Page 33 of Soul on Fire
“We are not allowed to transport refugees—”
“Who will you let die?” Ikolo stepped back. “You need to find Majambu to stop whatever he’s planning. You said it was a terrible attack against Americans, yes? So who will you let die? Either my children leave with your men, and we can go west to catch Majambu and stop whatever he is planning. Or I will stay with the children and die here when the fighting consumes this hospital, and you will never have another chance to find Majambu. The choice is yours, Lieutenant.”
Silence between them, save for Elliot’s fast breaths, the jingle of his gear as he trembled. He stared, his head shaking, slight movements that betrayed his thoughts.
Elliot’s radio crackled. Admiral Kline again. “Lieutenant, radio is being jammed by the East African Standby Force. They’re trying to cut off rebel communications and we’re caught in the middle. You have to evac, now!”
Elliot keyed his radio on. “Affirmative, Admiral. Evacing now. Cole, Hood, get back to the hospital, fast as you can.”
Ikolo held his breath.
“Show me the children.”
* * *
“L-T, are you sure?”Jumper glared, his face paint smeared with soot, lines of black ash and white skin reflecting the moonlight. He had one kid in each arm, balanced on his hip. At home, Jumper had twin boys and another on the way. He’d scooped up the children without a second’s hesitation in the tent, but now, in the courtyard, he hesitated.
Doc Smalls carried an infant in his arms, so tiny the little girl seemed lost against his body armor. He hadn’t spoken when Elliot gave the orders. Hadn’t said a word.
“There’s going to be hell to pay when we get back,” Hood said. He was guiding the older children, anyone five and over who could walk. The oldest was maybe ten. “Kline is going to fly here and murder you.”
“We’ve got to find Majambu. This mission has priority, right? Straight from the president. This is the way it gets done. How is this any different than handing a warlord a suitcase full of cash?”
“It’s different,” Doc said. His voice was soft.
“It’s ‘cause they’re African?” Elliot’s voice went hard and harsh. “They’reblack. If you were rescuing little French kids and walking them out to the L-Z, things wouldn’t be different then, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s not it!” Cole snapped. “It’syou. You’re asking us to leave you behind, L-T.”
“I’m not asking.” He’d stripped his gear and dumped his bag. Divided everything worth keeping between his men and changed into civilian clothes Ikolo loaned him. They were about the same size, enough to share clothes if Elliot didn’t mind the shoulders being tight. He kept his boots.
He repacked the essentials: his weapons, the pistol tucked into his concealed holster. Food and water. His radio, his NVGs, and a few other special toys that came with their covert operations kit. He left his ballistics armor behind and gave his folded uniform to Jumper.
Jumper was now in charge.
“It’s twenty-five klicks to the L-Z, right between these two volcanos.” He gave the map to Jumper, pointing out Nyiragongo and Mikeno volcanoes. “The chopper is going to use Karisimbi and the other two as cover and will fly below the radar ceiling. You have six hours to get there.”
“Six hours? With all these kids?”
“These kids walked out of the jungle to save their lives,” Elliot said. “They know how to survive.”
He turned to Ikolo. The doctor had packed his own bag and was kneeling in front of a young boy, maybe six years old. He was rail thin, his skin squeezed on his skull so tight his eyes seemed to fall into his face. The boy watched Ikolo carefully, hanging on to every word the doctor said.
“Doc, are you ready?”
Ikolo stood, nodding. He’d already said his goodbyes to the children, kissing them on their heads and stuffing emergency food rations in their pockets, as much as they could hold. They watched him with wide eyes and somber expressions.
Firelight burned against the faces of his men and the children. The UN, the Kenyans, and the ADF forces had all fallen back as the forest blazed, a ring of fire surrounding the valley and the remnants of the camp. A hundred thousand people had vanished, fleeing the sudden violence, now ghosts escaping into the Congo. The camp was in ruins, nothing but ash and the dead left behind.
“Move out. Head for Nyiragongo and sweep the foothills,” Elliot ordered. “Go now.”
“You will catch up to my nurses. Help them, if you can,” Ikolo said.
“Sir…” Jumper clenched his jaw.
Was there another way? Probably. Like the moment he’d decided to go after the pirates despite Captain Watkins telling him to wave off. There had to be another way to find Majambu. The CIA, with everything they had, all their tools, all their technology, had to have something. Then again, it had taken them ten years to find Bin Laden.
How far could one man who didn’t want to be found go in the dark heart of Africa? Even by the CIA’s admission, they only had four stations in an entire country the size of Greenland. The Congo was as large as a quarter of the entire United States. Could his team find one man in an area that large? In time?
