter or safely return to this spot.
If he returns. The young father could easily leave him here and turn his back on this dangerous situation.
None of them had expected the guards to shoot at them. Maybe they should have — he should have. More than the others, he knew that mine security had hairpin triggers when it came to theft. Each guard bore the responsibility of stolen gemstones under his watch. It made them as desperate as the men who sought to steal the precious stones.
He had seen men shot dead without question just for being inside the fenced area of a mine. Too many men. Yet it did nothing to deter them, because a single piece of gold or a small diamond could feed a family for a year. For many uneducated men struggling to support their families, it was the only way.
If not for his father, Mosi might have been forced to do the same. His father, who had worked long weeks away from his family at a menial job at a safari lodge, wanted something more for his son. He saw the guides and drivers, the ones who boasted of big tips from foreigners, and knew Mosi was smart enough to join their ranks.
Every penny was saved so that Mosi could go to Catholic school. But when his father died in a car crash, his life changed. As the eldest, he had to support his two mamas and his nine brothers and sisters, all but three of them half-siblings.
Mosi had dropped out of high school to work the underground tanzanite and gold mines, spending his days deep beneath the surface in foul, dangerous tunnels. His nights were spent combing the tailing piles, the leftovers, in search of the smallest piece of gold or tanzanite cast aside in the rubble. Theft.
He pushed back the memories of things done that were best forgotten, actions necessary for his family to survive. Only when he met Brian Graham at one of those mines did his life take another turn.
The faint rustle of leaves.
The hunter has returned.
Mosi stared at the sparse brush that sheltered him. The jumble of leaves that might be the last thing he ever saw.
6
Novoteras Mine
Jorge Silva had barely passed through his office doorway before a guard of no more than twenty set a steaming cup of milky tea on his desk. He expected the man to say something, but he scurried from the office.
From outside the building came shouts, but Jorge could see only the chain-link fence with its barbed-wire cap through the window. He would have to wait to learn what had happened, what had forced him back here in the dead of night, a first in his seven years as manager of the Novoteras mine.
He draped his navy jacket over the back of the chair and reached for the single sheet of paper centred on his desk. Under the harsh fluorescent light, he scanned the tight-lined report detailing the previous day’s mine production. Nothing in the report explained the call from the security head, Carlos Pinto, a mere half hour ago.
The shrill ring of the cell phone had set his heart pounding, a reaction to too many late-night calls during his years as a police officer. He’d snatched it to his chest to muffle the ring, afraid it would wake Zahra or one of the children, answering it only when he had stepped on the cold bathroom floor and eased the door shut. But he need not have worried. His pregnant wife never moved, not even when he quickly dressed in a uniform pressed and ready in their dark bedroom.
A guard had quickly waved Jorge through the front gates, but he had seen nothing out of the ordinary as he wove down the red-dirt road. The dynamite storage shed, the processing area, and the main building all stood dark and silent. In the blaze of light that framed the metal doors at the entrance to the mine tunnels, two men stood guard, as expected. Only the small administration building that housed his office showed signs of life, and even then just three windows were lit.
Knuckles rapped against the door frame, and he glanced up to see Carlos. In the shadowed light cast by the door, the jagged scar beneath the captain’s left eye looked like a black ink trail made by a shaky hand. He had heard varied stories about the scar, from a drunken bar fight to an argument with a young mistress’s husband, but none matched the character of this intelligent, thoughtful man who oversaw security.
Jorge beckoned the balding man into the room. Carlos stopped in front of the desk and thrust his chest forward, a sign of his military training. The nervous captain did not wait for an invitation to launch into a rapid-fire account of the night’s events. Words that set Jorge’s heart racing.
“Dois homen? Only two men. You are sure?” Jorge ran a hand over his stubbled chin, wishing now that he had taken more time to properly present himself before returning to the mine. There would be no quick return to his bed. His day had started, and it would not end until the thieves were caught.
“Yes.”
“None of them could have escaped?” Jorge asked.
“It is possible. It was only after the first shot was fired that we knew the men were there.”
“But there was just one vehicle?” Jorge reached for a pen and pulled a pad of paper from the top drawer of his desk.
Carlos nodded. “A truck parked on the highway.”
A single vehicle would not hold many men. It suggested that the men seen by his guards were the only thieves.
“The man who was shot. Did he say anything before he died?”
Jorge saw the sadness in his eyes. This deeply religious Catholic would not have left their thief. He would have held the thief’s hand, offering comfort and prayer to the man who died at his feet.
Carlos shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He called out a woman’s name, Eva. Nothing more.”
Jorge scribbled the name on the thick pad. “You have searched the man?”
A nod. “A flashlight, water, bread and cheese were found in his pockets. He carried no ID.”
“Nothing else? Not a single piece of rock?”
The thieves could have been in the mine for hours, enough time to hammer out more than a few pieces of rock from the rich vein that was currently mined. Although even he had to admit that the rock they worked so hard to free from the earth did not look valuable.
None of the rock they mined, neither the thick vein of pink and green tourmaline in the upper tunnels nor the brown rock in Tunnel Five, seemed of similar quality to the fine gems sold in Teófilo Otoni. From time to time they found other gemstones, like emeralds, rubies, and sapphires, but only in small quantities. Their main product was tourmaline of such quality that only bead-makers in China were interested. It was a lucrative market that made this mine earn an estimated thirty million U.S. dollars a year, but that was a fraction of the revenue of the local emerald and ruby mines.
The elaborate security he had been directed to put in place at Novoteras hardly seemed necessary But he knew better than to question an order.
